Author: acyyz58

September 11, 2001

It started like any other morning at an airport.

Planes were arriving. Planes were departing. Ground crews were moving baggage, loading catering, servicing aircraft and preparing for the next flight. In the small Newfoundland town of Gander, the airport was doing what airports had been doing for decades: connecting people to the rest of the world.

Then the world changed.

Far away, in New York, Washington and Pennsylvania, a series of terrible events unfolded that would soon bring the entire aviation industry to a standstill.

Air traffic controllers across North America began grounding aircraft.

And then came the unprecedented order known as Operation Yellow Ribbon.

Aircraft that had been crossing the Atlantic and heading toward the United States were suddenly told they could not continue to their original destinations.

They needed somewhere to land.

One of those places was Gander.

Then another airplane arrived.

And another.

And another.

Before long, 38 commercial aircraft carrying roughly 7,000 passengers had been diverted to Gander International Airport.

For a town with only a few thousand residents, it was an overwhelming number of unexpected visitors.

The people of Gander suddenly had thousands of strangers on their doorstep.

And they had no idea how long those strangers would be staying.

---

“Where do we put everybody?”

That became one of the biggest questions.

The passengers had arrived with little warning. Many didn’t know exactly what was happening. Some couldn’t contact their families. Others were frightened, confused or simply trying to understand why their flight had suddenly landed in Newfoundland.

But something remarkable happened.

The people of Gander didn’t ask:

“Who are these people?”

They asked:

“What do they need?”

Schools opened their doors.

Churches opened their halls.

Community centres became temporary shelters.

Restaurants and kitchens began preparing enormous quantities of food.

People brought blankets.

People brought clothing.

People brought toiletries.

And ordinary residents opened their homes to complete strangers.

The passengers had come from different countries, spoke different languages and had different cultures.

For a few extraordinary days, however, they became one community.

---

The airport people understood

For the aviation workers, there was another dimension to what was happening.

Airports are normally places of movement.

A passenger arrives.

A passenger checks in.

A baggage handler loads the bags.

The aircraft pushes back.

The engines start.

And the airplane disappears into the sky.

But suddenly, there was no movement.

Aircraft sat on the ground.

Passengers weren’t going anywhere.

The familiar rhythm of aviation had stopped.

For people who worked around airplanes every day, the sight was almost surreal.

Dozens of aircraft were sitting on the ramp.

Flights that should have been thousands of kilometres away were parked on the Newfoundland tarmac.

The airport had become a temporary home for people who had never intended to visit Newfoundland.

And the people who worked there suddenly found themselves doing much more than their regular jobs.

They were helping people.

They were reassuring passengers.

They were finding buses.

They were moving baggage.

They were answering questions.

They were doing whatever needed to be done.

Because this wasn’t just another irregular operation.

This was history.

---

Strangers became neighbours

One of the most remarkable parts of the Gander story was what happened away from the airport.

Residents invited passengers into their homes.

Complete strangers sat around kitchen tables together.

Meals were shared.

Stories were exchanged.

Laundry was done.

Showers were offered.

Telephone calls were made.

Passengers who had arrived believing they were simply making an unexpected landing discovered something they never expected:

They had been welcomed.

They had become “come from aways.”

In Newfoundland, the phrase traditionally refers to someone who comes from somewhere else.

But during that extraordinary week, the phrase took on a special meaning.

The passengers weren’t simply people passing through.

They became part of the community.

---

The animals were stranded too

There were also passengers who couldn’t simply walk into a community centre.

They had four legs.

Dogs, cats and other animals had been travelling in the aircraft holds when the planes were diverted.

Their owners were worried sick about them.

Airport workers and volunteers had to deal with another unexpected responsibility—making sure the animals were cared for.

It was another reminder that this wasn’t simply about airplanes.

It was about people, families, pets and lives that had suddenly been turned upside down.

---

The days passed

September 12.

September 13.

September 14.

The stranded passengers watched the news.

They waited.

They wondered when they would be allowed to continue their journeys.

Some were desperate to get home.

Others were afraid of what they might find when they got there.

