I remember it all too well. The day was beautiful. A clear sky. Low humidity. A perfect late Summer day.
Children were back in school. The courts were over their vacations. It was almost a joyous day to go to work. If that was possible.
I was an Assistant Deputy Public Defender assigned to our Union Region office in Elizabeth where I handled juvenile matters. The job was demanding and offered an insight into so many different sides of the justice system.
My role was a necessary cog, providing legal representation to those charged with offenses, if adults, would have constituted crimes. Which, given my client’s ages, the relatives who came to court on their behalf, and the judges and prosecutors charged with upholding the law, made it a difficult task.
When I left home on the morning of September 11, 2001, I was already thinking of what lay ahead of me the day. Normally, the ride on Interstate 78 East after navigating the back streets of Union Township was always a race track. Then heading onto US 1 South once past Newark International Airport was never easy. Even when I traveled the last mile from the highways to the parking deck, traffic almost never flowed properly.
One of the hidden gems on the ride was seeing the Manhattan and Jersey City skylines as I turned South. I also had a marvelous view of Newark Airport’s Terminal C and the hangar areas where I could observe the multitude of planes encamped there.
There was nothing unusual happening until I heard on WCBS-FM, the local classic rock station, that a plane may have crashed into the World Trade Center. That was perhaps a minute before the WTC came into view.
My first glimpse was of thick, black smoke billowing out of some of the upper floors of the enormous buildings. My immediate thought was how did a plane hit the building on such a clear day? It made no sense.
What also made no sense was that I saw a plane flying low, heading towards the same area. While I knew it was strange, I kept moving away and my attention quickly refocused on the road ahead of me.
I made it to the office. The little portable TV with rabbit ears and horrible reception was on. Some people were buzzing about the fact that two planes had hit the WTC.
Since my office was mere feet from the lunch room where the TV was located, I was drawn to it. That’s when the details started to emerge.
It was confirmed that two planes had been hijacked and intentionally flown into the buildings. Chaos was erupting in Lower Manhattan.
One of our investigators was a Colonel in the US Army. He made it crystal clear from what he had observed and phone calls to well-connected people that the United States was under attack.
Those words made me sick. I thought of Pearl Harbor, a place I had visited just over a year ago, a terrible memorial to the tragedy which happened when the Japanese fighters attacked our ships and military installations.
I called to see if things were happening in court. Nothing was going on. All eyes were transfixed to their own TV screens or listening to radio accounts.
Work was continuing in the office, but not for me. I became glued to the set. To watch the sickening events unfolding.
We were let go early. Nobody knew what to make of the attacks. Would there be more? Would the US be engaging in a war after we were brazenly violated at home?
My reverse commute took me back past Newark Airport and I could clearly see the two towers billowing the thick black smoke from aircraft fuel. My heart felt heavy and simultaneously raced. I wondered how many had lost their lives from this wanton raid.
I was home in time to turn on the set to see the North Tower collapse. I did not see the South Tower go down at 9:59 am; only on replays which were played way too many times during the day. The images were so graphic, with the consequences unfathomable.
Then the reports kept coming in as the networks streamed coverage of the events. Another plane had struck the Pentagon. And a third plane had crashed in Pennsylvania, ostensibly headed towards Washington, D.C, to inflict more catastrophic damage.
My wife learned of the situation through me as she taught in Bernards Township. Our children came home early, as she eventually did.
The confusion and uncertainty was as great as the carnage inflicted. So many innocent people perished that day. Some panicked, others acted heroic in the course of their jobs as first responders.
My blog editor, a practicing New York attorney, called me from Lower Manhattan, seeking advice as to what to do, as her office was situated not that far from Ground Zero. It was a simple admonition I gave her—get home to her apartment, away from the mess and dust and debris.
This was a day we as a nation never thought we would see. Yet the Twin Towers had been the site of an earlier attack, causing far less harm. But we could never foresee the scheme the terrorists exacted that day.
Lives were irreparably harmed with the tragic losses suffered on 9/11. To this day, so many who survived or who were related to someone who perished have been impacted in ways unthinkable at the time.
We grieved as much as we were angered. The naiveté about being invulnerable vanished that quickly. What would happen next, while Manhattan and the Pentagon, places I had been in and driven by many times, sought to recover, was a thought echoed in many a mind.
If you lived in the New York Metro area, you undoubtedly heard of someone who either died or was harmed that fateful morning. I certainly did, whether it was through co-workers, my synagogue, where I was the Immediate Past President, my wife’s school and town, as well as those who unfortunately resided in the Township of Springfield.
The reminders were omnipresent then and are ever-present now. My neighbor’s son-in-law lost his father, who was a firefighter. Every year, he goes to Lower Manhattan for the solemn recitation of the names of those lost.
Then there are the commercials for those who may now be physically impacted by what took place long ago sadly are seen way too often. The hidden costs of 9/11 still are surfacing 25 years later.
