"This is the Captain. We've been ordered by the U.S. government to get on the ground immediately. We've just been informed that a hijacked plane has crashed into the World Trade Center. I'm going to be busy for the next few minutes, so I'll talk to you when we get on the ground."

Our captain, Tom Carroll of Continental Airlines, spoke with calm and authority. I perceived urgency, but it was in the meaning of his words, and not in his voice.

Within minutes, we were sweeping to the ground in the furthest eastern reach of Newfoundland. From 34,000 feet, we swung over remote lakes and forests. I was certain we were going to be landing on some weed grown, cracked, runway (not knowing that this famous Second World War airport is approved as an alternate landing site for the space shuttle).

Canada had every reason to believe that planes landing at their airfields may have been flying bombs, like those in the U .S. Yet they allowed us to land anyway. It was a courageous decision. Appleton Mayor Derm Flynn said, "Every plane was suspect. But we thought it best to mobilize our community to provide assistance - it was the obvious decision."

All Americans will grow to appreciate Canada's courage, but right now the people of America are alternating between grief and anger. However, those of us still on the ground here in Newfoundland, two days later, are already impressed - forever - with the courage of the government and hospitality of its people.

They have provided us with a safe place. Rather than being cold, hungry and tired, we are relatively warm, very well fed and rested. And this has allowed us to experience the shock, grief, and anger, so necessary in the long process of acceptance and healing.

We were the second of 37 planes to land. There are 7,000 passengers in 24 American owned planes and 13 foreign. Not since the Second World War had so many planes landed in this airport (the only crime problem the area had was during our first night when people climbed the security gates at the airport to take photos).

The worst part of the wait was knowing little about the disaster.

Emotions wore thin, but through it all there was moderation. After we'd been in the plane for 12 hours, I heard a woman near me. "How can they leave us here so long?" she said. She was sweating, and her movements were choppy and erratic. I wondered if she was slipping into shock. A man next to her leaned his head and quietly spoke to her for a minute or two. Then she said, "You're right, you're right."

Some passengers had cellular phones and contacted their families, but not until 10 hours into our wait did New York State Trooper George Vitale begin passing his cellphone around. People from Ireland (our origin) to New York (our destination) made first contact with loved ones from Officer Vitale's phone.

I stretched my legs, standing near the cockpit, and found most of the crew, along with Officer Vitale, crammed into the cockpit. They huddled around a small radio to hear a reassuring speech from President Bush. People's references to Pearl Harbor rang true as I and another passenger huddled into the cockpit doorway to listen to the president.

FINALLY, SLEEP

Small groups squeezed into the nooks of the 757. Men politely argued about politics. People I thought were together turned out to have met on the plane. Relationships were building. Soon after, the plane quieted for the first time in 19 hours, and everyone slept.

At about 2 a.m., the captain quietly woke us. Customs agents were ready for us. Twenty one hours after getting on the plane, we were getting off. After the final customs check we walked into a well lit, large terminal area. A woman touched my forearm, smiled, and said, "Welcome to Gander. Right this way"

She guided me to a food table. I lagged for a moment, much of my energy left behind in the plane.

"Can I use the bathroom?" I asked meekly, pointing at the men's room. The security operation had worked on me - I made no sudden moves.

The women at the table to which I had directed my question laughed, and one said gently, "Of course!"

At 3 a.m., 20 miles from the Gander Airport, the Appleton Community Centre blazed all its lights. I walked in slowly. The large room was warm. Bedding was neatly piled in one corner. Local people with nametags stood near a kitchen - us looking at them, them at us. One woman walked up.

"Welcome. Please come in. We have coffee and food."

She pointed to two large coffee pots with wisps of steam slowly rising out. On every table was a bowl of fruit. I enjoyed walking by the coffee pots and the workers. They were all volunteers who paid for all food, water, extra bedding, and much more themselves.

The welcome worked on our group. One woman gasped and started crying at the images on the TV. The room stayed busy throughout the night. Many slept but many were too wired to sleep. The TV was always on.

TWO DAYS LATER

Mayor Flynn and his counterparts in other local governments here have had to make many logistical decisions without guidance from the higher levels of government. The Canadian government is dealing with closed airports, 15-mile border backups, and most painfully, Canadians killed in New York, Washington and Pennsylvania.

Like towns under siege, the local people have devised ways to get things done. Moms and Dads use their vans to drive us to the library. Men and boys on all-terrain vehicles provide free tours of the local lake. Danny and Cheryl Paul accept all types of currency at Riteway, their small grocery store. And there's no price gouging.

Mayor Flynn takes a call from a local government figure, while showing me how to use the washer and drier in his house. His wife, Diane, who I thought was sleeping in, is down at the community centre cooking breakfast for us. Mayor Flynn leaves six of us, strangers only two days ago, alone to watch CNN in his beautiful home.

The librarian, Michelle Stuckless, who chauffeured me from the community centre to the library, checks on me every two hours to make sure I'm OK.

The word is that many of us will get on our planes at 3 a.m. tomorrow morning, three days after arriving like a summer snowstorm. The school that is hosting another few hundred travelers is having a barbecue tonight. The local men drive through the neighbourhood, taking grills from back yards. "They won't mind," one says.

I think I can speak for all Americans: thank you, Newfoundland.

Source: The Telegram, September 15, 2001