The television showed images that seemed almost impossible to comprehend.

And yet outside, in Gander, life continued.

People cooked.

People cleaned.

People delivered supplies.

People organized transportation.

People volunteered.

People opened their homes.

The town simply kept going.

There was no grand plan for how to handle thousands of stranded airline passengers.

There didn’t have to be.

People just did what needed to be done.

---

Then came the goodbyes

Eventually, the skies began to reopen.

The airplanes that had been sitting on the ground started preparing to leave.

The passengers packed their belongings.

Bags were loaded.

Buses returned to the airport.

Aircraft engines came to life.

One by one, the visitors who had arrived unexpectedly began leaving Newfoundland.

But something had changed.

The passengers had arrived as strangers.

They were leaving with memories of people they would never forget.

There were hugs.

There were tears.

There were promises to stay in touch.

And there was gratitude.

The people of Gander had given thousands of strangers something they desperately needed at a frightening moment in history:

A safe place to be.

---

More than a musical

Years later, the extraordinary events in Gander became the inspiration for the hit musical Come from Away.

The musical brought the story to audiences around the world.

But behind the songs, the choreography and the theatre lights was something very real.

There were real airplanes.

Real passengers.

Real airport workers.

Real families.

Real meals.

Real beds.

Real fear.

And real Newfoundland kindness.

The story of Gander is sometimes described as a story about what happened when 38 airplanes were forced to land in a small town.

But that isn’t really the story.

The real story is what happened after they landed.

In a world suddenly filled with fear, suspicion and uncertainty, one small Newfoundland community demonstrated something remarkably simple:

When thousands of strangers needed help, people opened their doors.

They didn’t ask where they came from.

They didn’t ask what language they spoke.

They didn’t ask what religion they followed.

They simply asked:

“What can we do to help?”

And perhaps that is the greatest lesson of Come from Away.

Airports are usually places where people come and go.

But for one extraordinary week in September 2001, Gander became a place where people stayed—and where strangers became friends.

The airplanes eventually left.

The passengers eventually went home.

But the kindness they experienced in Newfoundland travelled with them.

And that is why, decades later, the story of Gander, Newfoundland, and the people who welcomed the world continues to be remembered.

Because sometimes, in the darkest moments, humanity can still find a way to shine.

A Lead Station Attendant’s Memories of the Day Pearson Airport Stood Still

September 11, 2001.

There are certain days in your life that you will remember forever.

You remember where you were, who you were with, what you were doing—and sometimes, you can even remember exactly what you were thinking when you realized that the world had suddenly changed.

For me, that day was September 11, 2001, and I was at Toronto Pearson Airport, working as a Lead Station Attendant.

It started out like any other day.

The airport was operating normally. Aircraft were arriving and departing, ramp crews were doing their jobs, baggage was moving, and the usual hustle and bustle of Pearson was underway.

Nothing seemed unusual.

I remember completing a couple of flights and then heading into the crew room. By that time, several of the employees had gathered around the television.

Something terrible had happened in New York.

We watched the live coverage as the news reported that a jet had crashed into the World Trade Center.

At first, there was confusion.

Was it an accident?

How could a commercial jet have crashed into one of the towers?

We stood there watching the television, trying to understand what we were seeing.

Then suddenly, another airplane appeared on the television screen.

We watched as it crashed directly into the second tower.

For a moment, nobody said anything.

We just stared at the television.

That was the moment we all knew.

This wasn’t an accident.

Someone had attacked the United States.

And we were standing inside one of the world’s major international airports.

Everything changed almost immediately.

Pearson began shutting down.

Flights stopped departing.

The normal sounds of the airport seemed to disappear. Aircraft that were supposed to be leaving weren’t going anywhere. Gates became occupied by airplanes that suddenly had nowhere to go.

And then we received word that there were still airplanes in the air.

Those aircraft had been flying toward Toronto when the attacks happened and the American airspace was shut down.

Now they were being diverted to Pearson.

As a Lead Station Attendant, this was where the job suddenly became something completely different.

We had a job to do.

One by one, the aircraft began arriving.

