A Generation Later, 9/11, We Shall Never Forget

By Douglas V. Gibbs
Author, Speaker, Instructor, Radio Host

The generation ahead of me can tell you exactly where they were and what they were doing when President Kennedy was assassinated. The generation before them could tell you where they were and what they were doing when Pearl Harbor was attacked by the Japanese on December 7, 1941. The youngest generation doesn't have one of those moments, I don't believe.  Not yet, anyway.  For my generation, the life-changing moment in history was September 11, 2001.

I was born a few years after the death of Kennedy. I vaguely remember the black and white image on the television when we first went to the moon. I remember real well when Nolan Ryan was throwing fireballs, and Reggie Jackson became Mr. October. When it comes to the day the towers fell on September 11, 2001, I know exactly where I was, what I was doing, and how I felt.

I was on my way to a construction jobsite, listening to CDs, when the events transpired. When I got to the site, a fellow construction worker there to help repair our equipment after a break-down, asked, "Did you hear what happened in New York?"

"No, what happened?" I asked.

"A plane," he said, "flew into some skyscrapers. Nobody knows why, but one guy on the radio was saying that he believed it was deliberate."

More and more information leaked to us as the day proceeded, and it became more apparent as the hours passed that not only were the events deliberate, but that they were an act of war.

I listened to the radio all the way home, receiving a little information here and there, but never really understanding the severity of the attacks, or the reality that it was Islamic terrorism.

When I got home, my front door was open. The day was warm, and my wife left the door open to let the air in. As I stepped up on my front porch, and peered into my living room, my eyes caught the television screen. The image was one of a plane flying into an already smoking pair of towers. It was then that I realized the terror of what had happened. My heart crawled into my throat, and my eyes welled up in tears.

What I was witnessing was an attack against America.

I have always been one in tune with politics. If any of my friends ever had a political question, I was the guy they came to. In high school I used to spend my lunches arguing politics with a friend. Often, crowds formed to watch the debate. After high school, I served in the United States Navy, and was medically honorably discharged as a result of an injury incurred in the line of duty. I served aboard a guided missile destroyer (USS Chandler, DDG-996) and a tank landing ship (USS Peoria, LST-1183).

When the September 11 attacks happened, I didn't know what to do. I didn't know how to understand my anger, and pain. I was, to the surprise of most people I know, speechless. At one point I even attempted to get back into the military, but my injuries were severe enough that I was unable to return to military service.

In 2002 my wife and I visited Ground Zero in New York City. I bought a hat with an image of the twin towers, and the words "Never Forget," on it. A small painting with the firemen hoisting the American Flag was on sale nearby, and I bought that too.

When I walked up to the green fencing surrounding the hole that used to be the World Trade Center's Twin Towers, I didn't know what to expect. I had never seen the Twin Towers in person. This was my first trip to the northeast, and it happened to be thirteen months after the September 11 attacks. I peered through a hole that had been torn in the green fabric on the construction fencing, and as I looked down I witnessed a huge hole with twisted subway tracks at the bottom. To my left, on a building that had sustained a little damage, hung a giant mural of the American Flag, and the words "Never Forget."

A man standing beside me looked through the hole in the fencing as I pulled away from it. After he spent a few moments looking through the hole, I said, "I never saw what they looked like."

"You mean the towers?" he asked.

"Yeah, the World Trade Center. This is my first trip to New York. I am from Los Angeles, and I never saw what the towers looked like."

The man lowered his eyes, and said, "The New York skyline is not the same. They dominated the skyline. It's not the same."

"Were they tall?" I asked.

"They towered over the other skyscrapers. Now, when you are outside the city, and you look towards the city, you can tell that something is missing. The skyline is not the same."

We were silent for a moment, then he asked, "Have you seen the Statue of Liberty?"

"Yes," I replied. "This morning. She's beautiful."

My eyes began to well up with tears as I recounted the experience of meeting Lady Liberty for the first time, even though I couldn't get close enough to touch her, or go inside, because of heightened security.

"Yes," he said, "she is lovely."

"I was at the Arlington Cemetery yesterday. Saw the Statue of Liberty this morning. Then we came here."

The man turned to face me, his eyes were wet. "I worked in the towers," he said. "I was running late to work, that morning. I watched the planes fly into the towers from my car. I was supposed to be in them that morning. The towers, I mean. I haven't been back here since. Today is my first visit to the hole that once was the twin towers since it happened.

"I lost a lot of friends, that day," he continued. "People were running in all directions. We didn't know what to think. We just knew that what was happening was horrible. When the second plane flew into the tower, I knew it was no accident. They meant to do this. They meant to kill thousands of people.

"It only took a couple hours for the towers to fall. I was far enough away so I wasn't in danger, but the white cloud after they fell was horrendous. The smoke and dust covered the entire city. It seemed like there was no escape. The people. All of those people in the towers. All of those people in the streets near the towers. They were dead. All of them. They were dead."

I didn't know what to say, but as I looked around I noticed that we were no longer alone. A group of about twenty people had surrounded us, listening to the man tell me about the day the towers fell. Some of them were probably locals, but I am guessing most of them were tourists. Nonetheless, they were all crying. They were crying with him, feeling his grief. Feeling his pain.

Reaching over, I placed my hand on the man's shoulder, and he suddenly, to my surprise, reached over and pulled me into a hug. He wept on my shoulder like a child, releasing the anger and pain of a year's worth. Nobody walked away. Everyone remained around us, each with their head bowed, mourning with him. One person reached over, and placed his hand on the weeping man's shoulder, as if to offer a small prayer, and encouragement.

We stood near that green fence around the hole that used to be the World Trade Center Twin Towers for quite a while, in a tearful embrace. At that moment, something happened that we don't see often in this country. I was no longer a Californian, and he was no longer a New Yorker. We were Americans. We were Americans grieving for our fallen. We were united in a way that could not have been achieved by any other way.

Afterward, we shook hands, and as he looked me in the eye he said, "Never forget."

Another tear rolled down his wet cheeks.

I nodded, but said nothing as our hands separated, and the man walked away. The crowd slowly dispersed, and my wife walked up to me after walking up from around the corner asking, "Did I miss something?"

"Yeah," I said, "But I couldn't describe it properly if I tried."

It was at that moment that 9/11 truly became alive to me. The disconnect I had before, being a West Coast Southern Californian, was gone. The image of the hole below became etched in my memory. The tears of the people around me as the man that had lost his skyline wept remains with me still.

-- Political Pistachio Conservative News and Commentary