On the 10th anniversary of the 9/11 Attack I wrote (“Minute by Minute”, The Times Record, Sept. 9, 2011) of my experience on that clear, sunny Tuesday in September 2001. Now, at the 20-year mark, it is fitting to add perspective to a day, and a time, that is seared into the consciousness of a generation.
That day, 2,753 people died in New York City, in Virginia and in a green, rolling field near Shanksville, Pennsylvania. Among the dead were 344 New York City Firefighters and 71 members of law enforcement. In the 20 years since history’s worst terrorist attack, thousands more have died of 9/11 related illnesses. They were parents and children; husbands and wives; brothers and sisters.
We were a nation not attacked on the mainland since the War of 1812. On 9/11 we were frightened and therefore became more aggressive. Our country responded with wrath and fury leading to our longest war. We were correct to avenge those responsible but the pursuit of the uninvolved was, and remains a tragic, avoidable mystery.
In September 2001, Kate and I were newlyweds. Only a few weeks earlier we’d been married at The Coveside in Georgetown, a couple of turns down Route 127 from my in-law’s cottage. We had returned to Philadelphia where we were living a big-city life.
Tuesday, Sept. 11, 2001, is recalled in stark relief:
Regular day at work || Turn on ABC || Lots of smoke || A commuter plane? || People watching TVs || A second plane? || Call Kate || Cell service bad || Emergency response plan || Kate. Parents. In-laws. Friends. || Stephen booked for LA || Security briefing || Big aircraft. Big wingspan || More planes? || Focus || Susan? Sharon? || Cell service down || UA175? || South Tower collapsing || Giant snowflakes of paper || Evacuating lower Manhattan || Ferries in the harbor || North tower is down || They can’t find Stephen || So much dust. So much.
In the weeks and months following the attacks, I sought support for loss, anger, and vengeance. My Father spoke of mourning while never actually naming those whom he lost at WWII’s Battle of the Ardennes. Jim Riley (he hated being called James) spoke of the scale, disbelief, and fear for those we lost to AIDS. My big sister, Andi, recalled being a high school student knowing people who went to Viet Nam but never returned. Their counsel helped me understand loss and mute, but not quell, my anger.
More than nine years later, on the evening of May 2, 2011, President Obama announced that in a coordinated operation led by Navy Seals, with the support of the CIA, and Army Special Operators, the United States had killed Osama Bin Laden, the founder of Al Qaida, the terrorist organization behind of 9/11. I watched the dramatic East Room address wondering how this could provide closure for anyone. I was not gleeful because that would have ascribed undue attention to those who murdered thousands of people in this country.
Twenty years is about the time that passed between my Father’s Army discharge in 1946 and his 1965 return to the same places at which he had served in Europe during WWII. A span of two decades deserves a look at those who played an important role in my experience of 9/11:
- Kate and I celebrated our 20th wedding anniversary in mid-August. Despite the years, and quite inexplicably, she still likes me from time to time.
- Our Pennsylvania Convention Center Authority colleagues who stood their posts that day with focus and dedication, and of whose work I remain enormously proud, have gone on to different jobs, careers, and some have actually retired.
- Susan and Sharon were fine. Sharon still lives in New Jersey not far from where they sheltered friends during the evacuation of lower Manhattan. Susan is retired, living in Illinois.
- I was not close enough with my acquaintances who died in the twin towers to keep up with their families, but their children are now likely in their late 20s.
- Jim, our son’s namesake who cried with me that day, died shortly before Riley was born in 2004.
- My niece Rachel, then around 10 graduated top of her class, became an Army nurse, deployed to Iraq, and is now finishing her Ph.D. Kate’s cousin TC served more than eight years and countless deployments as a member of the 10th Special Forces. He’s now in graduate school; home to stay.
- From WWII until the end of his life, my father believed that man will be forever inhumane to man. He passed away at age 90 in 2015, 30 days to the day after my mom.
- I last visited Andi in 2019. We sat in their comfortable Oak Park home amongst the clutter of hospice and discussed memory, thoughtfulness, and if forgiveness might ever be deserved.
Stephen, Kate’s brother, did not travel on 9/11 but had previously been booked on United Flight 175. He was working at home with the radio off. When I interviewed Stephen in 2011 he demurred saying that he’d simply had a cancellation. He admitted, late one Summer evening, that the experience made him acutely aware of the guilt frequently felt by survivors.
Stephen and Jen had twin boys just weeks before our Josephine was born. The three cousins, now age 10, are a bubbling crew. Inseparable when together, longing when apart. Stephen Abbott Carpenter died this Spring at age 52.
It has been 20 years: 1,043 weeks and 5 days, or 240 months, since disciplined terrorists attacked our country. While writing this piece, shortly before Independence Day, I read, among others, the work of the late Sen. John McCain of whom I was terribly fond despite our deep political differences. McCain believed that you must never be defined by your adversary, in his case those who imprisoned him in Viet Nam.
Like McCain, I share the sentiment of the ‘greater fool’ who bets that that our country’s brightest days are always ahead. Despite our frequent efforts to the contrary, we are among the world’s exceptional nations. We must work harder to prove that despite the loss of 9/11 we continue to believe in a wider world. That we are resolved to, as McCain said, “Live a happy life…in imperfect service to a country made of ideals whose continued service is the hope of the world.”
Roo Dunn and his family live in Bath.