20 Years Later Part 2

 For the first part of this post, please go to: 

I woke up Wednesday morning in shock as most of us did.  Was this a bad dream?  Did this really happen the way that it did?  Are thousands of people missing and dead?  Some of my thoughts were with the people of the wonderful organization that I worked with.  Even though the likelihood of them being in the towers or near the area were slim to none, I hoped that everyone was okay.  So, I decided to call them.  It was quite eerie.  I got the three tones at the beginning of the call where your call cannot be completed as dialed.  But instead of first saying, "Please try your call again later" it said, "Your call cannot be completed due to an emergency in the area."  I would try again several times over on Wednesday, and I got the same message.  It seems like everyone just sat and watched coverage of the search and recovery work.  It seemed like all any of us could do.  It was hard not to look away from it.  The day before, many television stations suspended their coverage due to the national emergency, and it seemed like a lot of it was out of respect.  I went to bed on Tuesday night needing to watch an episode of I Love Lucy because everything was so overwhelming.  But as soon as I got up, I needed to just tune back into the coverage, because there were so many answers that we all needed to know.  Were people being found?  At the time, no.  Frantic loved ones were on any station they could get with pictures of their family members who were missing.  I saw some posters where the people were from Cantor Fitzgerald, and they said they were on the upper floors.  Sadly, we all probably knew that they did not make it because it was above the impact zone.  The whole world stopped.  Sporting events were canceled, schools were revisiting safety issues.  There were many pressing questions: would this happen again?  What would be the targets?  It did not seem safe to gather in large groups when we did not know if there were more attacks planned.  The most surreal part was that air travel came to a complete halt in the United States.  The sky was so quiet.  I never in my life looked up and did not see any contrails.  There was just an eeriness about the whole thing.  Everything that was happening seemed more like the plot of some bad thriller rather than reality.  But it was reality, and I am not sure that anyone was prepared for it.  I tried a few times again on Wednesday and Thursday to get through to my organization, but I got the same message over and over again.

On Friday morning, around 9:30, I tried calling the organization again.  Finally, someone picked up the phone.  It was a newer worker, so I introduced myself and said, "I am so sorry about what happened."  No sooner did that come out of my mouth than I started sobbing.  All the emotions that I felt over those past few days had come to the surface.  The woman was very kind and told me that it was okay, that many others who worked with them called and said the same thing.  She was very comforting.  The woman informed me that each night, a group of the core workers were going to Ground Zero with food, blankets, and water for the first responders.  I felt a sense of peace, because I knew that those very special people would be able to show the first responders love and compassion.  Maybe they would just talk to them, maybe they didn't have to say anything.  But, they would be there meeting someone's need.  After I got off the phone, I watched a national memorial service from Washington, D.C.  I was an evangelical Christian at the time, and Billy Graham was preaching.  He said that where the people were was so much better than earth, we would not want them back.  I suppose at the time that I found solace in what he said, although what a horrible way for people to have to go there.  Even then, I had my doubts and questioned the goodness of "God."  I certainly questioned what happened that day, why so many good and innocent people had to perish.  I never was one to say unequivocally that God was always good and that you could never question.  But that's a whole other story.  I got an email sometime earlier that said a national memorial was going to happen that night at 7 p.m. local time.  People were encouraged to light a candle and stand on their front porch.  So, I did.  I looked up and down my block and several others were as well.  I remember a group of boys in a car going by, cheering and yelling how they loved our candles.  

The next few weeks and months even though painful seemed like some very rich times.  We got to the VERY best of our country, our people, and how much they could rise to the occasion.  I saw so much kindness extended to the victims' families, especially their children.  Athletes were inviting them to be their guests when sports resumed.  I will never forget when NASCAR resumed racing at Dover, Delaware.  Lee Greenwood came and sang God Bless The U.S.A. It was a very special moment.  And then there was the resuming of baseball in New York.  Mike Piazza famously hit a homerun in the Mets first game back and was very emotional.  Everyone needed to feel a sense of normalcy, we needed to be reminded of the good times and simpler things that made our country great.  I saw story after story of citizens reaching out to others, being good to the victims' families, and even strangers who were not affected.  I felt a sense of comfort among all of the sadness knowing that so many people were pulling together.  We really were a unified country.  I remember that even though I was far removed from the loss of a loved one, it was still hard to feel happy and cheerful during the holidays.  It did not feel festive when so many others were suffering.  For my birthday, I was given a beautiful picture of the Twin Towers.  The morning of Christmas, I looked at them and prayed for all of the victims' families.  The holidays passed into winter, and then the spring.  Cleanup of the World Trade Center site was finished ahead of time.  I remember watching the ceremony.  Even now, 20 years later, some victims' remains are being identified for the first time.  

