by Howard Portnoy
Today is my birthday. It is an anniversary I share with major league baseball greats Randy Johnson and Roger Maris, golf legend Arnold Palmer, and TV personality Bill O’Reilly.
Another way in which the living members of this accidental fraternity are linked is in what our special day has become a somber prelude to. On Sept. 11, 2010, I recounted my recollections of the day the world changed. Writing at Hot Air, I recalled the events of that particular morning:
I was sleeping in when my wife roused me just before 9 o’clock to tell me that an airplane had crashed into the World Trade Center. My first thought was that a small private aircraft had drifted off course and collided with the towering structure, much like the accident in 1945 when a B-25 plowed into the Empire State Building, destroying part of the 79th floor. Then a short while later, my wife came back in as I was dressing to tell me that a second plane had struck, and I knew it was no accident.
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