When my good friend Lillian Cook called and asked if I wanted to go to New York City, I asked no questions never giving a second thought to the date, time or money and promptly answered: YES, I want to go!
She told me that a small group from Palola College had pulled together a trip at the last minute and that I would have to have my money in by the first of the next week, I quickly checked my checking account balance trying to figure out a way to make a large withdrawal without Stacy finding out. Then I decided that it didn't matter how he felt about it, I was going. I thought about the museums, the theaters, the stores and shopping, the restaurants, the hustle and bustle and excitement and knew that the trip was worth any consequences that I would have to suffer at the indignation of Stacy. He sensed my determination and wisely said nothing at all.
When I called my daughter Janis, I could calculate her approval from the pitch of her voice. "You're going to New York. I want to go!" I had promised that we would go together on the next trip, but there just wasn't enough time for her to make all of the necessary arrangements by deadline. Of course, she forgave me for this trip but we made a vow that the next trip would be ours together for certain.
After we talked about some of the highlights of my upcoming trip, Janis asked, "Are you going to Ground Zero?"
"No I don't think so," I said. "I went to the top of the World Trade Center in the early 1990's and I just don't think I want to replace my memory of that grand structure with the sadness that surrounds the site today." So I didn't plan to go, and Lillian and I didn't really talk about it very much. I noticed that nobody talked about it very much. The tour guides on the Grayline and Circle Line Tours didn't really mention it. But I felt that some how it was present in everyone's thoughts. It was kind of like remembering my dad talking about his brother who endured the harrows of WWII. "Emily Kay," my dad would say, "don't ask a bunch of questions about your Uncle Bob's war experiences. Those memories are very strong and vivid to him and they are something he wants to keep private."
"But why," I always asked? "Why wouldn't he want to share his experiences with everyone?" My dad tried to explain that there are some things a person cannot share. There are some feeling too graphic, too personal, too emotional making it impossible to express with mere words.
Well, I felt that impossibility of expression in New York. The reality of what happened on 9/11 was everywhere, just under the surface of what was happening and what was being talked about.
That reality became overpowering as our tour guides talked about Ellis Island, about the early years when their ancestors left their European homes to come to America; the struggles they endured as they began new lives in this new land; and, most of all, when they talked about their pride and love for New York and this country. They never mentioned the tragedy of 9/11. They didn't have to because we all knew.
The same reality was present at the Radio City Music Hall Christmas Spectacular as all 5.000 in the audience(mostly tourists) felt that insurmountable New York pride. A three dimensional Santa cast toys from his sleigh as he swept the audience and the streets of New York across Central Park, through Time Square, through Rockafellow Center, past Macy's and Chinatown and into the financial district's Wall Street area where the Twin Towers of late so grandly stood. Ground Zero wasn't mentioned but a tremendous swell of spirit erupted as the 3-D Santa circled the skies above the site. Nobody had to say a word. We all knew and we all shared the same reality of what had happened. We all shared in New York's pride and determination to never, never forget what freedom means to all of us.
Lillian and I did go to Ground Zero. There were hundreds if not thousands there. They weren't talking. There was a somberness that I'll never forget. I really can't even describe it because the shared emotion took on a life of its own and is beyond description. I saw the steel beam cross erected from the wreckage just hours after the horrible crash. I saw that church yard fence completely covered with mementos from all over the World.
The tragedy of 9/11/01 is truly a shared American experience. Certainly for those living in New York, but also for those tourists representing every state in the U.S. as well as most countries around the World. Those tourists, thousands and thousands and thousands of them every day, represent you and me from every nook and cranny little town and big city, USA.
Nine-eleven is a personal experience too close to our hearts and souls to fully express. And we know that it's an experience that has bound us together forever and ever as Americans.
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