Trying Not to Write About September 11th

I wasn’t going to write anything about today’s fifth anniversary. For one thing, I’m aware that whenever the topic of 9/11 comes up, the first thing that comes to mind is my disgust at the way Bush invokes that day at every possible opportunity. Has any world leader ever exploited a tragedy to such an extent? (Don't answer that.) I am also appalled by people like Ann Coulter who recently called the widows of September 11th opportunists who seemed to be “enjoying” their husbands’ deaths. If I had lost a loved one on that day, I don’t think I could trust myself around that woman. I didn’t watch the new TV-movie that lays a lot of the blame for not stopping Osama bin Laden at the foot of the Clinton administration. I’m sure every recent administration has played a role in laying some of the groundwork for 9/11 but is anyone seeing this film, coming so close to an election, as anything other than a bald-faced and desperate political move?

So why should I comment if all I’m going to do is rant about Bush and his cohorts and do my own politicizing? That is hardly the way to remember the victims of that terrifying day. Nor do I have the stomach this evening to grapple with my feelings about the hijackers and their fanatical leaders who were responsible for the senseless murders. Still, despite my intention to leave it alone, I spent the whole day thinking about it.

I thought back to the first time I saw the World Trade Center. It was September 1972 and I was on my first trip to New York. My grandfather had been elected President of the Menswear Retailers of America and, as a Bar Mitzvah present, had taken me to the swearing-in festivities at the Americana Hotel. I was thrilled to see that great city at last, and I’ve already written about some of the memorable moments from that trip, such as when my grandmother accosted Liza Minnelli in front of the Plaza Hotel screaming, “Leeesa! Leesa Minoolli! Come over here and meet my grandson!” as well as my unwilling participation in some grand theft at the fancy La Côte Basque restaurant. One of our touristy adventures during that trip was a boat ride around New York Harbor. I vividly remember staring in awe at the brand new towers that I believe were still being cloaked with some of their white sheathing. Sure, we had skyscrapers in Chicago, including the under-construction Sears Tower which would soon eclipse the towers as the tallest building in the world, but I was still impressed by the sight of these towering monoliths.

I first ventured inside the World Trade Center in September 1978. My mother and I were spending a week in New York prior to my departure for my junior year abroad in Paris. The day before I left the country, we had a sumptuous brunch at Windows on the World, the elegant restaurant on the 106th floor of the North Tower. I can picture exactly where we were sitting although I remember the breathtaking views more than the food. I can still visualize the employees of the restaurant buzzing about. Could any of those people still have been working there in 2001? How many of those had the misfortune to be present on that Tuesday morning? As we know, there were no survivors from that floor, well above the swath of the building that was decimated by the plane. The restaurant lost 73 members of its staff along with 87 people who were eating breakfast or having meetings there at the time. There is a haunting photograph dubbed “The Falling Man” that I couldn’t stop staring at this morning that shows one of the restaurant employees in mid-air, having jumped from the building in order to avoid the raging inferno.

In the mid-1980s I visited New York with my then-girlfriend Julie and we couldn’t get enough of Manhattan, walking from one end of the city to the other. I took my shiksa girlfriend to lunch at Sammy’s Roumanian, a Lower East Side Jewish hangout that is not for the faint of heart. A pitcher of golden chicken fat sits on every table and there is enough cholesterol in each meal to clog the Lincoln Tunnel. I remember Julie ordering some dish that featured “unborn eggs,” God help her. When she couldn’t finish her plate, the waitress reprimanded her, calling it a shanda to waste all that good food.

Trying to walk off our heavy meal, we continued southward until we found ourselves in front of the twin towers. It’s eerie to see Julie standing in front of “The Sphere,” Fritz Koenig’s massive bronze sculpture that stood in the plaza between the two buildings. “The Sphere” was the only work of art in the entire World Trade Center complex that survived the terrorist attack. It was heavily damaged by the falling buildings, of course, and the unrepaired sculpture is now on display in Battery Park. It’s a surprisingly powerful memorial and will eventually be moved back to its original location at Ground Zero.

