story2635.xml

story2635.xml

born-digital

story

yes

no

2002-09-11

My husband Joe and our two friends Joe B. and Jeanette went to Atlantic City, N.J. for one last beach fling on Sept. 9-11, 2001. Jeanette and I were on the beach the morning of the 11th while my husband slept late in the motel and her husband played the slot machines in the casino. When someone in the casino told Joe B. about the first plane hitting the WTC tower, he came out to the beach to tell us. We all went back to our rooms, woke my husband, and sat paralyzed in front of the TV watching the second plane hit. I was afraid that Atlantic City would be a target--a perfect symbol of the decadent West--so we packed up and headed home early. Not knowing what other mayhem awaited this country, I chose to avoid driving through Philadelphia on our way home to central Pennsylvania, figuring it too might be a target. We wandered through south Jersey, into Delaware, and through the Pennsylvania countryside. The radio in our car doesn't work so we didn't know if any place else besides NYC, the Pentagon, and Shanksville had been hit. The eeriest sight was on I-81 outside Harrisburg, Pa. with the black helicopters circling the state capitol and a lighted road sign reading, "All roads to NY closed; NYC closed."

I had an immense feeling of dread and relief. We'd stayed in the Marriott Hotel at the WTC the previous Dec. on a trip to see Paul Simon in concert. I was nervous then about staying there since the 1994 bombing. We walked all around the financial district to see some of the historic buildings then walked through Chinatown up to visit my husband's uncle on E. 16th Street. We thought about going to the observatory on the top floor of the WTC tower but decided to save the $44 and do it another time. Now there is no other time. Two weeks previous to the attacks we were in Washington, D.C. for a conference and drove past the Pentagon on the way to a Nils Lofgren concert in Alexandria, Va. On Sept. 11th I wondered what if this had happened while we were there and thought how lucky we were to have missed being participants in this terrible tragedy. How were my husband's aged uncle and aunt? Had they been affected by the cloud of ash covering lower Manhattan? By the time I reached them on the phone a week later, they assured me they were fine--after all, they'd lived through World War II. All I could think of was, "Yeah, but not in your own back yard!" As typical New Yorkers they had no time to talk because they were in the middle of eating their breakfast. It was as if the WTC disaster sixteen blocks away was in another world.

We've been back to New Jersey several times since Sept. 11 but I can't bring myself to go to the shore to look at the hole in the skyline, nor to go to Ground Zero. It's too painful to dredge up the horrors of that day.

I love to fly but have not been in a plane since the attacks; luckily I have not needed to fly. The thought of flying to Los Angeles next August for a conference makes my guts churn and adrenaline pump. I think about how I would react if terrorists attempted to commandeer the plane. Thirty years ago I physically defended my husband from a blindsided attack, jokingly referring to myself as the "family German shepherd," and I know I would do it again without hesitation. I hate that I have to feel on guard against unknown forces.

I find it hard to watch the news programs during this first anniversary. Just listening to Bruce Springsteen's new CD The Rising brings tears to my eyes. While I'm looking forward to seeing him and the E Street Band in concert three times on this tour, I'm also scared of the raw emotions I'll feel as he sings about the firefighters going "up the stairs, into the fire." These will be teary, sad, and joyous concerts that I hope will bring a sense of peace for all we've been through in the last year.