story6763.xml
Title
story6763.xml
Source
born-digital
Media Type
story
Date Entered
2002-09-12
911DA Story: Story
September is beautiful in suburban New York. September 11 dawned perfectly-no humidity, clear blue skies, 80 ish degrees. Too nice a day to be in school. I was in my Personal Writing class; I heard some mumbling from the students about something going on in New York City, 20 miles southeast of us in Nyack. I shooshed the students and they went back to writing. The principal walked to my door and whispered that a plane had crashed in one of the towers at the World Trade Center. She urged quiet. She left. A few minutes later a security guard yelled down a quiet hallway- there's been a bombing in New York City. The students panicked. Over the loudspeaker, an adult said any student who wanted to leave the classroom could go to a special class. Students were upset as they had relatives or friends in the city.
School continued, though we all walked around shell shocked. The phones didn't work. My 15 year old son tried to call me, and couldn't get through. I worried. The school was under a lock in and only those students whose parents who came to pick them up could leave. There was an eerie feeling of shock, fear, unrest and uncertainty. Students were subdued and the halls were strangely quiet between classes. On my free periods, I wandered just as many students did, trying to wrap my mind over the enormity of the situation.
Some teachers had radios on in the teacher prep area; I refused to go to the room where a tv was on and students were congregating. I waited until I got home to watch tv.
My 15 year old and husband were home watching the major stations who repeatedly showed the bombing, people running from the scene, and the chaos that ensued. I sent my 15 year old to meet my 7 year old at the bus stop. I wanted the tv to be off before he came in. In his elementary school, the bombing had not been discussed. I briefly told him there was a serious accident in New York City. We asked him if he had any questions, but he didn't.
It was impossible to get a phone line. I communicated to others over the internet. Somehow, I was able to get through to my sister who lived in Florida, and not to my parents who live five miles away. I remember sitting on the front step on that beautiful early fall night. It was silent outside, like after a snowfall. Perhaps even quieter as there were no planes flying overhead. Trucks that rambled down 9W toward the city had been diverted elsewhere. It was eerie- this quiet and peace.
I couldn't sleep that night. I wrote on my computer, filling in black words on the white screen about my concern, my anxiety, my assurance that things would iron themselves out in the morning.
The truth began slowly to surface in the morning. The rescue teams were set up to save people- there were no people to save. Thousands were missing. Both towers had collapsed. A brother called from Paris -are you okay? Another brother and a college roommate called from California-are you okay? how is it in your part of the country? what do you know? we haven't heard much? My family members were safe and intact. School resumed as the administration wanted to maintain an air of normalcy. Some students' family members still weren't accounted for. School was quiet...
"I know my brother will be all right...he left a message" Paige Crowther said to Tiffany Anderson as they hugged each other on the 11th. Tiffany's dad had also been in the city. Welles wasn't all right. As the days went by, bad news began to emerge. Paige's 24 year old brother hadn't been found. Welles had been my student years earlier and I remembered him as a hard working, yet fun loving young man. Stacey Sennas McGowan didn't call home to her husband and daughters, 4 and 5. Stacey had been a student of mine when I first taught, and while I hadn't seen her since 1976, I could still remember her vibrant, friendly smile and her eagerness always to excel. Una Mc Hugh, one of my children's reading teachers, had just returned from a child care leave. Her husband who'd abandoned a job as an executive to become a NYC firefighter, hadn't returned.
Dennis Mc Hugh's wake was the biggest wake I'd ever been. Hundreds of us stood outside on a busy highway as we waited to give Una and her family her condolences. I sent Stacey's parents a letter about how I would remember Stacey as being "forever 13" in my eyes. At her memorial service, the church was so crowded we stood outside. I looked into the photograph of a smiling 38 year old woman who offered so much beauty to the world through her intelligence, her humor, her joy of living and cried. The following day, I attended Welles' service and cried as I listened to his 22 year old sister read his eulogy. I cried for Paige, who a few months later would be in my class and who idolized her big brother.
It's been a year. Nyack High School parents, students and staff designed and built a memory garden. I can look at it outside my window. It's outlined in red brick in the shape of a heart. Bushes, perennials and annuals fill the space. My most poignant memory was of Stacey's daughers throwing flowers at the commemoration of the garden. I said to my 10th grade students who had seemed oblivious to the tragedy, "See those little girls. They don't have a mother anymore. Imagine what your life would be like without your mother..."
That is the legacy we as Americans must face-a nation forever scarred by the needless deaths of men, women and children. The pointless deaths of business people, chefs, fire fighters, religious people, writers, police, rescue workers, artists...foreigners as well as Americans.
