September 11, 2001
Steve Miller Ate a Scone, Sheila Moody Did Paperwork, Edmund Glazer Boarded a Plane: Portrait of a Day That Began in Routine and Ended in Ashes
By David Maraniss
Washington Post Staff Writer
Sunday, September 16, 2001; Page A01
A few minutes before 8, Tuesday morning. The day had broken clean and clear and sweet on the East Coast. Summer was over mentally, if not officially. It was time to get to work, and people were up and at it. The saddest and most relentlessly horrific day in modern American existence started in the most ordinary ways.
American Airlines Flight 11 had backed away from Gate 26 of Terminal B at Boston’s Logan Airport and was rolling toward the runway for a six-hour flight to Los Angeles. Edmund Glazer, in Seat 4A, first class, heard the flight attendant instruct the passengers to put away their cell phones and computers, but could not resist punching in his wife Candy’s number anyway. He’d left her in the darkness of their Wellesley home and driven away in their black SUV. He was a top financial guy for a high-tech firm, and though business was rough, life seemed good. He’d lost 40 pounds. He and Candy were feeling close. He was on board. "Hi, hon. I made it," he said.