Beyond the Flames

Living in South Jersey, we are only a few hours drive away from of New York City – “The city that never sleeps.” Times Square, Rockefeller Center, Central Park, the United Nations and dozens of other tourist destinations draw millions of visitors to the city each year.
Thanks to my girlfriend who has a love for the arts, I’ve been in the city rather frequently the last few years, and have taken in many of the tourist attractions myself. But not a trip goes by where the events of September 11th don’t cross my mind.
And how couldn’t it? The signs are everywhere. Even before you approach the city, you get a glimpse of the Manhattan skyline from the Jersey Shore. There’s lots of construction ongoing in southern Manhattan, and the Freedom Tower is now glimmering in the sun. But it’s not hard to see that the city’s skyline, forever changed, is still recovering from 13 years ago.
But the skyline is just the beginning. There are signs of September 11th every direction you look, everywhere you turn. The firehouses, the souvenir shops, the pizza parlors – everywhere has the evidence. Whether it’s memorial signs, newspaper clippings, photographs or souvenirs, you can’t escape the day.
If you decide to stop by the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island, you’ll take one of the ferries out into the harbor. Chances are, you’ll find a plaque affixed to your boat, stating how on Sept. 11, 2001, the boat and several others that run the daily shuttles between Battery Park, Lady Liberty, Ellis Island and Liberty State Park in New Jersey were manned by volunteers who assisted in the evacuation and transport of thousands of residents and rescue workers from South Manhattan.
The churches in New York are also no escape from flashbacks to that brisk September day. The lobbies are lined with photographs and stories of office workers and those on the street who sought refuge inside the church’s doors when the towers came crashing down. It’s truly a surreal experience, to be walking in the very place that thousands ran from, fleeing for their lives.
While I haven’t had a chance to visit the 9/11 Memorial Museum since it opened, I did visit the memorial in 2012. And it was, and remains, one of the most humbling and emotional moments of my life.
The most striking sight at the memorial is the massive reflection pools that encompass acres of the property. They sit in the footprints of where the north and south towers, World Trade Center 1 and World Trade Center 2, once stood tall. Thousands of names lined each wall, one for each person killed in the attack, as well as the names of six businessmen who were killed in the 1993 bombings; a surreal, heartbreakingly beautiful, overwhelmingly emotional sight to see.
And if you do visit, the tears will come. In fact, most people at the memorial that day, at least those in their late teens and older, had tears in their eyes. Maybe some had personal grieving, lost a family member, a close friend. Maybe some had an emotional connection due to the love of their country, remembering the pain they felt 13 years ago and still feel today.
Or maybe they had a personal connection in the way I felt I did. Maybe they too, had a father, mother, sibling, aunt or uncle who were firefighters, police officers, EMTs, doctors. And just as we knew that our fathers, in the same position, undoubtedly would have been the ones running in to help when everyone else was running out, maybe they knew their loved ones would have done the same thing.
But through all the signs of horror and heartbreak, there are signs of recovery. The Freedom Tower now hovers over the skyline, a symbol of perseverance. There are the plaques of the ferries, the photos on the walls, the symbols and writing on the fire engines that respond to incidents throughout the streets.
They mark what to me was the most striking thing about the events on September 11th – how fast people were to rush in and lend a hand. Firefighter, police officer, boat captain, nun, pizza chef, or homeless person on the street, it didn’t matter. When someone was in a time of need, they were there to help their neighbors and complete strangers.
They were the first step in the recovery, the first sign to the terrorists that they may have taken down our buildings, but they failed to take down our spirit.
In my eyes, true heroes are not defined by their names, or their job title. A picture may be worth a thousand words, but the single action captured in the photo can have a million consequences.
It didn’t matter whether they were trained as lifesavers or as salad makers, what mattered 13 years ago was that they were Americans. And they have forever changed the paths of millions.
To those, from each and every one of us who call this great nation our home, I salute you, and extend my deepest gratitude for all you’ve done to make us who we are. I, for one, know that there’s no place on earth I’d rather call home.