Always How I'll Remember It

In Memoriam

My own photograph, taken (I believe) from the Staten Island Ferry, possibly fall 1995.

For Today, Forever

"The Names"

by Billy Collins, Poet Laureate of the United States, Sept. 2002

Yesterday, I lay awake in the palm of the night.

A soft rain stole in, unhelped by any breeze,

And when I saw the silver glaze on the windows,

I started with A, with Ackerman, as it happened,

Then Baxter and Calabro,

Davis and Eberling, names falling into place

As droplets fell through the dark.

Names printed on the ceiling of the night.

Names slipping around a watery bend.

Twenty-six willows on the banks of a stream.

In the morning, I walked out barefoot

Among thousands of flowers

Heavy with dew like the eyes of tears,

And each had a name --

Fiori inscribed on a yellow petal

Then Gonzalez and Han, Ishikawa and Jenkins.

Names written in the air

And stitched into the cloth of the day.

A name under a photograph taped to a mailbox.

Monogram on a torn shirt,

I see you spelled out on storefront windows

And on the bright unfurled awnings of this city.

I say the syllables as I turn a corner --

Kelly and Lee,

Medina, Nardella, and O'Connor.

When I peer into the woods,

I see a thick tangle where letters are hidden

As in a puzzle concocted for children.

Parker and Quigley in the twigs of an ash,

Rizzo, Schubert, Torres, and Upton,

Secrets in the boughs of an ancient maple.

Names written in the pale sky.

Names rising in the updraft amid buildings.

Names silent in stone

Or cried out behind a door.

Names blown over the earth and out to sea.

In the evening -- weakening light, the last swallows.

A boy on a lake lifts his oars.

A woman by a window puts a match to a candle,

And the names are outlined on the rose clouds --

Vanacore and Wallace,

(let X stand, if it can, for the ones unfound)

Then Young and Ziminsky, the final jolt of Z.

Names etched on the head of a pin.

One name spanning a bridge, another undergoing a tunnel.

A blue name needled into the skin.

Names of citizens, workers, mothers and fathers,

The bright-eyed daughter, the quick son.

Alphabet of names in a green field.

Names in the small tracks of birds.

Names lifted from a hat

Or balanced on the tip of the tongue.

Names wheeled into the dim warehouse of memory.

So many names, there is barely room on the walls of the heart.

Reading Up on September 11

A lot has been published for the 10th anniversary of that tragic day.  Here are just some of the ones that touched, informed, inspired, or otherwise, interested me (I'm sure there will be even more tomorrow):

• a child's letter to her dad lost on September 11
• a widow writes about lessons learned
• poetry of September 11 and also why there has been no September 11 novel
• Dan Rather on history lessons
• Marlo Thomas on listening to America's daughters of September 11
• Muslim-American writers reflect on the anniversary
• relics of that day
• "Why Schools Need to Teach 9/11"
• Teaching September 11 in Connecticut
• "Witnesses to Apocalypse"
• NYTimes special section
• Life's most memorable photos of September 11

The Day in Review

I just watched the September 11th special on Nickelodeon that I mentioned a few days ago. First, I highly recommend it. It's succinct, not overly dramatic or emotional (though I did tear up), direct, informational, not extremely visually disturbing (especially given the subject matter), child-oriented, reassuring, not political (which is an accomplishment), and definitely captures the feel of being in NYC that day and the ones following. But I don't think I'll be showing it to the kids this year. It's probably better for 8-10 year olds, with its discussion of Al Qaeda, Bin Laden, WMD, etc etc etc. Which is just too much detail for 6 year olds. But it did give me some ways of discussing the day with them, particularly the "why" part, which the show explained, and I simplify, as the terrorists believed in violence as a way to hurt the US and promote their extreme religious views. So, I'll keep the show DVR'd for now and think on how we'll spend the tenth anniversary, since September 11 is always a family day for us.

Sept. 11 Tonight

On Nickelodeon tonight there will be a show hosted by Nick News commentator Linda Ellerbee entitled "What Really Happened on Septemeber 11?" Geared to children, particularly those who were born after the tragedy, this show seeks to demystify and explain the day. I haven't seen it, don't know what ages it's appropriate for, but am taping it tonight at 9 pm. Sis and Bud have had questions. They've heard about the Towers (particularly from the book The Man Who Walked Between the Towers by Mordicai Gerstein), know from being in the city that they're not there anymore, and wonder why. I find myself unusually at a loss for words to tell first graders about terrorism, hate, fear, destruction, tragedy, war even if you can also tinge it with stories of heroism, survival, recovery, renewal, without unduly worrying or scaring them but recognizing that they should know (Lambeth, what did your parents tell you about Nazis and the war at your young age? Though, at some point, being in London, you probably couldn't escape knowing, though the details of camps came later). So I'm going to see if this show can help me, even if I don't let them watch it now. Because I want them to hear it from me first.