Nobody will EVER forget 9/11 if they were alive that day and old enough to realize what happened.  It was so affecting to me because it affected the city which was my second home.  I often wondered if I had crossed someone on the street, or spoke to them, or maybe been in their presence in some way who lost their life.  Those of us who did not lose a loved one eventually moved on from the grief we felt.  However, I cannot imagine what it is like to have to live the rest of your life having your loved one perish in such a horrible way.  I realize that those people who lost their lives would want for their survivors to be able to live and have a full, rich life because they are not able to anymore.  But I just cannot fathom how that would be possible.  As for the larger questions, I look back at how unified we were and wonder how it all became so lost.  We all have our theories.  But I wish, like many millions of other Americans, that we would get back to that sense of unity.  And I genuinely hope that we do not have another event like that to force it to happen.  In many ways, COVID was that event, and we are not a united country any more.  

My wish is that for those who continue to be affected, both physically and emotionally, that they will be able to at least find peace and physical wellness.  If I could talk to them directly, I would assure them that they are certainly not forgotten, nor their loved ones.  Plenty of us still care, and we will ALWAYS remember.  

20 Years Later Part 1

 New York City was a place that appealed to me as a young child.  Even though I had yet to visit, its mystique in movies, television shows, and the news made it seem like a magical place.  In 9th grade, I finally got to go for our class trip.  The minute we crossed through the Lincoln Tunnel into the city, I could feel the city's energy.  It was nothing like I ever got to experience before.  It felt alive, and so did I.  Our first destination that day was to the World Trade Center.  I didn't know much about it, I was more familiar with the Empire State Building.  But I was told it had great views, and everyone seemed excited.  That included me, until I realized we would have to ride a large express elevator to the 107th floor.  I had an elevator phobia when I was younger, and when we got there, I started to panic.  The lobby of the South Tower was beautiful-very pristine, flags surrounding the courtyard.  I would watch as hurried people got on the elevators to ride to their offices.  It was quite a bustling place.  I decided that I would be fine there just observing the workers rather than taking that big elevator up 100 stories.  When I asked the teacher in charge, he said, "Absolutely not, I am not letting you by yourself in New York City."  Fine.  I asked my best friend to stay down with me, and she agreed.  When I approached him about it again, he bluntly responded, "You're both going."  So, I joined the rest of the group and was zoomed away in the large freight elevator.  It was amazing how quickly it moved. In a little over a minute, we were at the observation deck.  When I got out of the elevator, I was fine.  I walked over to those famous oblong windows and looked down below me.  I could see some of the bridges, and it really didn't seem that far up, all things considered.  My teacher made a point to come over and check on how I was doing.  Happy and smiling, I said I was enjoying myself.  "See?" he said with a knowing smile.  I will always be grateful to him for pushing me beyond what I thought were my limits.  I had a chance to be in that beautiful tower on a nice early June morning.  I would go back to NYC the following year for another trip to a Broadway show.  And when I graduated from high school, my real mission to the city began.  One week after I graduated, I took a trip with my church to an organization which worked with the homeless throughout the city.  They were aligned with different charitable organizations. We worked in soup kitchens in the day, both inside and outside, and at night we would go out to Manhattan and pass out food, water, and blankets to those who were living on the streets.  It may have been one of the most significant weeks of my life.  Not only did I have the chance to see beyond my middle class upbringing, I got to truly understand things like suffering, poverty, untreated mental health issues, addictions, and the ineffectiveness of our country to properly deal with those who were falling through the cracks.  I would go back many times after that until I started to experience some health problems which made it difficult for me to go.  I fell even more in love with the city and its people.  It was my home away from home.  Part of me was always there.  

