They Were All I Could Think About

This past Thursday evening I attended a banquet organized by the School of Engineering to celebrate Engineers' Week. The speaker was Leslie Robertson (right), structural engineer for many skyscraper projects, including the World Trade Center in New York City. He showed pictures of his projects all over the world, talking about various aspects and approaches to structural engineering. He also spoke of the ways in which he and his team have dealt with the funny quirks of people involved with these projects, including a city mayor in China who nixed a project because there were large X's in the building design--X is a symbol of death, and it just wouldn't do. Robertson's talk was quite fascinating, and our students gathered around afterwards to get a chance to talk with him.

On Friday morning I left on the first flight for Seattle, where I had a day-long meeting to attend. Checking in at our little airport's counter, I looked over and saw Mr. Robertson on his way through security screening. The TSA agent, a husky white guy with close-cropped hair, had taken Mr. Robertson to the side and had him standing on the padded mat with his arms out while he got the "wand" waved around him and was patted down. He stood quietly and patiently, putting up with the "third degree" even though he'd commented in his talk the night before, "Any idiot can get weapons past the airport security; it's all just a system to make us travelers feel safer."

After I put my stuff in the bins to go through the scanner, I stepped through the walk-through device, got my "all clear" signal from the lady who'd beckoned me forward, and went to pick up my belongings and put myself back together. The TSA guy who'd worked with Mr. Robertson was there.

"Excuse me," I said. I just wanted to let you know something. You know that older man you were scanning a minute ago? He was the lead structural engineer responsible for building the World Trade Center."

The guy's eyes got big. "Really?!" he said. "Wow."

I didn't drive my point home, but I wanted to. "Hey buddy. The reason you're working this job this morning is because the building he created suffered attack. Don't you find it ironic that you were giving him the third degree? Seems like the designer should get a break after somebody torpedoed his design."

The irony has hung with me as I thought of the scenario several times since then.

Last Thursday night, during the question and answer time following the presentation, one of our engineering faculty asked Mr. Robertson, "After the World Trade Center was hit and you were watching the pictures before it fell, what were you thinking would happen?"

Mr. Robertson was very quiet, and I started to wonder if he would answer. I think he was gathering his emotions together, six and half years after the event. Finally, he spoke. "As far I as knew, there were 20,000 to 40,000 people in that building. They were all I could think about." And then he was silent again.

You could have heard a pin drop. That was the end of the answer.

I have thought several times since then of a beautiful little world in this universe that was well-engineered, torpedoed by sin and by our own abuse of each other and of the environment He designed. I've thought of the lack of recognition, questioning and indignities the Designer has suffered since then, in a different and heart- breaking way. And I've thought of how He might answer that question, "What were you thinking?"

"There were people. They were all I could think about."