-=-=-=-=-=-

Review, 9/3/11: I just watched the September 11th special on Nickelodeon that I mentioned a few days ago. First, I highly recommend it. It's succinct, not overly dramatic or emotional (though I did tear up), direct, informational, not extremely visually disturbing (especially given the subject matter), child-oriented, reassuring, not political (which is an accomplishment), and definitely captures the feel of being in NYC that day and the ones following. But I don't think I'll be showing it to the kids this year. It's probably better for 8-10 year olds, with its discussion of Al Qaeda, Bin Laden, WMD, etc etc etc. Which is just too much detail for 6 year olds. But it did give me some ways of discussing the day with them, particularly the "why" part, which the show explained, and I simplify, as the terrorists believed in violence as a way to hurt the US and promote their extreme religious views. So, I'll keep the show DVR'd for now and think on how we'll spend the tenth anniversary, since September 11 is always a family day for us.

Parenting through Sept. 11

A parent with older children told me of a living nightmare she'd had. Her daughter was just 4 years old when the World Trade Center towers fell on September 11. And, hoping to preempt any questions or fears, she explained to the child that there had been a tragedy and several people were hurt and killed. Thinking that was enough, she sent the girl to school the next day.

But the child came home angry. "Mommy, you didn't tell me that mean men flew planes into those buildings on purpose," the devastated child accused. "They wanted to kill all those people."

Never again, the mom pledged, would her daughter get such important information from another source.

It is not an isolated parenting problem in these post-September 11th days. In fact, I imagine, it's not particularly unique--how did parents explain to little children the Blitz? Pearl Harbor? the Holocaust? the atomic bomb? Still, it is the problem parents now face, as described by a mom in an essay on Salon.com. That mom, who had apparently been able to tell her 7 year old son all about sex and such botched their initial conversations on terrorism.

And so I began to wonder how I would address the question. Not that I think they'll talk about it in kindergarten, of course; or even that our kids would see it on tv or in the papers (we rarely watch one; we don't get the other). But I needed to give it some thought. We're in NYC a lot and you can't pass any place tourists gather without seeing images of the Twin Towers, either before or during their destruction. And I wanted them to know that Mama and I consider today a special family day to spend together because so many families were wrenched apart. But I wanted to avoid too much discussion of terrorism, Islamophobia, and the innocent American loss of a feeling of safety. I didn't want to scare them, just inform them, prepare them, even protect them, just as when we briefly discussed the earthquake in Haiti. And I wanted to be the one to do it.

The kids went to kung fu, did some grocery shopping, played at home, visited with Babysitter who is back from college for the weekend, played with a neighbor girl while we grilled dinner, and put together two new 60-piece puzzles (one on space; the other, chocolate. Guess which was which). It was while we were doing the puzzles that I put on some music, music I always listen to on this day: Cher's "Song for the Lonely," Carly Simon's "Let the River Run," and Mariah Carey's "Hero." I must have gotten sniffly.

"Why do you sound sad, Mom?" Sis inquired.

Having already talked to Mama about my idea and approach, I took a deep breath. "Well, Sis. I do get sad today. Because a long time ago, something bad happened: mean men made buildings fall down in New York and lots of people died. And I'm sad for them and for their families. But also really glad that we are together. And so today is an important family day for us. We call it September 11th."

Bud was immediately alarmed. Who were these mean men? Where were they now? Why did they do it? Far away (gulp), not here (gulp again), it was a long time ago and nothing else has happened since then (gulp), they were angry at us and wanted to hurt us. Remember how our soldiers are overseas fighting to keep us safe? That's why. And that was it. Only a mild curiosity from Sis of what the towers looked like before and after. That, I said, would have to wait.

Okay, simplistic. Maybe a little scary. Somewhat untrue.

