Sept. 11, 2001 remains etched in my memory as a spectacular day.

The sun shone brightly, temperature and humidity hovered somewhere in the “perfect” range. So perfect, a run in Delaware Park seemed very much in order No problem on this day — Primary Day. And since I was slated to cover election results that evening, the morning was all mine.

Back home, I settled onto the front porch to read that morning’s edition of The Buffalo News, where I had worked as a reporter since 1982.

That’s when the phone rang, and my wife — Ann — suggested I should turn on the TV. An airplane had struck the World Trade Center.

“Some off course, little Cessna,” I thought.

Then the second airliner struck the adjoining tower, and it became clear the nation was under attack.

As a reporter, I felt helpless. I should be in the newsroom, I thought, helping my comrades gather as much information as possible for the stories that would fill our paper for days to come. But the city desk assured me my services would be most appreciated during the night shift for which I was already slated.

Late that afternoon, I reported to a still buzzing newsroom — feeding on the energy of a big story. Managing Editor Ed Cuddhy was heading home around 7 p.m. when he stopped by a group of reporters.

“Quite a day,” he said. “Quite a day.”

I was then dispatched to Buffalo Niagara International Aip[prt, where I was asked to chronicle the scene at a normally busy but now shuttered air terminal. Here’s what I wrote for the morning edition of The News:

Tuesday night, the airport stood lonely and virtually deserted, like no one had ever seen before, and like no one is likely to ever see again.

The normally bustling facility was at a standstill. No cabs on the arrivals level, no baggage moving on carousels, empty restaurants and shops.

Outside, a solitary Transit Authority policeman was the only human being in sight. And on the tarmac, more than 50 silent aircraft were lined up like used cars.

Indeed, there was no use for a facility that normally accommodates about 10,000 passengers each day.

“We’ve never seen anything like this,” airport manager Robert E. Stone said as he strolled through the silent terminal. “There’s an eeriness here — that’s the only word I can use.”

A postscript: For weeks I had been preparing an extensive story on the 100th anniversary of President William McKinley’s assasination in Buffalo. I conducted extensive interviews with Buffalo historians, and traveled to the Adirondacks to retrace Theodore Roosevelt’s wild ride down Mt. Marcy  to an awaiting train at North Creek, and then his record setting dash across the state to take the oath of office at Buffalo’s Wilcox Mansion. It was slated to run on the 100th anniversary of the president’s death — Sept. 14.

But that day produced a paper still dominated on every page by the terrorist attacks that claimed almost 3,000 lives. My story — maybe one of the best I ever penned — had to appear that day given the anniversary. But it got relegated to the bottom of the local page, what we called the “trick page.”

“I’m so sorry,” editor Margaret Sullivan told me. “We had such plans for the front page today — and then this happened.”

“This” turned out to be the biggest news story of our lives. And that is what the front page is for.

Bob McCarthy is a political analyst for WKBW-TV,

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