“I’ll never forget that last breakfast with my fellow firefighters, twenty-five years ago. It was Tuesday, September 11th, 2001. One of my last memories from that morning was telling my friend Mike I’d work a side job with him the next day. Then the towers were hit, and 12 of us responded. Before the end of that morning, I was the only one left.”
Bill Spade, Staten Island, Rescue Unit Five
The passing of time tends to round the edges. Most of our memories fade or enter an almost impenetrable vault. Oh sure, I can recall my wedding day—blissful. Or my last visit with Dad as he gave way to cancer—agonizing. I suspect we all have in our minds dramatic events that don’t lose their edge.
But, excavating my recollection vault I can recall only one cross-town cab ride in New York City. I took hundreds. And I can recall only one entirely discretionary trip to the hospital.
If you asked whether I have ever been in a war zone the answer would be no, although interpretively, yes. On September 11, 2001, parts of the United States were turned into a war zone. The terrorist attacks were on our military power and commercial strength—the Pentagon and World Trade Center (WTC).
On the morning of that fateful day, having left home early for a meeting on the East side of New York City, I was in a cab going west to my office on 57th Street just before 9:00 am. Shortly after I got into the cab, the quite animated driver turned up the radio so we could both hear the news. The first WTC building had been hit and while going across 7th Avenue, I saw the second building begin to burn. Planes used as bombs had defied our imaginations.
Later that day I got a plain-spoken assessment—I had taken that discretionary trip to Mt. Sinai Hospital. My wife and I queued at the entrance to the Hospital to give blood. Every New Yorker wanted to do something.
As I recall, on admittance, I was told there would not be a huge demand for blood as there had been few survivors—death had prevailed.
I was fortunate; my blood type is O Negative making me a universal donor. My admittance funneled into a medicine closet where I was questioned by a young Asian-American woman about my sexual activities. Yes, I am going back to a time when AIDs infection was a pressing concern.
9/11 has not lost its edge in my life, but I think its lessons have lost their edge in our collective memories. Still echoing in my memory, Bill Spade’s tragic recollection: “Then the towers were hit, and 12 of us responded. Before the end of that morning, I was the only one left.”
In the same land mass, the Borough of Manhattan, is the United Nations. Its importance in our international lives has receded. It is barely mentioned as a vehicle to accomplish some measure of world peace. Yet, today’s news is of wars—in Ukraine and the Middle East. Attempts to resolve the conflicts collide with hostile rhetoric and drone warfare. And the threat of nuclear war.
September 11, 2001 victimized the United States. Virtually every nation in the world offered us assistance. Our adversaries even came around. The remembrances of 9/11, as important as they are, are little more than emotional bandages. The world needs acts of reconciliation—surgery, not just bandages.
Bill Spade is part of the cast of Behind The Lines, a musical drama. Check out its web site for a performance near you. https://www.modernwarriorlive.org/tour