On the night of September 10, I was having a conversation with a good friend of mine about anxiety and phobias. I told her that sometimes it didn't make sense to me because I was struggling with panic attacks at the time and that I had been to the top of the World Trade Center.  The next morning, I woke up right around the time the first plane had hit the North Tower.  I knew nothing about it and turned on the show I would always watch to start my day-Little House on the Prairie.  The phone began ringing and ringing, and I got a call from a relative in the medical profession saying what happened. The medical communities up and down the East Coast were already on alert because they were expecting a mass casualty event which might cause non-emergency patients to be fanned out to other hospitals along I-95.  I turned on NBC and saw both towers on fire. I just thought there were two unrelated fires.  Then, I heard the commentary that two planes had hit the towers and that it was a terrorist attack. Everything after that started to unfold part like the plot of a movie and equally as horrific. It seemed like chaos-rumors of planes going missing, our nation's capitol in an evacuation crisis, people on the streets of NYC staring in horror.  It was confirmed that another plane hit the Pentagon and yet another one was still missing.  It also seemed like we were moving into mass hysteria.  Locally, there were rumors of low-flying planes passing over parts of our county.  Nationally, there was speculation on what was happening and the newsmakers thought that this could be a coordinated attack that was going to continue well into the day.  I got a call from a friend of mine who was living in Houston at the time.  Their emergency service was headed to NASA.  After that, I called my friend who I spoke to the night before and told her what was happening.  She had no idea as she was working in a small church office, and all she had there was a small radio.  But she listened along until the wise reverend, who was now in his senior years and had seen a lot of life, came into the office.  He was burdened by what he had seen, and she got to have a meaningful conversation with him about what was happening.  I told her how fortunate she was to have someone that wise to somehow make sense of the thing that made no sense whatsoever.  I was still talking to family members at their respective offices, some who did not have access to a television.  All the while, I was watching as the Pentagon was on fire, the massive black smoke, ambulances and emergency personnel carrying people away.  The coverage would shift back to New York City, where everyone was racing to control the chaos.  Early on, you saw a lot of firefighters driving past the reporters.  There was a lot of information going around, loads of speculation, but the towers were still standing.  The discussion was how to safely evacuate the people.  

And then it happened.  Part of the South Tower toppled to the side and the rest of the tower collapsed.  I was stunned.  People were running, journalists were ducking the cloud of dust overtaking them, and people were re-emerging covered in layers of heavy dust, choking, injured, and completely worn out.  I saw people literally running for their lives.  It almost did not seem real.  As we were trying to process what had just happened, the news came that a plane crashed in suburban Pittsburgh.  I was very concerned because an entire part of my family lived in suburban Pittsburgh.  Were they safe?  By 10:05 a.m., everything seemed like a nightmare, and there was no sign of it stopping.  Thankfully, all flights were ordered grounded and none were allowed into the United States.  But we still didn't know a lot.  It was slowly starting to sink in that there was going to be massive loss of life, that good, innocent people were killed in barbaric fashion.  It was still hard to process.  I felt like I was in a Twilight Zone episode, it almost didn't seem real.  Not in our country.  As journalists were trying to merely keep up with the news, there was just a casual observation that based on what just happened, the North Tower might be in jeopardy of falling down as well.  The camera I was watching was focused on the North Tower from a few blocks away.  I thought that I was seeing the transmission pole at the top of the building starting to move, and then it stopped.  All of a sudden, I saw it shift and start to move down as the North Tower imploded.  I almost could not believe it.  I yelled out, "Oh my god, that one collapsed too!"  The situation went from chaos to grim.  It seemed to get very quiet, and I will never forget the words of a stunned Tom Brokaw.  "The World Trade Center is...no more."  He talked about how there would be a massive loss of life and wondered how it could be managed.  It was downright chilling.  As journalists continued to cover the situation as best as they could, you could hear these high-pitched whistles going off.  I wasn't sure what they were.  It was later explained that they were whistles issued to members of the FDNY.  The part was that was so haunting is that you could hear them as reporters navigated through the debris.  The people they were assigned to were not there.  

