If you’re of a certain age, you remember where you were when JFK was shot.  Or when the Challenger exploded.  But, for most people, time literally stood still on September 11^th, 2001.

I remember my phone ringing as I was walking out the door to go to work.  I cannot – for the life of me – remember who it was that called and said, “Ohmigod, turn on the TV!”  When I flipped on Good Morning America, the first plane had already slammed in to the World Trade Center.  I watched in disbelief as the second plane crashed in to the second tower on live television.

I headed in to work at the TV station knowing full well this would be the most surreal day of my life.  The newsroom — which is typically a hubbub of activity — was almost pin-drop quiet.  Spooky quiet.

Every television monitor had several people crowded around watching it.  I escaped to the graphics department to gain my bearings and saw the first tower fall.

The rest of the day was a huge blur after that.

Not being a newsie, it was odd getting sent out to cover stories that day.  Within an hour or so, there was a line wrapped around the block at the Blood Center of Kansas City.  People who felt helpless in this situation just wanted to help in any way they could.  The Blood Center was completely overwhelmed, but donors waited for hours upon hours to give the gift of life.  I remember asking one gentleman why he was there.   “I want to help.  Something.  Anything. And I don’t know what else to do,” he said.  No one said much of anything – everyone was transfixed on the two tiny TVs doling out information.

After that story, we got word that there was a run on local gas stations. Panic and uncertainty meant hoarding at grocery stores.  And I went from seeing lines at the Blood Center to astronomical lines at the gas pumps.  Cars were stretched as far as the eye could see.  Several unscrupulous convenience store owners jacked up prices to well over $5 per gallon.  Didn’t matter.  People were doing whatever it took to fill up their tanks.

“I hear America is running out of gas,” said one woman I interviewed.  I remember standing in the middle of the road doing a stand-up – and commenting that on one side of the street gas was $2.25 a gallon … and directly across the street it was $4.99 a gallon.  The cars were fifty cars deep at both stations.  The shop owners were eventually charged and convicted of price gouging.

Two small stories that showed the good, the bad and the ugly in people that day.

I didn’t leave work that night until about 7pm to have dinner with a friend.  There wasn’t a single customer in the restaurant.  The servers crowded around the big screen TV soaking it all in.  The entire country just wanted to be home with their families.  I almost drove home to Des Moines just to be with my parents.  In hindsight, I probably should have.  But I felt a sense of pride, obligation and reverence to stay in town and do whatever I could to help my fellow news-folks cover the tragic events of that day.

Celebrity style critic Steven Cojocaru is a fashion maven. He’s also my hero, a self-proclaimed crown prince of clothing. But more than anything else, Cojo is a survivor. He’s a walking, breathing testament to the power of medicine – having undergone not one, but two, kidney transplants.

“This tragedy really turned my life upside down,” Cojo said during an interview with me yesterday. “I persevered.” (Watch the interview here.  I’m not sure at what point I lost control of the interview — probably within the first eighteen seconds, I’m guessing.)

The Canadian clotheshorse looks good (“I’ve lost 80lbs!”), sounds good and talks faster than any human being I’ve ever met … and that’s saying a lot. And when he throws around words like “living, breathing miracle” … he means it.

Cojo, if you remember, got his start as a fashion editor and eventually ended up doing color commentary at red carpet events. He’s been splashed all over The Today Show and TV stalwart Entertainment Tonight. 

He was in town for a fundraising event called Fashion’s Night Out – which was started a couple years ago by the one and only Anna Wintour of Vogue publishing fame.  It’s a nationwide excuse to get out and stimulate the economy via retail therapy. And many of the events are tied-in to local charities. Think of it as shopping for a cause.

The thing about Cojo is he’s wildly inappropriate and irreverent all the time. I had to ratchet up the obnoxious factor just to appear like I wasn’t in a coma.  He loves to slam celebs who think they’ve got a good look going on …  but fail miserably. Who does he truly enjoy ripping on? Duh. Mariah Carey.

And don’t even get him STARTED on reality stars. “They are RUINING the red carpet,” he exasperated. He then launched on a tirade about the Kardashian sisters. It was a no-holds barred stream of thought that is probably still hanging out in outer space somewhere. Suffice to say, they make fashion fodder for him.

Last night during a meet-and-greet I watched as he smiled, glad-handed and chatted up every person he bumped in to. He was gracious to a fault. And quick with a quip – even about his illness, “I was very ill … I saw the light,” he said. “But then God said, ‘Steven, there are so many badly dressed people in Hollywood – like Christina Aguilera!  Go back!  It’s NOT your time.’”

He even had several costume changes throughout the day. Mercifully, I got props from him on my outfit. A very smart Armani suit … with a turquoise striped shirt and tie. Had he dissed on my ensemble, I would have been crushed. I often dress to impress, but rarely dress to KILL anymore. It was a hoot tagging along with him. I must have had hundreds of pictures taken with him last night.

“I have had more pictures taken with you … than with my own mother!” Cojo joked. It’s funny … because it’s probably true.