On clear to partly cloudy September 11 nights, we are able to see the twin beams of light arising from the site of the towers, a chilling memorial to what took place. I have been to the Reflecting Pool but not into the museum—I don’t want even greater horrible memories retained in my brain. My family and I traveled to Shanksville, Pennsylvania before the permanent memorial for Flight 93 was erected. Plus we made sure to drive by the Pentagon in 2002, as the august building was being repaired. That, in a way, is penance for me.
The disruption of life that day was immeasurable. Flights were halted. Those abroad were stuck there. Some made it to a very hospitable Gander, Newfoundland. Domestically, travel came to a standstill, with people struggling to find alternate ways to reach destinations.
Those trying to flee Manhattan found it to be exceedingly difficult—whether it was to the outer boroughs, Long Island, New Jersey or to the north. Because there was a need to keep the tunnels in one direction, that limited access to New Jersey.
What we did was band together during this tragic time. Civility reined when our tempers were the hottest. Unity in times of trouble has always been a hallmark of Americans. The Tri-State area was no exception.
Sports were totally shut down. The New York Mets were set to play the Pirates in Pittsburgh while the New York Yankees were ready to host the Chicago White Sox. Major League Baseball canceled all games from September 11 through the 15th.
Shea Stadium’s parking lots were transformed into staging areas for Ground Zero relief. The Yankees and Mets were huge contributors to a community greatly in need of any help it could get.
The first professional baseball game in New York City happened on September 21, 2001. The Mets played the Atlanta Braves. Other games had been played across the country, including one between the Cardinals and Milwaukee Brewers in St. Louis, where Hall of Fame broadcaster Jack Buck read a poem he wrote urging compassion and unity.
At that first game, both teams wore hats representing the NYPD and NYFD. Officers from those department stood side-by-side with the players before the game, in a show of solidarity. Braves and Mets players hugged.
Then the iconic moment happened that only sports could offer. Mets’ catcher Mike Piazza, now in the Baseball Hall of Fame, came to bat with one on in the bottom of the eighth inning. His swing at a pitch became an epic moment, as it cleared the fence and gave the Mets the lead. It was like the city had exhaled.
With the schedule pushed back, the 2001 World Series between the Yankees and Arizona Diamondbacks continued into November—a first for baseball. For Game 3, President George W. Bush came to the Bronx to throw out the first pitch. Security was extremely tight—President Bush wore bulletproof vest underneath a Yankees jacket for protection should somebody try to harm him. A Secret Service officer was on the field dressed as an umpire.
As only Derek Jeter could, he exhorted the President to throw his pitch from the mound. And the Hall of Famer told the President not to bounce his throw. Which, before a national TV audience, he made a perfect throw after giving the super-charged crowd a thumbs-up sign, a symbolic gesture to insure that our nation and New York would be all right.
Twenty-five years later we recall the events of September 11, 2001 as the country commemorates a very solemn anniversary of such a shocking incident. The tributes still pour in, as they should.
MLB had the prescient idea to schedule the Mets and Yankees to play on this night in the Bronx as part of a three game series. What a great call.
In a pre-game ceremony, a bevy of Yankees legends who are on the team in 2001, led by Joe Torre and Derek Jeter, participated in honoring the memory of those lost that day. A married couple who met after both lost their fathers on 9/11 threw out the first pitch. Paul Goldschmidt and Cody Bellinger, whose father was on that 2001 NYY team, caught the throws. Lee Greenwood, who sang “America the Beautiful” in 2001 during the World Series reprised his role.
Yankees catcher Austin Wells wore a special helmet and chest protector embossed with NYFD emblems. Other used special game-edition bats with FDNY painted on. Those items would be later auctioned off to help FDNY charities. And both teams wore baseball caps with team logos on the side for the NYPD, FDNY or PAPD.
Other than an unwanted protestor carrying a Palestinian flag running onto the field at exactly 9:11 p.m., the night was conducted with dignity and grace. The Yankees won 6-4. (NYM pounded Gerrit Cole and Yankees pitching in a 12-2 rout on Saturday)
Everyone has a memory related to 9/11. Whether you were close by, watching the situation unfold in a car like Yankees’ radio broadcaster Suzyn Walkman, then a reporter for WFAN, the all-sports talk radio station in New York—she saw a plane hit the building from stopped-dead traffic on the Bruckner Expressway. Or we keep learning new stories each year.
New York City and its surroundings changed forever in one instant. There is a new World Trade Center. We have, in a way, moved on.
There were games to watch on Saturday in baseball and college football (Texas, with Arch Manning at the helm, came back to stun #1 Ohio State). The remaining NFL contests will be played on Sunday and Monday (Seattle downed New England on Wednesday night and San Francisco trounced the LA Rams in Australia the next night). The US Open will finish its matches.
Still, there are things which remain the same. Our nation continues to have enemies ready to wreak havoc on us. War rages on between the US and those in the Middle East who detest us. We have our own political divisions to deal with. Not everything is perfect. Far from it.
One thing is certain. For one day and night, Americans were again unified. We will never forget. We will always remember.