As the afternoon moved along, those of us outside of the affected areas sat in stunned silence.  We were angry, on the verge of tears, already ready to retaliate and bring to justice whoever did this.  Several groups claimed responsibility, but it was believed to the work of Osama bin Laden.  Frantic family members began asking if anyone had seen their relatives.  A massive evacuation of lower Manhattan was underway while brave members of the FDNY began to search among the rubble for any survivors.  Initially, it was believed there would be a slew of survivors; they were few and far between.  One hour turned into the next.  By evening, we were starting to learn about some of the people who lost their lives.  I was immediately drawn to the story of Father Mychal Judge, the FDNY chaplain who lost his life as he prayed for people inside the South Tower.  Then I learned that David Angell and his wife were aboard Flight 11.  David Angell was a talented writer from many hit shows and was currently working on my favorite sitcom Frasier.  I couldn't believe it.  The man responsible for helping us laugh a little bit each week and forget our troubles had such a violent death.  The widow of Anthony Perkins, Berry Berenson was also on Flight 11, as was former NHL player Ace Bailey.  Family members with pictures of their loved ones clamored for time, asking the public to call if they had any information on their whereabouts.  A wall was gathering with their photos as well.  I spoke a bit to my friend who I told just the night before about the World Trade Center.  She said that it spooked her that day and wondered if I had some kind of premonition or something.  I said no, and I desperately wished that it was the only conversation I would have about it.  

I went outside as I always did around 11 p.m.  September evenings are the perfect time to look at the sky-the nights are getting cooler, and that whole day was referred to in aviation as a "severe clear."  The night was just as clear as the day.  There was a small sliver of the moon, it was in a crescent phase.  I just sat and stared at it.  Our whole world had fallen apart.  Yet the moon was still there-it was a constant.  The whole world could be falling apart, yet we would always see the same moon and stars.  I suppose I looked to the sky for answers, but there were none.  It is ironic in that for anyone like myself who sat out that night, the sky was the thing that morning which played such a big role in the tragedy.  Innocent people traveling to see loved ones, going on class trips, traveling for business, people who just thought they would have a routine flight and would be picked up at the airport by their loved one, met their fate in such a cruel and agonizing way on board those planes.  I went back in and would try and fall asleep but like many, I couldn't.  

The second half of this reflection will continue in part 2.  

75 Years of Freddie Mercury

 Zanzibar in the 1940s-what do you think of?  If you are like me, you have a hard time.  At the time, it was a colony of Great Britain.  Its residents included Bomi and Jer Bulsara, Parsi transplants from India who relocated there for Bomi's work with the British Colonial Office.  On September 5, 1946, Jer gave birth to a son Farrokh. Farrokh spent a few years in Zanzibar before being sent to India to attend school.  Young Farrokh learned music at an early age, learning to play piano and even starting a band with his classmates at the age of twelve.  The Bulsaras would flee to England in 1964 as a result of an uprising in Zanzibar in which ethnic Indians were killed.  Farrokh enrolled at and graduated from art school in 1969.  He worked odd jobs such as being a baggage handler at Heathrow International Airport while also joining local bands.  One year after graduation he teamed up with Roger Taylor and Brian May in a group called Smile.  The following year, John Deacon joined the band, which changed its name to Queen.  Farrokh also changed his last name to Mercury.  The introverted, somewhat shy young man came alive onstage, with performances that some might call bombastic, or theatrical, or outrageous.  Farrokh, who long gave up his birth name for Freddie, pushed his bandmates to embrace the daring.  The band had modest success in its early days, but they were fortunate in that they were well-regarded critically and were generously given use of a studio to record their music.

In 1975, the band who enjoyed somewhat modest success burst onto the scene with a song that their own record company soured on.  Bohemian Rhapsody was based on music that Freddie created while still in college.  Bandmate Brian May was a fan of the concept and gave the go-ahead for the group to proceed.  It was a song which took three weeks to record, relying on overdubs of the individual members singing.  Despite the criticism from their own record label, Queen was confident in their product and began playing it on radio stations.  A star was born in the band, and particularly in Freddie Mercury.  He quickly became known for his showmanship-energetic performances, elaborate costuming, and a way to connect with his audience that few artists at that time had.  The quiet, laid back man off the stage became a larger than life performer.  Freddie was partnered with longtime girlfriend Mary Austin, but he purportedly always questioned his sexuality.  Eventually, Freddie decided to part with Mary as a romantic partner, though he still considered her his "wife" in later years.  When Freddie decided to explore his sexuality, he was reported to have attended many parties, clubs, etc. and also purportedly did a lot of drugs. AIDS was discovered in 1981 and was found to be spreading in the gay community. Unfortunately, that meant that anyone who was having sex was at a high risk of contracting the disease.  Based on the reports of Freddie's sexual life, he had many partners and was a prime candidate for the disease.

