was loading up a moving van on Martha's Vineyard the morning of September 11 when the first jet hit the World Trade Center. As soon as I heard the news I tried to call my wife, Beth, who was 150 kilometers away at our house near Boston. No dice: my desk telephone could not place a call off-island. I tried my cell phone: it didn't work either. I desperately needed to communicate with my wife. If Boston were to be attacked, or if there were going to be more incidents in New York, then it made sense for me to stay put on the Vineyard and for her to gather up our three young children and join me. If the attacks were localized to New York City, then I wanted to return to Boston. Realizing that any attempt at a voice connection would probably be in vain, I typed a brief e-mail message on my laptop and clicked "send." A moment later Beth's pager beeped and the message appeared. She pecked out a response on its tiny keyboard, and less than a minute later I had my answer: come back to Boston.
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