They circled over the Toronto area before being cleared to land, and eventually they started touching down at Pearson.

Our job was to get them parked safely and deal with whatever came next.

The unusual thing was that some of these aircraft were types of airplanes I had never been trained on.

Normally, you know what equipment you’re dealing with. You know the aircraft. You know the procedures. You know where everything is supposed to go.

But this wasn’t a normal day.

We had airplanes arriving that weren’t supposed to be there, carrying passengers who weren’t supposed to be in Toronto.

There was no time to stand around and say, “I’ve never worked on that airplane before.”

We had to figure it out.

We worked together.

We watched what needed to be done, communicated with one another and used the experience we had gained over the years working around aircraft.

We improvised.

Aircraft were parked one after another.

Passengers began coming off the airplanes.

Thousands of people suddenly found themselves in a city they had never planned to visit, with no idea when they would be able to continue their journey.

Pearson had essentially become a refuge for stranded passengers.

And while all of this was happening, we were still doing our jobs.

As Lead Station Attendants, we were trying to keep the operation organized. We had to coordinate with crews, deal with aircraft, assist wherever we could and make sure things continued to move as smoothly as possible.

But underneath all of that, there was something else.

Fear.

We didn’t know what was going to happen next.

Were there going to be more attacks?

Was Pearson safe?

Were more airplanes going to be diverted?

Nobody had the answers.

And yet the people working on the ramp still had to go outside and do their jobs.

I remember looking around Pearson and realizing how strange everything had become.

An airport that was normally filled with the constant movement of airplanes had suddenly become almost eerily quiet.

Aircraft were parked everywhere.

There were no normal departures.

No routine schedule.

No sense of when things would return to normal.

For someone who had spent years working around airplanes, it was an unforgettable sight.

An airport full of airplanes—but hardly any of them moving.

Eventually, we began to understand just how serious the situation was.

The images on television were horrifying.

The two towers burning.

People running through the streets.

The smoke.

The devastation.

And then the realization that hundreds of people on those airplanes had simply been going to work, visiting family or travelling somewhere—just like passengers did every day at Pearson.

Nobody expected that morning to become history.

But it did.

September 11 also changed our jobs forever.

The aviation industry would never be the same.

Security procedures changed. Access to restricted areas changed. The way passengers travelled changed. The way airport employees looked at airplanes and security changed.

The innocence of aviation was gone.

Before 9/11, when you saw an airplane coming toward the gate, you thought about the work that needed to be done.

After 9/11, you couldn’t help but think about what had happened.

But perhaps the greatest lesson that day taught me was about the people who worked at Pearson.

When everything went wrong, people stepped up.

Ramp attendants, Lead Station Attendants, mechanics, baggage handlers, customer service employees, security personnel, airline crews, airport workers and countless others all came together.

Nobody cared what department you belonged to.

Nobody cared whose job it technically was.

There were airplanes that needed to be parked.

There were passengers who needed help.

There was an airport that suddenly had to deal with an unprecedented situation.

So we did what airport people have always done.

We went to work.

We figured it out.

We helped each other.

And we got the job done.

Years have passed since that September morning, but I can still picture that crew room.

I can still see everyone gathered around the television.

I can still remember watching that second airplane hit the second tower.

And I can still remember the silence that followed.

That was the moment we knew the world had changed.

So when someone asks me:

“Where were you on 9/11?”

I don’t have to think about the answer.

I was at Toronto Pearson Airport.

I was a Lead Station Attendant.

It began as an ordinary workday.

I did a couple of flights, went into the crew room and watched the news with my coworkers.

Then the second airplane hit.

Pearson shut down.

The airplanes that were already in the air began arriving.

Some were aircraft I had never been trained on.

But somehow, we managed.

We parked them.

We helped where we could.

We worked together.

And we waited.

We waited for the world to make sense again.

It was a day none of us could have prepared for—and a day none of us will ever forget.

September 11, 2001.

Where were you?

I was at Pearson.

And I was doing my job.

There was a time at Toronto Pearson when you could tell it was summer simply by looking around the ramp.

