Remembering 9-11

This coming Sunday will mark the 15^th anniversary of 9-11. I can still refer to it that way and most of you will know what I am talking about. It was that bright and crisp September morning when our world changed. I am referring, of course, to the attacks in Pennsylvania, Washington, and New York, and to the 2996 people who died that day.

Most of us know this, but not all. Those twenty and younger likely have only a vague recollection of adults gaping at TV screens. Maybe not even that. But, strange as it may seem, this year’s freshmen, the class of 2020, is generation for whom 9-11 is pure history. It happened before they were born. 

They can learn about it only from others.

This is a reminder that if 9-11 is not rehearsed, taught, and remembered, our children and grandchildren may never even have a clue about perhaps the deepest seated experience of your life. Memories aren’t passed down automatically. Unless they are kept alive, they will be distorted and lost. Already the internet is full of conspiracy theories and falsehoods that are just plausible enough to mislead the uninformed. Anniversaries give us an occasion to tell the truth.

So let me briefly rehearse the story. Four airplanes were hijacked and headed toward four different targets. Two were aimed at New York, two were aimed at Washington. Three hit their targets—the North and South Towers of the World Trade Center (WTC), and the Pentagon. The last plane was literally wrestled to the ground outside Shanksville, Pennsylvania.

At 8:46 am in New York, Flight 11 struck the north tower of the WTC instantly killing all aboard plus hundreds of people on the 93-99th floors of the tower. For seventeen minutes, America was trying to understand how such an horrible accident could happen. But at 8:03 am when Flight 175 struck the floors 75-85 of the south tower we instantly knew that this was no accident.

It took until 9:24 for the FAA to learn that there were two more hijacked planes still in the air. Interceptors were scrambled, but before they could reach Flight 77, it smashed into the western side of the Pentagon instantly killing all 59 aboard and 125 souls in the building.

Then, at 9:59 am, the unthinkable happened. Millions of Americans were glued to the screen and thousands of New Yorkers watched from below as the South Tower of the WTC collapsed upon itself in a surreal slow-motion. Nobody in the tower survived.

Meanwhile, a takeoff delay meant that Flight 93 has not yet reached its intended target. When her passengers learned the fate of the other hijacked flights, they took action. Todd Beamer and a group of determined passengers fought the hijackers in order to prevent themselves from becoming the fourth human missile of the day. But their heroism came at high cost, they were unable to avoid crashing in an empty field in Pennsylvania at 10:07.

Finally, at 10:28 am, the North Tower of the WTC cascaded to the ground. The first struck was the last to fall. In the course of 102 minutes, four passenger airlines, three major buildings, and almost 3000 lives were destroyed.

In the spring of 2014 I visited the memorial. It centers on two square waterfalls built in the exact place of the original towers. Each cascades into a bottomless hole and is surrounded by the hollowed out names of 2984 victims. The names include 2596 adults who perished in the two towers, 10 unborn children who died in their mother’s wombs, 246 passengers and crew of four airplanes, 125 killed in the Pentagon, along with 7 victims of the first attack on the twin towers in 1993.

As I contemplated these names, a man in uniform noticed me and asked where I was from and why I was there. Our conversation immediately revealed that he was more than a security guard. The emotion of his voice betrayed him. It led me to ask him directly, “Where were you on that day?”

He stopped talking.

Turning to his right, he lifted an arm and pointed. “Right there,” his voice quavered.

He was walking on the sidewalk below the towers when the first airplane struck. He heard the engines, looked up and saw the impact. And then he ran. Ran from the falling debris. Trying to get to safety.

But something drew him back. He came back to help. People wounded from falling glass, airplane parts, tiles. He gave first aid as he was able and helped others to get away from the scene. Then he heard the sound again. Another impact.

Still he continued working, continued helping. When the South Tower collapsed, he was shielded from the debris and dust by the still-standing North Tower. It was time to leave.

None of us can possibly fathom what he experienced that day. And yet, he was only one of thousands. He wasn’t the only one to flee the danger. He wasn’t the only one to come back and help. He was only human. Drawn by some unseen force that compelled him to think about more than his own survival.

It is the same force that made him come back ten years later. Even though he survived, he volunteered to be security guard at the Memorial. He has made it his mission to keep the memory alive. For him, for the people of New York, the 9-11 memorial is not just a park, not just a fountain, not just a sculpture.

The 9-11 memorial is a graveyard. Of the 2606 People who lost their lives fifteen years ago, more than 1000 were never recovered. They were pulverized and indistinguishable from the tons of concrete dust. For their family and friends who had no body to bury, Ground Zero is their final resting place, hallowed ground.

Behind the Beeman-Cashin building Evanston has its own 9-11 memorial. It would make a fine destination for you and your family to keep this history alive. Although the steel girders are not from the towers themselves, they have been carefully placed to resemble a portion of the rubble. While you are there, notice the two tall aspen trees which symbolize the WTC towers. See the apple trees that form that backdrop in memory of the Pentagon and the Pennsylvania field. Remind yourself and your children of the events of 9-11. Tell them why it’s important to you.

In this way, you can work to keep alive the memory of the power of evil, the resilience of the human spirit, and that curious force at work in each and every one of us that draws us to respect the bodies of the dead and set aside our own survival in order to help others.

After all, it’s only human.