9/11 Attacks Remembered 20 Years Later

By June Perry

    I normally write an article celebrating this week in our American History, however, history is nothing if not personal.  As a Daughter of the American Revolution, I take great pride in the sacrifices my patriot ancestors made so that I could enjoy life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.  On September 11, 2001, that freedom was attacked.
    September 11, 2001 was an average Tuesday morning.  I was working for a telecommunications company and had a meeting scheduled to go over a customer’s plans for expansion.  On the way, I stopped at a local grocery to pick up snacks for the meeting.  Behind the check-out counter a small television was broadcasting the events happening in New York.  The clerk and I watched live coverage of what was initially reported as a small private plane crashing into the World Trade Center.  When I got back in my car, every radio station was covering the event.
    My customer already had a TV set up in the conference room when I arrived.  We stood in shock as we watched the second plane crash into the south tower of the World Trade Center.  Meeting canceled.  Everyone went home. Stopping at a gas station on the way home, all credit card transactions were suspended and I had just enough cash on hand to fill my car.  America was under attack.
    Meanwhile, in New York City, my future son-in-law, a New York Police officer, was just coming off his evening shift.  He was enjoying breakfast with fellow officers when the south tower was hit.  Without hesitation, they all headed straight to the towers to offer assistance.  Traffic was halted, so they walked the rest of the way to the World Trade Center.  Less than an hour after it was struck, the south tower fell.
    Covered in ash and debris, he walked across the Brooklyn Bridge in search of his younger brother who worked in a building near the World Trade Center.  He was also searching for his cousin who actually worked in the south tower.  He found his brother and two other employees under a desk shortly after the south tower collapsed, but his cousin Jude wasn’t so fortunate.  Trapped in the south tower when it collapsed, only parts of his remains were eventually uncovered.
    While I attended a prayer vigil at church, he joined firefighters and police officers, desperate to rescue anyone they could locate.  Thousands died that day and only a handful were in a location where they could be rescued. Workers and volunteers continued to remove debris and recover remains for nearly a year after the attack.  They worked long hours and took what rest they could find for brief amounts of time.
    Webster’s dictionary defines a hero as one who shows great courage and is admired for achievements.  I believe it is much more.  I believe a hero is someone who runs toward danger, not from it.  Someone who cares more for the wellbeing of others than themselves.  There were many heroes in New York on September 11 who were more than willing to put their lives on the line to save others.
    This year marks twenty years since that day.  The pain, however, still lingers.  Many, like my son-in-law, don’t like to recount the day America was brought to her knees.  Like many heroes from history, he will tell you that he didn’t do anything more than anyone else would have done.  He will tell you that he isn’t anyone special.  I disagree.  What he did on September 11 and every day since, has proven his worthiness to be remembered as a hero.  He is a devoted husband and father and soon, he and my daughter, will welcome a new son into their lives.  The name they have chosen is Jude.