The airplanes were busy, the baggage never seemed to stop moving, and among the familiar faces of the regular ramp station attendants were a bunch of new, younger faces.

The summer students had arrived.

But many of them weren’t strangers to the airport.

They were the sons and daughters of the men and women who worked the ramp.

For these kids, the airport wasn’t some strange new workplace. They had grown up hearing their parents talk about it at the dinner table.

They knew all about the airplanes.

They knew Dad worked nights.

They knew Mom had to leave the house at some ungodly hour to catch a 6 a.m. shift.

They had heard stories about baggage, difficult passengers, crazy weather, delayed flights and the never-ending battle to get an aircraft out on time.

Now, for the summer, they were going to experience it themselves.

Welcome to the Ramp

The first day was usually pretty easy.

Orientation.

Uniform.

Safety shoes.

Identification badge.

A few instructions about what to do — and, more importantly, what not to do.

Then came the moment when the new student was taken out onto the ramp.

That’s when reality set in.

This wasn’t summer camp.

It was hot.

It was noisy.

It was dirty.

And there was always something that needed to be done.

The experienced station attendants knew the students were there to learn, but they also knew something else:

They were somebody’s kid.

And sometimes that made things interesting.

If your father was a veteran ramp employee, you didn’t get any special treatment.

In fact, you might have gotten the opposite.

Dad might have been the first one to say:

“Don’t embarrass me out here!”

And you knew exactly what that meant.

Work hard.

Pay attention.

Don’t stand around.

And whatever you do, don’t make the family name look bad.

The regular employees also had plenty of fun with the newcomers.

“Whose kid are you?”

“Oh, you’re Tony’s son? Well, now we know who we’re going to blame when something goes wrong!”

The students quickly discovered that working at the airport came with its own language.

They learned about belt loaders, baggage carts, containers, dollies and paymovers.

They learned what it meant when a lead station attendant started yelling for everyone to get the aircraft buttoned up.

They learned that an aircraft departure time wasn’t a suggestion.

And they learned very quickly that baggage is heavy.

The Airport Was the Family Business

For many of these young people, the airport became almost like a family business.

Dad worked the ramp.

Mom might have worked in baggage or another department.

An uncle worked on the aircraft.

A cousin worked in the terminal.

And now the kids were working there too.

You could walk through the employee areas and hear:

“That’s Joe’s son.”

“That’s Mary’s daughter.”

“He’s working Zone 5 this summer.”

“Her father has been here for twenty years.”

The airport was a small world.

Everybody seemed to know everybody.

And everybody seemed to know whose kid you were.

Some students were just looking for a summer job and a little spending money.

Others were fascinated by aviation.

They loved being around the airplanes and couldn’t believe they were actually getting paid to be there.

And then there were those who discovered something much bigger.

They discovered they liked the airport.

Dad’s Old Work Stories Suddenly Made Sense

After a few weeks, something funny happened.

The students started understanding what their parents had been talking about all those years.

When Dad came home complaining about working in the rain, they understood.

When Mom talked about how busy the ramp had been, they understood.

When their parents said, “You wouldn’t believe how much baggage we had today,” they finally understood.

They were living it.

They were also discovering that the people their parents worked with weren’t just coworkers.

They were friends.

They were the people who had shared the freezing mornings, the blazing summer afternoons, the snowstorms, the mechanical problems, the delays and the countless aircraft turnarounds.

The students became part of that world — even if only for a few months.

Then Came Labour Day

The summer always seemed to disappear faster than expected.

Suddenly, it was Labour Day weekend.

The students were getting ready to go back to school.

High school.

College.

University.

Their summer uniforms were about to be put away.

The ramp crew knew what was coming.

The young faces would disappear, at least until next summer.

Some would return.

Some wouldn’t.

A few would discover that the airport wasn’t for them.

But others would be back the following summer — and the summer after that.

And every once in a while, one of those summer students would eventually say:

“I think I’m going to make this my career.”

And that’s exactly what happened to some of them.

The summer job became a full-time job.

The kid became an employee.

And eventually, that employee might be standing on the ramp years later, watching another young student arrive for his first summer.

Only this time, the young student might be his own son or daughter.

