This essay was published by the Nashville "Tennessean" Sunday paper on 9/08/02. It was my attempt to honor the front line of emergency workers. I have chosen a style that represents the confusion and the various thoughts that came back to mind.
"I don't know anybody there," I thought to myself, watching the events of the day unfolding with incredulity. It was the morning of Sept. 11, 2001, in Mt. Juliet, Tenn.
Still fresh were painful memories of the devastation of the Murrah Federal Building in Oklahoma City a few short years ago. I did know people there. On that fateful day in 1995, I watched tearfully as the media coverage detailed the aftermath until I could watch no more.
The most memorable image from OKC was a firefighter with the remains of a small child from the day-care center. A muscular, tough looking man, obviously a veteran of many fires and disasters, but he was broken by this grisly find, moved to the basic emotion of raw grief, uncontrollably sobbing as he handled the remains with tender loving care.
The world will never forget his plight, at least, those of us who saw this kind act, or saw the images recorded for posterity. I know I won't forget. And I will always be thankful.
Fresh in my mind were the firefighters that came to my house on August 31, 2001. I remember falling to the floor that afternoon, and the unbearable pain that followed. I knew something was terribly wrong. I crawled to the telephone and called my wife. She called 911. As I lay on the floor, I could hear the sirens from Wilson County Fire and Rescue as they left the station nearby in route to my house.
Within minutes, two firefighters and two EMTs doing their best to tend to me, make me comfortable, then get me to the nearest hospital. There are no words I can muster that would truly communicate my thanks and gratitude to these gentlemen. A simple, heartfelt "Thank you!" was all I could manage under the circumstances, but I believe it was all they expected. I will never forget, and I will always be thankful.
So it was, freshly broken right hip, I was homebound on that morning, 9/11/01. Reading The Tennessean and vaguely listening to Good Morning America on the tube. I heard a news bulletin that a plane had crashed into one of the World Trade Center towers, and they were working to get live pictures. It was sometime a little before 8 a.m.
Although obviously disastrous, from the footage on TV, it was not extraordinary to me that a plane had crashed into a tall building. I knew it had happened before at the Empire State building years ago.
However, as the live feed progressed on TV, I witnessed another plane being deliberately steered into the other tower. I mistakenly thought it was a Boeing 737 model, but was certain it was a passenger airliner. I telephoned my wife and told her that we were under attack. I know an act of war when I see it, even if, at the time, I knew not who had perpetrated it.
The remainder of the day was spent trying to sort through the information and misinformation pouring from my TV and radio. That night, I finally turned off the TV and reflected on the days' events. Then it hit me, the WTC towers were gone. They were full of those who could not escape, and, of course, those who went in to rescue them. I wept for their families and loved ones who would not see them again. I wept for those of us who witnessed, knowing our lives had lost a certain innocence. Still, I will never forget, and I will always be thankful.
My mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, like a tornado blowing through a cornfield. I remembered many times in my life, the times when heroes emerged. As I was a child growing up, an F5 tornado devastated a nearby small town. Firemen from throughout the region were there to help, to rescue the living and retrieve the dead.
The next year, flooding threatened a neighborhood several blocks from home. It was a poor neighborhood, it would possibly be an improvement to wash away these ramshackle houses. But the firemen were there, stacking sandbags and pumping water away from these homes, first in the rain, wind, and lightning, then in the oppressive heat and mosquitoes of the aftermath. Again, they were there in force, trying to help. I will never forget, and I will always be thankful.
As a young man in south Texas, I experienced my first hurricane, Camille. Those who remember know she was a frightening lady. Category 5. But the emergency workers were there, rescuing, retrieving, and helping the victims.
Years later in North Carolina, another angry lady named Fran came through. We had no power for a week and no potable water for several days. Lo and behold, there were the emergency workers and volunteers, manning water trucks and gathering portable generators for those with medical appliances. They were clearing downed trees and fallen power lines, covering smashed roofs with plastic tarps, and helping mend many folks' shattered lives. I will never forget, and I will always be thankful.
There were many other experiences, both first person and reported, of this phenomena. Not just firemen, but many other types of emergency personnel: police, ambulance, National Guard, armed forces. And just plain folks helping their other folks. I have seen it many, many times.
And what was a common thread between them all? After the dust had settled and danger had passed, when asked, "What were you thinking?" they nearly all answer, "I just saw what needed to be done, and I did it."
Then when asked, "What about the obvious danger to your self?" again the answer, "It never entered my mind, I just did what had to be done."
Of course, these are survivors of heroic deeds. There are many spots in our cemeteries filled with those who never came back from the danger. I expect they would all say the same thing. After all, their motivation was to help someone else in spite of any risk to themselves. Although they paid the ultimate price, I believe that none of them would have taken their actions back.
As I gathered myself after that long, emotional day in September 2001, I realized I had been wrong about the folks in the WTC. They were not strangers. In fact I knew them well.
They were folks just like me trying to live their lives and take care of their families working in those buildings. Then there were emergency workers just like all the others I have known trying to help them escape - and survive. They were all trapped, and paid the ultimate price.
I will never forget.
I knew them all well, and I am forever thankful for what they did.
May God bless them all.
