As with the JFK assassination, the shooting of John Lennon, and Princess Diana’s car-crash death, I remember exactly where I was and what I was doing when I the heard the news of the attack on the Twin Towers in NYC on 9/11/01.
My husband was on a business trip and he called me that morning, all flustered, and said, “Turn on the TV!”
Huh? I was sleepy, flipped on the set. The biggest W*T*F ever.
And life will never be the same for Americans. How could this have happened to us? In our own backyard?
I am not a violent person and I can’t stand guns, but if I knew for sure all the people (still alive) who were responsible for the murderous airplane attacks and they were all hunkered down in a cave playing cards, and I happened to be in the same neighborhood in Afghanistan with an AK 47 hidden under my burqa, I would bust up that party for sure. I think my last words on earth would be something like, “Hey, fellas. This is for New York City and America!!!!!!” Ratatattat, ratatattat…. Hopefully I could take out a dozen or so before the certain retaliation of gunfire.
OK, I have an over-active imagination….
On 9/21/01 I watched the 9/11 memorial concert on TV, a fundraising event for victims of the tragedy, with rock stars and movie stars. I remember Bruce Springsteen’s prayerful City of Ruins (“C’mon, rise up! C’mon rise up!”) and Neil Young’s haunting version of John Lennon’s Imagine. But my favorite was Tom Petty’s defiant Won’t Back Down. (“You can stand me up to the gates of hell and I won’t back down.” Great sentiment.)
In the spring of 2002 I attended a conference in NYC. I had been there a few years earlier, but this time I detected a noticeable change in the atmosphere. It was quieter—the people, their demeanor, the air, the activity. Subdued almost. NYC was still in shock.
On the way into the city from the airport, you could see the twin beams of light illuminating the night sky. On the side of the freeway there was an electronic billboard with the names of the dead scrolling across it in yellow letters.
All over the city, there were photos and notes and memorabilia of lost Americans—on poles, walls, and big boards in Grand Central Station. Some of the signs said “Missing” or “Have you seen…?” But of course those people were most likely dead. So many lost loved ones! Horribly sad.
My husband and I ventured to lower Manhattan to see Ground Zero up close. Construction had begun and the immediate area was blockaded. But you could see through the fencing the giant hole where the buildings once stood. It was mammoth and sickening and sad.
I remember the one-year anniversary of 9/11. I attended a San Francisco Giant’s baseball game. There was a memorial ceremony with a band and fireworks. It was well done but still sad.
On the five year anniversary I watched the tributes on TV. The reading of the names got to me. So many names. So sad for the families and friends.
I finally took down the two posters of the NYC skyline with the demolished smoking Twin Towers I had hanging in my office. Too sad.
Today is the 8th anniversary of 9/11. I did not know anyone personally who died on that day. But my girlfriend Marie’s sister lost her husband Salvatore who was a FDNY hero. Mayor Giuliani spoke at his funeral. Marie sent me the program. It included a laminated photo of Sal in his fireman dress uniform. He looked so proud and handsome.
So today I’m thinking about Sal’s widow and two boys—and the families of the (almost) 3000 others. Hope they are doing well. And that their sadness has lessened.
