nmah476.xml

nmah476.xml

born-digital

story

yes

no

2002-08-28

I am a sixth grade social studies teacher in Bergenfield, NJ which is only a few miles northwest of Manhattan. Second period was in progress when a colleague summoned the teachers into the hallway. She proceeded to tell us that a plane had just hit one of the towers of the World Trade Center and it hadn't been determined if it was an accident or not. The language teacher had a brother who worked in the towers and had survived the 1993 bombing. It seemed as if she lost the strength in her legs as she clasped her hands over her mouth to cover her gasp. Immediately we told her to leave as we obtained coverage for her from the main office. She hurriedly left to track down her brother.
As we returned to our classrooms it seemed so surreal. I never felt so alone in a room of 29 people before in my life. All I wanted to do was to reach out to these children to let them know it was going to be okay but I couldn't -- firstly, because at that moment, they knew nothing about the tragedy. Secondly, because I knew deep down inside that nothing about what had just happened was 'o.k.'
My worst fears were further confirmed -- without even having access to a news flash -- when I could feel the school building rumble from the wake of fighter jets. At that moment I could feel the water welling up in my eyes and the fear settle in below my breast bone. The children stopped for a moment, curiously looking out the window, but thankfully the building blocked the view of the planes heading southeast. As children so often do, they quickly forgot the distraction. Most students resumed their activities without the blink of an eye. There were two or three astute children who I could tell were filing this experience away because they knew something was "not right."
The next thing I can remember was seeing the buildings on fire on the news during my prep period in the gym office. There were about five horrified teachers gathered watching the unthinkable. The vice-principal was enacting a "lockdown" and all I could think about was getting out of the building to get better reception on my cell phone so I could reach my husband to be sure he and my daughter were safe. It was next to impossible to get through to him considering the volume of cell phone calls that were being made at the same time. Nevertheless, I did reach him. He and my daughter were fine. The phone went dead and I couldn't make another call from my cell for the remainder of the day.
I felt helpless and when I feel helpless, the only way I know how to cope is to help. I ran to the main office and asked if there was anything I could do. No plans had been laid out for, "terrorist attack," so no one knew what to tell me to do. Phone calls were coming in one after the other, from parents asking if their children were safe. Shortly thereafter, parents started rushing through the office doors to take their children home to safety. The ironic part of it all was that no one really knew where "safe" was.
By this time, many students were eating lunch in the cafeteria where the noise muffles any announcements made. I figured out what I could do. I began to take the names of students whose parents had come to take them home. If the student was eating lunch, I ran down the flight of stairs that led to the cafeteria to find them, and calmly tell them that their parents were here to take them home. I must have sprinted up and down those steps 25 times before I had to ask someone else to take over. What a relief to have been able to work through my fear and vent it through physical activity. Once another teacher had taken over the job of "runner" I began to look up student's schedules and buzz their classrooms for their teachers to dismiss them to the office.
As I saw children rush into their parent's arms as they walked through the office doors,I wanted desperately to go home. I had a nine-month old baby girl who I had just left for the first time to go back to work the week before. I knew though that my civic duty as a public servant required me to stay at school to help. I knew MY baby was safe with my mother but I also knew that other people's babies didn't know if their parents were alright or not and I knew that they were frightened. My decision to stay at that point didn't seem so difficult.
Once the principal had ascertained enough information about what was happening, he made an announcement. Factual and to the point. He asked us to be strong as a school and to help one another out. He told the students that the bridges and tunnels were closed and that if anyone had parents who worked in the city, they may not be able to get home quickly. He asked that the students not panic. He asked if there were children who needed someplace to stay after school and if so, that they should make the main office aware of it. He told them that the school would see to it that they were not locked out with nowhere to go. Arrangements were being made at the high school for district students to stay there into the night if they needed to.
The innocence of the post Viet Nam generations was lost that day. Myself being born in 1970, I didn't personally experience the impact of that war. Falkland Islands??? Where were they? Iran Contra Scandal??? What was that? Desert Storm - a "surgical" operation portrayed in the media as such. Just air strikes. Strategically dropped bombs. No American blood shed. September 11th - American Blood Shed. We had been involuntarily dragged into the world of terrorism. A world that previously only existed "elsewhere" for many of us. A world that we as Americans are still deperatly trying to make sense of today.

I have a bit of anxiety when I travel over bridges and through the tunnels to Manhattan, but I don't let that stop me. I've thought about moving away from this overpopulated Northeast but who's to say other places are any safer than here where my life is anyway. My ideals and principals are pushing me harder now than ever before to make a positive impact on others. I want to be a better mother, daughter, wife, teacher...person.

Life. Peace. Hope. Heroism.

Yes. I did fly a flag after September 11th. I grew up with the American flag that draped my father's casket, folded neatly in a plastic case on a chair displayed in my living room. My father fought in the Korean War. He was a kind, tolerant, and peaceful man who was tortured all his life by the atrocities he saw take place there. He died when I was eleven, but I knew that when he was younger, he fought for my freedom. My feelings about the flag have not changed. I have always had a deep love and respect for it that I inherited from him.