World Trade Center as seen from the International Space Station on September 11, 2001. To download this NASA image, click here.
Every generation has their “red-letter date” when people remember exactly what they were doing and where they were when they heard the news. For Tom Brokaw’s “Greatest Generation,” it was December 7, 1941, when the Japanese Imperialist forces attacked the US Navy base at Pearl Harbor, Hawaii. President Franklin Roosevelt declared it a “day of infamy.” The United States had no choice but to shed its isolationist stance and enter World War II by sending troops to both the European and Pacific fronts.
For Boomers, their date was November 22, 1963. Although I was not around during World War II, I do remember vividly the day that President John F. Kennedy was assassinated. It was late morning and I was in 5th grade in Los Angeles. The teacher from next door came into our classroom and whispered something into the ear of my teacher, Miss Plested. They both started crying and that sure got the kids’ attention because we had never seen our teachers cry before. Miss Plested announced the dreadful news, and we were stunned.
The principal cancelled classes for the rest of the day and sent us all home for lunch. President Kennedy was my hero and I was stifling my emotions in front of my classmates. But by the time I arrived home I suddenly burst into tears and ran to my bedroom. My father happened to be home that morning, and both he and mom rushed over to my side. They heard the news, of course, and mom cradled me in her arms.
September 11, 2001. It was a beautiful fall morning in Portland, Oregon, and I opened my balcony window to take in the downtown view as I got ready to drive to work. As per my custom, I turned on the television to get weather and traffic reports, and there was the World Trade Center in New York City, with one tower on fire. I was a little groggy and not fully awake as I tried to comprehend what was going on. Suddenly, the cameras focused on a jetliner that was zooming dangerously low. As it crashed into the second tower, the newscaster exclaimed three simple words that I think summed it up for all of America: “Oh, my God . . .”
Writers and pundits better than me have tried to find and express the meaning behind it all. On the two red-letter dates of my lifetime, I was struck by the unity that followed in tragedy’s wake. For a short time, the world seemed to be one as we mourned the passing of President Kennedy or as we gathered in our churches, synagogues and mosques to pray during the week of 9/11. Alas, this unity was short-lived as the 1960s unfolded into more tumult and war. Strangely, this current decade has experienced a similar unfolding.
On this eighth anniversary of 9/11, let us remember those who have died or who have suffered: the victims and those brave police and firefighters who rushed to rescue them and also died trying. I pray that the unity that we glimpsed that week may someday become a lasting legacy. Perhaps that might be the meaning behind it all.
Pope Benedict's Prayer at Ground Zero
Grant Us Peace
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I was working the day shift at my fire department. On the way to the station, I heard (mid-conversation) the morning DJs talking about a plane hitting the WTC. As one who enjoys MS Flight Simulator, I thought they were talking about computer games. When I got to the station, everyone was watching TV. They should have been in the garage checking out the trucks for the day. I asked what was going on, and one of the guys simply said, "sit down and shut up". From there, we watched the drama unfold. My wife had just flown in that area the day before.
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