Tales of the Easily Distracted: Memorial 2011

Today, instead of my usual movie/writing/pop culture topics, I wanted to take a moment to remember that other date that will live in infamy: Tuesday, September 11th, 2001, also known since then as Patriot Day. It’s hard to believe ten years have passed since then. As a native New Yorker, I think that for those of us who lived in New York City on that terrible day, it’ll always be fresh in our minds no matter how much time passes. Our family lived in the Riverdale section of the Bronx at the time. I remember hearing on my car radio that a plane, American Airlines Flight 11 from Boston, had crashed into the north tower of the World Trade Center. As the tower burned, I was sure it had to be a freak accident. How the hell could any pilot miss the Twin Towers? The awful reality of the situation sunk in fast when the radio DJ announced, with growing shock and disbelief in his voice, that a second plane from Boston, United Airlines Flight 175, had plowed into the south tower.

And what momentous occasion was I driving to while terrorists ruled the skies and lives were lost? Would you believe a Weight Watchers meeting in nearby Yonkers, NY? Ironically, we of Team Bartilucci had already been preparing to move to northeastern Pennsylvania, since the PR firm where my husband Vinnie worked at the time had decided to move to his boss’s town, Bethlehem, PA. In fact, Vin was already working at the PA office. I managed to get ahold of him on the phone before the lines went dead for hours, telling him, “Believe me, you are so glad you’re not working in the city today!” Hell, under the circumstances, I was glad he wasn’t in the city as well! Unsurprisingly, our Weight Watchers meeting was cut short. We talked, all right, but it sure as hell had nothing to do with losing weight. Our WW branch was at the Cross County Shopping Center in Yonkers, just a fifteen-minute drive from our apartment house. As I passed the shopping center’s plate-glass storefronts, I saw people watching TV in shock, all of us making stunned, sad eye contact with each other.

The waterfall aspect of the 9-11 Memorial

Our niece Jen was living with us at the time. That day, she was in the city attending classes at the Katharine Gibbs School. In the wake of the WTC carnage, she was stuck in the city for hours because the police and FBI were checking motorists’ I.D.s, with nobody allowed in or out of Manhattan for hours. Luckily, Jen’s bosses at the Ben & Jerry let her and the other young folks working there hang out until things calmed down.
Our buddy Jason still remembers what a gorgeous, sunny fall day it was. When we caught up with him, he said, in sad amazement, “It’s a perfect fall day! How could this happen on such a beautiful day?” Cabs had become hard to find, especially with people getting enraged at every swarthy person they came across. Jason found himself walking across Manhattan, shocked and dismayed as he passed scores of stunned people coated with the ashes of the dead. On top of that, our daughter Siobhan, then five years old and diagnosed with ADHD and Asperger’s Syndrome, attended her first day in the Inclusion Class at the Bronx elementary school she was attending at the time—a proud, triumphant day that turned scary and tragic once news of the terrorist attacks broke. After leaving WW, I drove straight to Siobhan’s school to see if it was closing early. I was the very first parent there. I’d barely begun signing the early dismissal form when the doors flew open and a swarm of panicky parents raced inside! Luckily, Siobhan was so young she was more bewildered than full-tilt scared of the hubbub. Now that she’s 14 (15 in October), she's grasping that the tragic events of 9/11/2001 were/are more than just another lesson in her History class at school.

When we came home, the phones were on the mend at last, and I found eleven messages on our answering machine from frantic friends and loved ones across the country, as well as plenty of e-mails (this was well before Twitter, of course). It took a couple of days for us to catch up with everyone and assure them we were alive, well, and safe. We were luckier than most that day; our family was soon home together in our Riverdale apartment, safe and sound, and our friends and loved ones were okay, too. Like most of us who lived in New York City at the time, we've never forgotten, and each year we turn on the reading of the names as a reminder that life and freedom should never be taken for granted. Personally, during the reading of the names in 2010, I had both smiles and tears for the lady who read the poem about her lost loved one, a science fiction fan, and his love of sweet potato pie. Amazing, the little things you take for granted that begin to matter when you least expect it.