I was born on the island of Manhattan, in New York Hospital (which no longer exists), almost fifty years ago. I grew up in Mt. Vernon, New York, just a short thirty-minute train ride away. We drove into NYC occasionally, but it was usually the Metro-North Train. The ride was closer to twenty-five minutes into Grand Central Station if we got an express train. From there, you could literally get anywhere in The City.
You could take the 4 train to Yankee Stadium, as I often did, or the 7 to Queens if you wanted to see the Mets. If you wanted to go to Brooklyn, you could take the 5 train and transfer to the C. Growing up, we would often take the S (shuttle) train to Times Square and then take either the 1 or the 9 train downtown. One of my best friends turned twenty-one late in January of 1996, and I distinctly remember a group meeting at the Houston Street stop. After the appropriate shenanigans that a group of 21-year-olds do to greet each other, we oriented ourselves by looking for a dual landmark on the Manhattan skyline: The World Trade Center.
Please remember, this was well before cell phones were ubiquitous and well before the smartphone was invented. Whenever we went downtown, our parents would tell us to use the Twin Towers to figure out which way was south. We all did it.
The aviation term was "severe clear" for New York City and the surrounding area on that terrible day twenty-three years ago last week. As someone with a solo pilot's license, I know it's a perfect day to fly, as it's a day with a bright blue sky and almost unlimited visibility. I was settling down in Boston with my first first-grade class. Twenty-four 5 and 6-year-old faces at my morning meeting when the building secretary entered my classroom.
I stepped away from my morning meeting momentarily. She told me my brother had called the school to tell me that my parents were driving my grandmother into The City for a doctor's appointment. I didn't understand why I needed to hear about this. That was a regular routine in my family. When nothing registered on my face, the secretary, Betty Ann Lawrence, said, "You don't know what is happening in New York? We are under attack."
My family made its way back to Westchester County safely that day. As soon as my dad heard the news on the all-news station that he listened to whenever he drove, he started making his way back. Fortunately, I did not know anyone personally of the almost 3,000 New Yorkers who lost their lives on that morning. Without a television in my classroom and my basic cell phone in 2001, I didn't know much until I got home that day.
I took it all in. I was overwhelmed. I cried.
But what I remember most about that time in my life was the aftermath. On September 12 and the following days that month and that year, the sense of unity that we had, just being the United States of America. The restart of sports, the first "this" and first "that" post-9/11.
One of my dear friends posted this on social media on the Anniversary of 9/11 last week, and it really resonated with me:
We don't need another tragedy to be better toward each other, and candidly, I hope we don't wait for one. We can do better by being just one inch kinder, one inch gentler, and one inch nicer to each other. That generosity of spirit has a ripple effect in our world. It really does. Hold the door. Let the other driver go first. Share willingly. We are all human beings doing our best in a world where there are so many claims to what is true and good.
If you don't believe these little things make a difference, consider that legendary musician Jon Bon Jovi saved a woman's life this week. According to NPR, Bon Jovi, who was filming a music video in Nashville last week on a public bridge that remained open, noticed a woman standing nearby on the outside ledge of the bridge. The singer and another member of his team approached. Bon Jovi waves. The woman returns his gesture of greeting.
In the seconds that follow, Bon Jovi and his staffer get the woman to turn around. They continue talking. They ultimately help her over the railing and back to safety. Then they hug.
Just one human to another.
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