Time does not heal all wounds
The year 2001, unbelievably, was 25 years ago. While that year will continue to slip further and further back in time, it does not mean that it will be forgotten.
2001 will never be forgotten.
Words cannot describe what we all went through as a nation on September 11, 2001. That morning, two planes struck the World Trade Center in New York City, one plane struck the Pentagon, and another plane crashed in Shanksville, Pennsylvania - as we would later discover, that plane was likely headed for the US Capitol, but was brought down by incredibly brave passengers before it could get there.
To this day, I can’t speak about 9/11 without getting emotional, because it is a wound that will never heal. I think of the voicemails that the attack's victims left on loved ones' phones, knowing it would be their last conversation. I think of the people that went to work, or boarded a flight, or ran an errand that morning, under a clear blue sky, and never came home. I think of Kenneth White, one of my father's closest friends, going to work as a telephone technician for Cantor Fitzgerald that morning and never making it out of One WTC. I think of being shellshocked in front of the TV as I watched both towers collapse. It is terrifying and it is agonizing, all over again. My heart goes out to everyone whose lives have been forever altered by what happened on 9/11.
I also think about the acts of heroism on that day, and the days thereafter. I think of those passengers aboard United Airlines Flight 93, who sacrificed themselves in order to save hundreds, if not thousands, of lives. I think of the people within the World Trade Center towers who quickly escorted people down the stairs and out of the buildings; I think of the emergency responders, who selflessly ran toward danger in hopes of making a difference - and, in many cases, they did. I think of those who helped comb through the wreckage in the days after the attacks, tirelessly searching for people that were trapped beneath the rubble.
I think of the way our country came together as one, which is especially heartbreaking now, because it seems like our country is too broken to ever unite like that again.
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Back In 2001, I was a year out of college, working at SportsRadio 66 WFAN as a producer. I worked all the weird shifts - nights, overnights, weekends - and worked with a lot of great people, including fellow producer Ray Martel, who is now the executive producer of Mets radio broadcasts and newsroom operations manager at 1010 WINS. One particular night, we both happened to be wrapping up our shifts at the same time, which was rare, as we often had different schedules, and he offered to give me a ride to the Staten Island Ferry terminal at the southern tip of Manhattan. I gladly accepted, because it saved me an hour in my public transportation commute.
We drove past the World Trade Center towers, and we marveled at how tall and majestic they were; I then got on the ferry and stood on the back deck, watching the twin towers and the rest of that famous Manhattan skyline recede from view. It was very early the morning of September 10, 2001. I never saw those towers in person again. The skyline would never be the same.
Nothing has ever been the same since that day. I’m not sure if I will live long enough to see a United States that even somewhat resembled a pre-2001 era - heck, it will likely take generations just for us to get back to some semblance of a pre-2024 America.
But we have to try.