Passing It Down

That’s what made those summer students different.

They weren’t just temporary help.

They were part of the airport family.

They were the second generation learning the same trade their parents had learned.

They were discovering the pride that came with seeing an aircraft pushed back, engines start and the flight depart safely.

And they were learning something their parents already knew:

Working the ramp wasn’t glamorous.

But there was something special about it.

You worked outside in every kind of weather.

You got dirty.

You got tired.

You sometimes got yelled at.

You worked weekends and holidays.

But at the end of the day, you knew you had been part of something.

You had helped move an airplane.

You had helped get people home.

And you had worked alongside people you could count on.

For many of those kids, the airport was more than just a summer job.

It was where they spent their summers growing up.

And for their parents, there was a certain pride in watching their kids put on the uniform and walk onto the ramp for the first time.

They weren’t just bringing their kids to work.

They were giving them a glimpse into a world that had been such a big part of their own lives.

Then September arrived.

The students headed back to school.

The ramp returned to its regular routine.

But everyone knew that somewhere in a classroom, one of those young summer employees was probably thinking about the airport.

And maybe wondering how many days were left until next summer.

Because once you’ve worked the ramp…

it’s hard to stay away.

“TRUMP & VANCE — YOU WANT A FIGHT? PICK ON SOMEONE YOUR OWN SIZE!”

TORONTO — For months, Canadians have been listening to Donald Trump and J.D. Vance lecture Canada about trade, tariffs, borders, energy and just about everything else under the sun.

But what if Doug Ford finally decided:

ENOUGH IS ENOUGH!

Imagine the Ontario Premier walking into a press conference, putting both hands on the podium and staring directly into the camera.

“Donald. J.D.

I’ve listened to you guys talk about Canada long enough.

You say we’re taking advantage of America?

You say America doesn’t need Canada?

You say Canada needs the United States?

Well, I’ve got news for you boys.

You might want to check your shopping list!”

💥 “WHO NEEDS WHO?”

Ford pulls out a giant map of North America.

“Let’s see here.

Canadian oil.

Canadian electricity.

Canadian steel.

Canadian aluminum.

Canadian minerals.

Canadian lumber.

Canadian agricultural products.

Canadian auto parts.

And a whole lot of other Canadian stuff your industries depend on.

Does any of that sound familiar?”

Ford pauses.

“That’s right.

You’re buying it from us.”

🍁 “J.D., STOP WHINING!”

Ford turns his attention to Vance.

“And J.D., buddy…

You keep talking about Canada like we’re some little country hiding behind America.

We’re not.

We’re your neighbour.

And here’s something about neighbours:

You don’t constantly insult the guy next door and then knock on his door asking to borrow his tools.”

Ford leans closer to the microphone.

“Especially when he owns the tools.”

TRUMP FIRES BACK!

Trump supposedly watches the press conference from Washington.

“Canada is taking advantage of us!”

Ford immediately responds:

“Taking advantage?

Donald, you want Canadian energy.

You want Canadian minerals.

You want Canadian products.

You want Canadian markets.

Sounds to me like you’re the one doing the shopping!”

🧊 FORD’S FINAL WARNING

Ford takes a sip of coffee.

“Look, Donald.

Canada doesn’t want a fight with America.

We’ve got better things to do.

But if you want to keep throwing punches at Canada, eventually somebody is going to throw one back.”

Ford smiles.

“And unlike you…

we don’t need a golf cart to get around the rink.”

The room reportedly goes silent.

Then Ford delivers the knockout line:

“America might be bigger than Canada.

You’ve got more people.

You’ve got more money.

You’ve got more politicians.

You’ve’ve even got more television channels talking about yourselves.

But we’re Canadian.

We don’t need to tell everybody we’re great every five minutes.

We just get the job done.”

Ford walks away from the podium.

Then turns around.

“One more thing, Donald.”

“What?”

“Keep talking about making Canada the 51st state.

Because every time you do…

you make another Canadian decide we’d rather stay the 1st.”

CANADA: 1

TRUMP & VANCE: STILL TALKING

END OF TRANSMISSION.