To get as much of the towers in the frame as possible, I then lay down flat on my back and snapped this photo of Julie standing in front of the massive buildings, the same picture that was probably taken millions of times up through September 10, 2001. Looking at the photo now, all I can see are the obscene gashes left in the buildings by the two planes and the grisly footage of the people who jumped to their deaths, many landing in the very spot where Julie is standing.

I wandered around the World Trade Center complex many times since then, including the summer before the attack. Kendall and I were on one of our pilgrimages to New York, the ones where we try to cram half a dozen plays into three or four days. Being an early riser, I’d hightail it onto the busy New York streets and wander down Broadway, past Greenwich Village and Soho and into Lower Manhattan. I remember that last Sunday in August 2001, using the twin towers as my compass rose as I headed towards the Museum of Jewish Heritage, a beautiful structure which sat in the shadow of the World Trade Center. As part of its permanent collection, the museum contained priceless artifacts rescued from Staszow, my great-grandparents’ Polish shtetl. I gazed at the towers as I walked by, remembering earlier visits, including those with my mother who had died in 1999. Sad that I’d never be here with her again, but at least these buildings would be permanent and everlasting reminders of our New York adventures.

Early on the morning of September 11, 2001, I was sitting at my computer answering emails from my company on the east coast. It was a little before 6 am when I noticed a news scrawl that said “small plane accidentally hits World Trade Center.” Huh? By the time I got to the TV set in my bedroom it was clear that it wasn't a small plane but there still seemed to be massive confusion about what had taken place. When the second plane was caught on video slamming into the other tower, I thought it was a video replay of the first attack. When the Pentagon was struck by yet another plane, I remember running to my bathroom window to see if the tall buildings in downtown Los Angeles were being attacked as well. I was on the phone with my friend Helena as the first building collapsed. It took us both almost a minute to understand what had happened, it just seemed incomprehensible that the building wasn’t there anymore.

But again, why am I going on about this, we all had the same experience, except for those who knew people in the buildings or on the planes who must have felt a terror that I can’t even begin to fathom. After getting through to all my friends in New York, I later learned that a close friend of one of my colleague’s was on the 105th floor of one of the towers and, knowing that he couldn’t get out, had called his family and friends to say good-bye. At the time I was working with an author in North Carolina on a geography book. Two close friends of this woman worked for National Geographic and were on Flight 77 with some Washington DC teachers and three 11-year-old sixth graders who were traveling to California to participate in an outreach program at a marine sanctuary near Santa Barbara. The students were from an underprivileged neighborhood and were terribly excited to be on their first plane trip. All of them were killed when the plane slammed into the Pentagon. The author I was working with dedicated her book to her lost friends and colleagues.

One local sight that always makes us think of the victims of 9/11 is the West Hollywood playground that is dedicated to three-year-old David Gamboa-Brandhorst, who was killed on United Flight 175 while traveling with his parents, Daniel Brandhorst and Ronald Gamboa. Daniel and Ronald had changed their flight plans at the last minute so they could return early from a trip to Boston with their son. Countless lives affected by these actions, agonizing pain and suffering for those left behind. Have we really learned anything from it? I wonder how we will be commemorating this tragedy on its 20th, 50th, and 100th anniversaries.

Comments

[Neil]

So touching, Danny. I was a bit overwhelmed yesterday with all the attention given to 9-11 that I just stopped watching TV or reading blogs. I find it frustrating when we try to find meaning in something so horrific, although I perfectly understand why we do.

[OldOldOldLady Of The Hills]

Beautiful Post Danny...We truly must never forget this day and what it means to all the families and friends of those lost on this horrific day.

I just read the tribute to little three year old David, and of course both his parents were mentioned in depth, as well...It is all so incredibly sad and the heartbreak that will never end for the survivors of 9/11 is beyond comprehension.

I don't know if you have read any of the Tributes Danny...they have been all over the blogesphere..including my very own blog that you and Kenddall inspired....My Tribute is to a 32 year old dear man named Bill Hunt.

Reading all the things his parents and brother have written to him over these five years was and is one of the most heartbreaking experiences of my life. I hope that we never decide that this day is not important. Because if we do decide that, it will then deny the terrible terrible losses that all these people have to live with for the rest of their lives and into eternity.