But there's time for that. And when I've explained it more, when they can understand more fully--if that's even possible for any of us--we'll go down to Ground Zero. And we'll look at the 416 trees they're planting, the wall of names they're erecting, the reflecting pools in the footprints of the Twin Towers they're intending. And I'll tell them about that sad and tragic day.

But also about other, happier days there . . . when Gommie (and Banana--did you go? Or was that the Empire State Building? I hated being up in those tall buildings) and I went to the observation deck, when I took my college roommate there for the best grilled hot dog food cart in the plaza, when I took my high school friend on the Staten Island ferry and got the best photograph I ever took of the towers with the Statue of Liberty in the foreground (which I'll scan in one of these days; that was the pre-digital era), when Mama and I walked the Winter Garden on our tour of the tip of Manhattan along with Fraunces Tavern and St. Paul's Chapel.

Because, paraphrasing the child of one of the victims talking about her parent during the memorial ceremony today, let us not just focus on the destruction of the towers, but on what they were all the days before that.

Remembering

September 11, 2001

For Sis and Bud, for when you asked me what I remember:

Like most people, what I remember most about September 11, 2001, before the towers were attacked, is the beautiful crisp, clear, fall weather with the perfect blue sky. It really was the most gorgeous day. And I sat in Queens that morning, just beginning work on my dissertation while listening to the radio. Mama had gone to work in midtown, as usual.

A report, an early report, came over the airwaves, that a little plane had hit one of the Twin Towers. I was reminded of a similar event, way back in the 1930s or something, when a small plane hit the Empire State Building. Curious, I called my dad at his office to tell him that it had happened again, just to share the news and say hi, but no worries, Mama didn't work anywhere near that. But then there was another plane, not long after I got off the phone with my dad. Something was wrong. And I left my study and went to turn on the tv in the living room.

I can't remember when I first got hold of Mama on the phone, which now was permanently in the big pocket of the black jumper I was wearing that day. She had taken a different train that morning, actually on the F, which was turned around in lower Manhattan without any announcement why. No doubt, if there had been an announcement she would've just come home, but she continued on to her office up on 53rd and 3rd. She'll have to tell you how the day unfolds for her.

By then I'd spoken to my dad again, knowing something terrible was happening. We agreed to not talk to much on the phone. It had already become hard to connect to Texas, if memory serves. I did talk to Aunt Banana, once, in Chicago, where they were similarly evacuating areas of downtown. I remember her crying, "what is happening?"

Like almost everyone else, I watched tv that morning, horrified. I spoke to Mama and told her to come home, as we were talking I watched one of the towers collapse. I remember shrieking and begging her to get out of Manhattan. She was on one of the last cabs to cross the bridges before they were closed. Which if you look at chronologiess, the bridges were closed long before the tower collapsed; perhaps it took awhile. Because I know she was on the phone with me in her building when the tower collapsed. And then she got a cab and came across the bridge and came home.

We worried about her brother, Goo, in high school right under the Towers. She was ashamed that she hadn't gone down to get him, terrified that he would be hurt. He, with his classmates, were, I believe, walking up the West Side Highway; I think he wouldn't get back home until that evening. Ma was stuck in NJ, where she works, unable to cross any bridges or tunnels to get back to Queens; she spent the night at a friend's and didn't get home until sometime the next day.

We watched tv, heard the sirens all over the city, couldn't believe what was happening. That night, an extension of the day, I couldn't sleep and insisted on leaving all the lights on in the house, thoughts of people in dark stairways seared in my mind.

I had only been to the World Trade Center a few times, mostly when giving tours to out-of-town visitors. See, I don't like tall buildings. And really, if you want to enjoy the skyline, why enjoy it from one of its best features? But I had gone up to the observation deck at least once, though never to the Windows on the World. I much preferred the Crystal Palace-like space below, with its arched window. And the best grilled hot dogs in the city were sold from a cart in the plaza. What I really liked about the area was its colonial-era feel, with Fraunces Tavern, winding streets, St. Paul's and Trinity churches. When I left NYC to return to TX in 1994, it was one of the stops on my goodbye to the city tour with Mama. But visitors always seemed to want to go up in the Towers. My favorite picture of the Towers, at least of the ones I took, is from the Staten Island Ferry, with the Statue of Liberty and Towers together in it. It's in a black frame somewhere here; we have it out occasionally. It's pre-digital and I don't have the negatives and it's not scanned in yet so we're careful with it.