I feel hopeful, not fearful. I pray that we will continue to heal, that we will continue to be compassionate, that we will work to create understanding amongst people. We will continue to understand that our similiarities as members of the human race should bind us together. T We should remember how important a smile is, a hug, a hand shake or a kiss can be to promote goodwill.
Each day in my local newspaper are listings of people who have been identified. The horror continues for us in suburban New York. But greater than that is HOPE .
School continued, though we all walked around shell shocked. The phones didn't work. My 15 year old son tried to call me, and couldn't get through. I worried. The school was under a lock in and only those students whose parents who came to pick them up could leave. There was an eerie feeling of shock, fear, unrest and uncertainty. Students were subdued and the halls were strangely quiet between classes. On my free periods, I wandered just as many students did, trying to wrap my mind over the enormity of the situation.
Some teachers had radios on in the teacher prep area; I refused to go to the room where a tv was on and students were congregating. I waited until I got home to watch tv.
My 15 year old and husband were home watching the major stations who repeatedly showed the bombing, people running from the scene, and the chaos that ensued. I sent my 15 year old to meet my 7 year old at the bus stop. I wanted the tv to be off before he came in. In his elementary school, the bombing had not been discussed. I briefly told him there was a serious accident in New York City. We asked him if he had any questions, but he didn't.
It was impossible to get a phone line. I communicated to others over the internet. Somehow, I was able to get through to my sister who lived in Florida, and not to my parents who live five miles away. I remember sitting on the front step on that beautiful early fall night. It was silent outside, like after a snowfall. Perhaps even quieter as there were no planes flying overhead. Trucks that rambled down 9W toward the city had been diverted elsewhere. It was eerie- this quiet and peace.
I couldn't sleep that night. I wrote on my computer, filling in black words on the white screen about my concern, my anxiety, my assurance that things would iron themselves out in the morning.
The truth began slowly to surface in the morning. The rescue teams were set up to save people- there were no people to save. Thousands were missing. Both towers had collapsed. A brother called from Paris -are you okay? Another brother and a college roommate called from California-are you okay? how is it in your part of the country? what do you know? we haven't heard much? My family members were safe and intact. School resumed as the administration wanted to maintain an air of normalcy. Some students' family members still weren't accounted for. School was quiet...
"I know my brother will be all right...he left a message" Paige Crowther said to Tiffany Anderson as they hugged each other on the 11th. Tiffany's dad had also been in the city. Welles wasn't all right. As the days went by, bad news began to emerge. Paige's 24 year old brother hadn't been found. Welles had been my student years earlier and I remembered him as a hard working, yet fun loving young man. Stacey Sennas McGowan didn't call home to her husband and daughters, 4 and 5. Stacey had been a student of mine when I first taught, and while I hadn't seen her since 1976, I could still remember her vibrant, friendly smile and her eagerness always to excel. Una Mc Hugh, one of my children's reading teachers, had just returned from a child care leave. Her husband who'd abandoned a job as an executive to become a NYC firefighter, hadn't returned.
Dennis Mc Hugh's wake was the biggest wake I'd ever been. Hundreds of us stood outside on a busy highway as we waited to give Una and her family her condolences. I sent Stacey's parents a letter about how I would remember Stacey as being "forever 13" in my eyes. At her memorial service, the church was so crowded we stood outside. I looked into the photograph of a smiling 38 year old woman who offered so much beauty to the world through her intelligence, her humor, her joy of living and cried. The following day, I attended Welles' service and cried as I listened to his 22 year old sister read his eulogy. I cried for Paige, who a few months later would be in my class and who idolized her big brother.
It's been a year. Nyack High School parents, students and staff designed and built a memory garden. I can look at it outside my window. It's outlined in red brick in the shape of a heart. Bushes, perennials and annuals fill the space. My most poignant memory was of Stacey's daughers throwing flowers at the commemoration of the garden. I said to my 10th grade students who had seemed oblivious to the tragedy, "See those little girls. They don't have a mother anymore. Imagine what your life would be like without your mother..."
That is the legacy we as Americans must face-a nation forever scarred by the needless deaths of men, women and children. The pointless deaths of business people, chefs, fire fighters, religious people, writers, police, rescue workers, artists...foreigners as well as Americans.
I feel hopeful, not fearful. I pray that we will continue to heal, that we will continue to be compassionate, that we will work to create understanding amongst people. We will continue to understand that our similiarities as members of the human race should bind us together. T We should remember how important a smile is, a hug, a hand shake or a kiss can be to promote goodwill.
Each day in my local newspaper are listings of people who have been identified. The horror continues for us in suburban New York. But greater than that is HOPE .
Collection
Citation
“story6763.xml,” September 11 Digital Archive, accessed December 17, 2025, https://911digitalarchive.org/items/show/11000.