[Heather]

I lost a friend that day, too. I hadn't seen him in years but Dan worked on the 104th floor of one of the towers. He was a great guy, and pretty much the only Republican I ever liked who wasn't related to me.

Ann Coulter deserves to lose everything and everyone she loves for making comments like that. Of course, she's such an empty, horrid person that she probably doesn't know the concept of love, and I suppose that's punishment enough.

[Elaine Soloway]

Along with Danny Miller's outstanding post, readers should check out the 9/11/06 editorial in the New York Times. It can be found online, through the Search box at nytimes.com.

Like yours, Danny, great reading.

[Judy]

All week thinking about commenting. As a New Yorker living within a mile from ground zero, I was in NYU Hospital starting at Rehabilitation, recovering from a total hip replacement replacement. In a new room, the woman at the next bed was leaving when her son called for her to turn on her tv as a plane went into the first tower. We were watching and saw the 2nd, and knew it was no accident. The saddest thing was that every extra bed was brought downstairs only to have our bed returned with no
survivor. My son (almost 20 at the time) called me after being dismissed from working primary elections in a holding center at the Church on Houston St. & Sullivan Sts. They heard the news and the priest said prayers for everyone. (Of course, someone complained they were not of his religion.) He saw the crowds running up north. He said some were saying it's gonna fall...and he looked southward to see the 2nd tower go down . He called me from our 130+ yr old 7th floor walk up tenement telling me what he saw and said he was scared it was gonna fall too. I told him to walk uptown and come to the hospital..with his driver's license, they had to let him in to see me. I was glad he came...my daughter was way uptown at school, and my husband worked in the village. I wasn't sure he was going to pick her up...and couldn't reach him by telephone. A strange thing happened when my son came up. There was this arabic man who was in the hallway. He had been involved in a group who got angry at him, and stabbed him in the eye. That's why he was in the hospital but he was waiting because they were going to take him away for questioning. He told my son he was scared. He had no idea where they would take him or for how long.
My husband volunteered to be part of the Mount Sinai Hospital study but i think he's part of the control group because he wasn't at ground zero helping...just living in our neighborhood. Our local firehouse lost 14 men..William McGinn, Eric Allen, Andrew Fredericks, David Halderman, Timothy Haskell, Manuel Mojca, Lawrence Virgilio, John Fischer, John Burnside, James Gray, Sean Hanley, David LaForge, Rovert Linnane, Rbert McMahon. A few months before 9/11 I was at the newspaperstand across the street from the firehouse and saw a couple of them walk in. My eyes looked at the badge with the name McGinn. I looked up and he took my breath away..one of the most handsomest men I had ever seen. Mentally, I said to myself, what a hunk. I hope I don't sound too crass in this memory but I tried to read all the bios. I saved his..he was truly a Renaissance man...his wife said he studied architecture and would have studied what happened that day to the structure. Coincidentally, the first flyer I saw was in the pHysical Therapy department for Lawrence Vergilio. He was an NYU Physical Therapist as well who came to work on the other floor, he specialized in heart patients but left when the call came in about the WTC.
My family came to visit and told me I wouldn't believe what was going on downstairs on the street as there was the temporary morgue and all the flyers for those missing, with crowds coming daily to add more flyers.
One day my son was given a police escort to our building when you had to show proof of address to go below Houston ST.
And the smell seemed as if it would go on forever..every morning at pt, it would hit me.
after I came home, we'd leave the city for the weekend, come back to the block, open the door and it would be there to greet us. I think it went away from our block about a week and a half before Christmas.
I think I wrote about this too much..when I wanted to say..I thought I'd go somewhere public for this 5th Anniv. but even though one was a half block away from my job, I avoided it..I think I need to grieve in private and feel relieved that I am not obligated to take part in anything public because I really didn't know anyone..my sister's friend's husband was a firefighter in staten island, John Bergin, and the nephew of my cousin's husband died at Cantor Fitzgerald but I don't remember his name.
I grieve for everyone and try to pray for their all of us, may we have peace everywhere on earth.