September 11th, 2010

I’d lucked out with the scheduling of my Fall 2001 semester at Siena. My earliest class on Tuesdays and Thursdays was at 11:30am. Which, for a night owl and burgeoning alcoholic such as myself, was a Godsend.

I lived in a four-man suite in Hennepin Hall. My roommates were Ed Lass, who my friends and I jokingly refer to as the Mayor of Albany; Matt Wetsel, now Fr. Matt Wetsel; and John Heslin, who today is a Portfolio Manager for a company in Summit, New Jersey.

At that time, however, we were just two sophomores and two Juniors killing time with beer and electives.

One Tuesday morning I noticed there was an unusual amount of activity in our suite. It didn’t wake me up entirely, since I always slept later than everyone else and had perfected the art of ignoring life in a half-asleep daze. This was a bit different, though; a bit more kinetic. There was also the unfamiliar sound of a nervous news anchor accompanying all of the activity.

Then Ed woke me up. Panicked, I thought I’d overslept and it was well into the afternoon.

“You have to see this,” he said as I slowly pushed myself up with my left arm.

I climbed out of my bed in the least awkward manner that my obese and unathletic frame would allow. I went into the living room and saw thefootage of a plane colliding with the World Trade Center. I couldn’t even process what it meant. Then, not long after, they broke in with news of a second plane hitting another tower.

John was on the phone and panicking. He stepped out to have a conversation with his father, a Postal Inspector who would appear on the front page of the New York Post not long after for a story about the Anthrax scare. When he stepped out, Ed told me that his mother worked in one of the towers.

A half-hour later, Matt arrived. Classes were cancelled for the rest of the day, and those that had already started when news of the attack had just broken were dismissed without a lecture.

I remember not knowing what to say to John or what to do, other than suggest we all go for a walk and get something to eat. It was a lot more quiet all over campus. The dining hall was far less busier than it was on most weekdays. There was a candlelight vigil held that night, hastily put together by the Friars and the Student Senate, of which I was an Executive Board member.

John, thankfully, found out his mother had gotten out okay, but couldn’t even talk to her until later that evening due to phone networks crashing due to the high volume. I couldn’t even get a phone call in to my brother, who lived in Brooklyn, until two or three days later. I heard jets flying overhead as he relayed the tale with a panic and uncertainty in his voice that still hadn’t left him. New York City had become a militarized disaster area, which was a real shock to the system of the most famous city in the world.

I also remember politicians from all over the world taking to the airwaves to give their condolences and support. I remember most vividly the words of Tony Blair, which were so heartfelt and strong that my friend Ed turned to me and jokingly said “why can’t he be Prime Minister of the United States?”

It was a strange day, and stranger days were to follow.

At first the reaction to 9/11 was unity. The United States because “us.” People were a lot more cordial to each other on the street, and very quickly the prevailing attitude became getting back to a sense of normalcy. Otherwise, they would have won.

In the ensuing weeks and months, that attitude shifted to something a little more ugly and a bit more typically polarizing. “Us” because “you’re with us or you’re against us.” The line between patriotism and jingoism was blurred, and post-9/11 sentiment became politicized. Suddenly it was akin to treason to openly disagree with the President or with military policy. Thankfully, that faded and we never went too far off the deep end.

Right?

I suppose none of that should be important today, on the ninth anniversary. The focus should be on the victims of the attack and their families. Not knowing anyone who fell or lost a loved one in the attacks, I can only speak from my perspective, which is this: that was an awful, terrible day, and it brought out the best and the worst in us.

I dont’ have great words that can heal or help. I just hope it never happens again.