On September 11, 2001, I worked six blocks from the World Trade Center.
I felt the impact of both airplanes. It was nothing like we had seen in our lifetimes. I walked down 21 flights of stairs to a gorgeous fall day on Bowling Green.
I will never forget 100 stories of concrete and drywall falling to the ground with a thunder-like sound piercing blue sky into darkness. We ran onto a Staten Island Ferry boat and left Manhattan Island for the outer borough.
I returned to Mineola the following day when the bridges re-opened and my co-worker drove each of us to our destinations. National pride united us. We knew the enemy. And we vanquished them over time.
Oddly enough, as I look back over these nearly 20 years, fond memories remain amidst the disaster. The remaining children’s sized life jackets we took as we stepped aboard the vessel (as if we were sinking and these tiny rubber duck like floats would save us).
The atypical appetizers we had as we watched the tragedy of the day unfold (the only food our newly minted American host had on hand) the barbeque we had that night from a charcoal grill left behind by the previous owners (which immediately introduced our host to picnic culture).
We sipped adult beverages on the deck as we watched the ashes rise across the river like a campfire. Calls made to loved ones who were uncertain of our whereabouts (on a landline phone), the pictures we took of six-foot-plus men in pajama gear (from the wardrobe of a five-foot eight-inch host)…the kinship we share each year via email like a birthday card with the adorning ‘good night‘ photo (despite the fact we have all gone different ways).
A friendship that will never be broken. And the knowledge we lost no one close to us. We were in this together and we all got through it.
Most important from that day are the perspectives of my children. They were 7, 10 and 13 years of age at the time. They had been to my office before. They knew the proximity to the Trade Center.
My eldest daughter left a poignant voice mail from the school office looking for me that, to this day, I wish I could have saved. My middle son missed his sports. My youngest son missed all kinds of television.
But in the grand scheme of things, they never captured the sheer gravity of the situation. And after all these years, they are relatively unphased by the most formidable attack on this nation’s soil. It is a history lesson to that generation. Unless they were victims of a tragic loss. The resilience of children. God Bless Them.
Until now….
It is mid-April 2020, and for all I know, I work and live six feet from an invisible enemy.
It has no known end or solution. It is called a pandemic and it is nothing we have witnessed in our lifetimes. No matter the day we wake up or the season we are amongst – it exists. There is no way to flee it and no sound to warn us. The roads and human traffic are desolate and will continue to be for some time.
We wear masks and gloves for our safety that makes us a society in disguise. We are told to “stay at home”, “social distance,” “learn remotely” and “isolate.”
These are terms that will now become part of the worldwide vocabulary. Sound familiar? While we salute everyone on the “front lines” with thanks, national pride is mixed. We know the enemy but we seem divided. Maybe we need to roll back the clock and remember how to act.
It is too early to envision fond memories. We lost three thousand souls on 9/11. The current count is 10,000 and climbing. We are hoarding household supplies. Worrying about paychecks.
Preparing budgets to pay rent, mortgages, utilities and other necessities, if we can. Will we ever again shake hands or hug one another as a natural greeting?
We are city versus city, state versus city, state versus state, state versus Federal Government and playing partisan politics… in an election year. There are uplifting stories balanced by confusion. This too will pass like the silence of commercial airplanes that existed then and now.
The drone of military fighter planes that dotted the night sky after 9/11 are replaced by the engine hum of a Navy medical ship and the tools of Army Engineers constructing field hospitals.
Most important this day are the perspectives of my children. They are 26, 28 and 31 years of age now. They know the proximity of the virus and have all “sheltered in place.”
They use all forms of technology to bond as siblings. They fear, without verbalizing, for their parents and grandmother. And know eventually someone they know will perish. This is no history lesson.
They have become the voice of reason as they attempt to go about their normal lives. The resilience as children is gone. The gravity as adults has arrived. And they feel the weight. Will they be able to bear it? I am an optimist and say yes…just when, and for how long, we don’t know.
There are analogies we hopefully look forward to…Pete Alonso re-creating a Mike Piazza moment, Donald Trump with his megaphone surrounded by first responders and Andrew Cuomo starring as a modern-day Rudy Giuliani nursing the state back to economic health. This will happen.
Maybe not in 30 days, maybe not for 18 months. But it will be vanquished. We know the enemy.
These are the two greatest tragedies in modern American history.
Will they be compared – each in their own way? Yes. We rebounded from the first and I have every ounce of faith the same result awaits us. We ultimately take our queues from children who are responding positively.
This time it will take the resilience of all mankind. The harsh reality is we are all in this together and we will get through it. God Bless America.
Tom Winters
Mineola
