Twenty-four hours after the attacks of September 11, there were still passengers sitting aboard aircraft on the tarmac in Gander.
Most of us remember the images from New York.
The smoke.
The collapsing towers.
The chaos.
What we often forget is that thousands of people spent those same hours trapped inside airplanes, unable to leave, unable to reach home, and unable to fully understand what had happened.
For some passengers, the waiting lasted nearly thirty hours.
By then, there wasnât much left to do except make the best of it.
And thatâs exactly what they did.
On Continental Flight 5 from London to Houston, the mood inside the aircraft gradually shifted from fear to something unexpected.
Acceptance.
The passengers knew people had died.
They knew history had changed.
But they also knew complaining wouldnât help.
So they talked.
They shared stories.
They made friends.
And eventually the flight attendants unlocked the liquor carts and told everyone to help themselves.
Some passengers gathered near the cockpit listening to news reports.
Others gathered near the back of the plane where impromptu bartenders poured drinks and strangers became acquaintances.
For one strange night, a stranded jumbo jet became an international cocktail party parked on a runway in Newfoundland.
Among the passengers was a young woman from Texas named Deb Farrar.
She had never travelled outside the United States before.
Now she found herself stranded in a place she had never heard of.
A place called Gander.
She made new friends.
A Nigerian woman named Winnie.
A British-born woman from Zimbabwe named Lana.
An outgoing businessman named Bill Cash.
An unlikely collection of people brought together by circumstances none of them could have imagined.
When the passengers finally left the aircraft, they werenât taken to Gander.
They were sent thirty miles down the road to the small town of Gambo.
Population: roughly 2,300.
By the time they arrived, the people of Gambo were ready.
There was hot tea.
Fresh sandwiches.
A big pot of beef stew.
Friendly faces.
Warm welcomes.
The kind of reception that was quickly becoming a Newfoundland trademark.
After almost thirty hours on planes and buses, Deb and her new friends decided they needed some fresh air.
And maybe a drink.
So they set out on foot in search of the townâs only pub.
That decision led to one of my favourite moments in the entire story.
As they walked down the road, a van pulled alongside them.
The driver rolled down his window.
âAre you the plane people?â he asked.
When they nodded, he invited them to his home for coffee.
Now put yourself in their shoes.
Youâre stranded.
Youâre exhausted.
Youâre in a town youâve never heard of.
And a complete stranger in a van invites you to his house.
Every horror movie ever made says this is a terrible idea.
So they politely declined.
A little later they discovered the pub was still miles away.
The heat was rising.
The walk suddenly seemed less appealing.
And the invitation started sounding a lot better.
So they turned around and found the house.
George Neal and his wife, Edna, welcomed them inside as though they were old friends.
Coffee was ready.
Conversation flowed.
The house felt warm and safe.
For a few moments, the passengers relaxed.
For a few moments, the world felt normal again.
Then they noticed the television.
Until that moment, most of them had managed to keep the tragedy at armâs length.
They had heard reports.
They knew something terrible had happened.
But they hadnât truly seen it.
Not yet.
Now, standing in a strangerâs living room in rural Newfoundland, they watched the footage.
The towers.
The destruction.
The smoke.
The devastation.
The reality.
The mood changed instantly.
Deb broke down in tears.
Winnie fled to the bathroom crying.
The others stood silently.
Shocked.
Horrified.
Speechless.
For nearly two days they had been suspended in a strange bubble of uncertainty.
Now that bubble burst.
The tragedy was no longer something happening somewhere else.
It became real.
Painfully real.
Thatâs what strikes me most about this chapter.
Not the plane.
Not the drinks.
Not even the kindness.
It was the moment reality finally caught up.
The passengers arrived in Newfoundland as travellers.
For a brief time they became companions.
Then, standing together in a strangerâs home, they shared something else.
Grief.
And grief has a way of bringing people together.
The people of Gambo couldnât change what had happened in New York.
Nobody could.
But they could offer a place to sit.
A cup of coffee.
A shoulder.
A quiet room where strangers didnât have to face the horror alone.
And thatâs exactly what they did.
The passengers had arrived as strangers.
The people of Newfoundland welcomed them as guests.
Now, for the first time, they were beginning to share the same burden.
The same sadness.
The same disbelief.
The same heartbreak.
The friendships that would make this story famous were beginning to take root.
But first, everyone needed a moment to absorb what had happened.
A moment to grieve.
A moment to breathe.
A moment to understand.
For now, at least, the party was over.
For five days, a small Newfoundland town became home to thousands of strangers.
This is their story.
And it is Canadaâs story too.
Next in the series: Part 4 â Friends in Unlikely Places
Missed the beginning? Read Part 1 here: The Day the World Came to Town
#TheWorldCameToTown #GanderSeries #GeezerWiseSays
Source: The Day the World Came to Town by Jim DeFede.
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As a young girl, I spent 3 years living in Bay Bulls, Newfoundland. My memories are of having the safety and freedom to roam the surrounding hillls, ride buses into St.John by myself, and walking through the village alone. My parents never worried about me being harmed, it would have been unheard for an adult to harm a little girl in that community. A typical small Newfoundland village. The kindness and acceptance that I experienced during those years, in that quiet place, shaped the rest of my life, and I am now 78. That was normal behaviour for Newfoundlanders, and the people on those planes could not have landed in a better place. I have always felt that Newfoundlers have a special place in Heaven. Your words, Fred, just magnify to the world what I have always known. Thank you for writing this story. Liz
Lovin' it!