People always remark on the blueness of the sky, on how perfect a Tuesday morning it was. It was unfathomable. The stark contrast between the beauty of the day and the terror that was only eight miles away made it difficult to figure out how to proceed. “People were in the West End, people were playing soccer on South Field,” Mike Mirer recalls. “As the day wears on and nothing else happens, it’s just sort of hard to square those two ideas. And yet they’re both completely present.” For editors of the Spectator, the routine of the board meeting offered some relief.
