Sunday, September 11, 2011


We remember so much about that day now. The perfect blue sky, the bright sunshine, the balmy temperature. And where we were when it happened.

I was getting ready to head out the door for my commute to Philly and my office at The Bellevue, where I was the PR-Marketing Director for the landmark property. "Imus in the Morning" was on WFAN in New York, and on the radio in my kitchen, part of my morning ritual. Imus was asking his crew if it was true that something crashed into the World Trade Center. I quickly flipped on the TV in the den and saw the image we all remember now, the hole, the smoke, the strangeness of it. And the talking heads on every channel were calmly speculating on how a small plane could possibly ever hit a building so large. Sun glare, said one, pilot collapse or heart attack, said another.

And then the second plane hit. And I remember being frozen, unable to move, standing in my den.

We all remember what follows. The Pentagon. Shanksville. The collapsing buildings. The thousands who perished. The chaos.

And for weeks after we all remember how every siren made us stop and wonder what was happening. How every chopping helicopter above made us rush to a window and look outside.

But remember these things instead: The flags everywhere. The courtesies to strangers. The ceremonies honoring proud but humble police officers and firefighters in every town. The national anthem and "God Bless America."

Remember all of these things. But just remember.

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