I don't remember when Mama went back to work. I think she was at home at least Wednesday. At some point, we went to the top of the parking garage over a store and sat and watched the smoke billow from Ground Zero. We picked up all the papers that week, but wished we'd saved the one from that morning, a last glimpse of our innocence before the attacks. I had a conference at which I was giving a paper that Friday and, trying to follow the directives to return to life as usual, the conference went on as scheduled. And so, on Friday, a sympathetically rainy and dark day, much like today, we took a bus into the city. Never has a city bus ride been so somber and quiet. What was there anyone could say?

That night, on our return, we picked up two white pillar candles at a local bottega and lit them in our windows every night for a few hours until they were burnt out. There were so many people on our main thoroughfare that night, a night of quiet community support, many with tapers burning.

We did connect with friends, in the city and further away, those first weeks, mostly via email though I'm not sure if I still have those. No one we know was lost that day, for which we are grateful. But many of our friends were affected.

I didn't go into Manhattan much but Mama told me about the missing fliers, the evacuations, the drills, the sirens, the firefighters lost at "her" station. I didn't get much work done, watching it on tv a lot. One night, we saw on CNN about a woman who had been on a working vacation in the city with her "friend." The friend was desperately looking for her, for she had been visiting an office at the Towers that morning. We connected to her story and discovered much later that we had a friend who worked with her (the "family" can seem very small at times). We later sent money to the foundation set up in her honor.

The one time I did go in, to do some paperwork at school, a warning that a bomb was in the Empire State Building came through and the several blocks around it in Midtown were evacuated. I walked all the way uptown to Mama's office, using the new cellphone, my first, that I'd just gotten the day before for such emergencies, to tell her I was coming and why. It didn't even make the news, so common were such things those weeks.

And then there was that Cher song, "Song for the Lonely," with the video about the city and September 11, though the song was never supposed to be about that. I still tear up when I hear it, can't help remembering that fall. "Let the River Run," the anthem by Carly Simon sung today at the memorial, I had always associated with the city because of the movie, Working Girl, but not specifically with September 11.

That November, the 9th, I think, when we went down to register as domestic partners, having finally lived in the city for 6 months--we'd just moved from Chicago that April--the smell of the fires were still strong in Lower Manhattan. We have never specifically visited Ground Zero, though we've watched memorials on tv, and especially were touched by the rays of light--so beautiful, so clear, so transcendent, that we could see from our living room window in Queens. I remember being devastated when they turned off those lights.

It was deja vu on November 12 that year. I heard on the radio "Belle Harbor," where Ma and Gong and Goo lived and turned up the radio. There had been a plane crash not too many blocks--4 or 5?--from their house. Was it another terrorist attack? We thought so. And all the sirens of emergency vehicles peeling past our apartment sounded the same . . . that night, Ma and Goo, maybe Gong, who couldn't yet get home, came and ate gumbo, then our standby comfort food, and waited for news.

I don't remember when the exhibition of everyone's photos of the Towers started in some small space, in the Village, was it? But we went. And cried. And bought copies. And later the book. The image indelibly etched on my mind? A tattered "missing" poster of a pug, photographed lying with other debris on a street, obviously ripped from its post when the Towers fell. We also read the NYTimes obituaries most days, in honor of the victims. I think we have that book too. Not that we filled our apartment with September 11th memorabilia, just a few books, the papers we'd saved, the photo I had taken. But I think, looking around the house now, none of those items is visible. Time has passed; we don't need them as touchstones for that day as much anymore. But we don't forget. We dedicated September 11 a family day, even before we had you kids, and have tried to spend every subsequent anniversary together, sometimes leaving work, sometimes just setting aside the evening. In honor of the fact that we are the lucky ones, in memory of those who weren't and the family and friends who survived them.

Oddly, we were grateful to be in New York City then. It was our city; we loved it. It was a bond that had grown stronger during our recent hiatus in Chicago. Having not experienced any personal loss, we wanted to be there for the city, in our own way. Though, we moved to Connecticut more than a year later. Not because we were scared. We wanted a house, our own place with a yard, a home to share with the cat, Morgan, who found us in July 2002. And we couldn't afford that in the city. But we still think of ourselves as city girls, love NYC, try to go back when we can, though crossing the bridge and seeing what we consider the empty skyline always hurts some. I think we sometimes wish we hadn't moved. Which is why we take you, Bud and Sis, back when we can. And when you're older, maybe we'll all go to Ground Zero, or the new building they'll build there, and tell you about that day.