In 1987, Freddie's worst nightmare became true-he was formally diagnosed with AIDS.  It was reported that he had symptoms as early as 1982 and suspected that he had the illness before his actual diagnosis.  Freddie struggled emotionally with the diagnosis; he was very private about his health and was said to have grieved tremendously.  Still, he continued to work and remain an active part of Queen.  The band would record Freddie's final album in 1991.  That June, he became too weak to continue.  The last few months of Freddie's life, he was confined to his home.  Freddie reportedly lost his vision and was in tremendous pain.  On November 24, 1991 Freddie lost his battle and passed at his home, surrounded by those who loved him most, former partner Mary and good friend Dave Clark among them.  Freddie's death was significant in that he was the first major celebrity to die of AIDS related illness.  

As for me, I came of age musically towards the latter half of the 1980s.  Of course, I knew We Will Rock You as most people did who attended or watched a sporting event.  But Queen's music never really registered with me because by that time, some of their greatest hits and success were behind them.  Around the time of Freddie's passing, they became popular again with Wayne and Garth bashing their heads to Bohemian Rhapsody.  I never knew too much about Freddie personally, particularly his sexuality.  I remember distinctly that two of his other fellow Brits-Elton John and George Michael, were still in the closet.  However, there was very public speculation about their sexuality.  I vaguely remember at the time of Freddie's passing the discussion of his sexuality.  I think the general consensus was that nobody was "surprised" at his passing, but thankfully I do not remember much moral outrage.  Being gay was still very much scorned upon and judged, particularly in the United States, at that time.  I still do not remember a lot of condemnation.  Freddie was so well-respected for his artist, and for that I am grateful.  

When I became an adult, I grew to appreciate Freddie and his life.  What I love about him so much is his boldness and confidence onstage.  This otherwise quiet man had a side of him that not only came alive onstage, but thrived in a way that few others of his artists did.  Freddie knew exactly who that side of him was and allowed himself and his fans to experience every second of it.  He was an original and dared to show that  side of himself to massive audiences.  When it was announced that a movie about Freddie's life was being made, and that it would star Rami Malek, I couldn't have been more overjoyed.  Rami is one of my favorite actors from his Mr. Robot days, and every character he portrayed was to perfection.  Even though the movie was in many ways fictitious, Rami absolutely embraced the life and person of Freddie and won many rightfully deserved awards for it, including an Academy Award.  I could tell how much Rami respected Freddie, and you probably couldn't have picked a better person to portray him.

More importantly, I loved who Freddie Mercury was as a person.  There were so many facets to Freddie's gem.  I am attracted to people who know who they are, every bit of themselves, and Freddie personified that.  Off stage, Freddie was the sensitive person who was a cat father.  Freddie and Mary's relationship dared to explore the complex relationship of gay men and the women who love them for anyone who cared to pay attention.  I know from close friendships with gay men that they do love the women in their lives, and very deeply.  A lot of people do not understand that.  They do not understand that your "soulmate" does not necessarily have to be your romantic partner.  Freddie and Mary were wise enough to understand that.  Freddie also understood that while he was by nature an introvert, there was part of him that was a complete deity waiting to come out onstage.  He was wise and confident enough in himself to let that part of him shine. He was both a composer and interpreter of music.  Freddie understood exactly who he was and shared his full self with the whole world. I have always felt a kinship with Freddie because of that reason.  I am also an introvert who has many facets to me, and it is one of the things I appreciate most about myself.  

It was widely speculated that Freddie would have survived his diagnosis if the proper medicine was available to him at the time.  AIDS is not a death sentence in the 21st century, far from it.  For many of us, Freddie is frozen in time.  He will forever be the young man with so much energy, with the looks of many characters, moving across the stage and dazzling us with his lyrics, beautiful voice, and presence.  I have often wondered what life would have been like for Freddie if he had lived longer.  I suspect it would have been more of what he did best.  He never slowed down despite his diagnosis, and I think he would have still continued creating his music, toured, and blessed us with the gift that is Freddie Mercury.

Happy 75th birthday, beautiful and wise soul.