One man's response
09/13/2001
Post Home / Recreation Channel / Bullz-Eye Home
Before I begin, I must ask of my regular readers that you forgive me this temporary divergence from my regular subject matter. The events of this week are neither within the scope of my expertise, nor do I particularly understand how to ink my thoughts and feelings on current events.
You see, I picked up my little green notebook tonight not to write an article for publication, but to make a list... .
-BOOTS, EXTRA SOCKS
I come from a generation of twentysomethings who, through our insulation from it, know little or nothing of human tragedy. We are too young to have witnessed the Vietnam War. In fact, the single greatest disaster etched on our collective memory is the Challenger disaster, in which seven innocent American heroes lost their lives. The images of burning spaceship wreckage splashing gently into the Atlantic Ocean while the families of the astronauts looked on will forever be a part of our television-fed concept of human suffering.
-BACKPACK, WATER BOTTLES
Later in our lives, through our less-formative college years, we received our first glimpse of our nation at war. We sat in front of our televisions, popcorn in hand, and watched as CNN broadcast our flawlessly executed video game war against an obscure enemy on the other side of the planet. To this day, I am unable to quote any accurate casualty statistics from the Gulf War.
-SLEEPING BAG, CAMERAS, NOTEBOOK
And thus it has been a full 10 years since any real form of war, death or destruction has invaded the consciousness of my generation. They say, and rightly so, that time heals all wounds. Time, when occupied by insulating peace, also breeds complacency.
-CLIP KNIVES, FRS RADIOS
So it was with this frame of reference that we went about our business on September 11. As an American generation, we were young, strong, healthy and wealthy. We had nothing to fear, and the sun was shining. Perfection.
When the first news of a plane crash reached me via Howard Stern, I barely slowed down to listen. The other twentysomethings in my office joined me in my skepticism: "Must be a hoax. Or maybe it's just an accident. One of those damn sightseeing planes." Only later did we realize that something was very wrong in our world.
As the sickening series of events unfolded around us, I fielded two phone calls from my mother. The first was to verify that I was not on an airplane, as I so often find myself on Tuesdays. The second call was to verify that I was not under the ill-fated flight 93, which had become a manned missile, missing its intended target, but crashing not far from my suburban Pittsburgh home and office. Mom was ok, but even over the phone her voice
betrayed a wavering worry that I have never heard from her.
I stood, dumbfounded, gazing out the window of my office overlooking the Air Force base. I watched as jets were scrambled into action, jets I have never seen before, even though I have lived a stone's throw from this airfield for five years. As reports reached us that more wayward planes may be in the air, I listened as the word "evacuate" came over the intercom. Never having been evacuated before, I didn't know how to proceed. So, rather by instinct, I left the office, filled my gas tank and purchased ammunition.
-WORK GLOVES, LATEX GLOVES
I had never given a single, solitary thought as to how I might react to an event of this proximity and magnitude, but I suppose my reaction may have been genetically programmed. Like hatchling sea turtles that scramble toward the sea even though they have never known the feel of water, I reacted first with concern for my person, property and family, and I took immediate steps to protect them.
-SAFETY GLASSES, SURGICAL MASKS
Again, I remind you that I have never known war, tragedy or death. I have no preconceived notions of how I may deal with death when presented with it firsthand. But if there is one kernel of knowledge to be learned from this, it's that we, as Americans, are all possessed of a unique instinct to do something. I trust this instinct, and it is my intention to do something now. In much the same way those tiny, blind, clueless turtles ambulate toward the waves, I complete this somber list of the items I think I might need to survive in our newest war zone.
I am admittedly unprepared for what awaits me in Lower Manhattan. I have no medical or technical skills to speak of. But my people need help, and help is what I am going to offer.
Our lives have changed forever, and it is time for the people of my generation to assume our position alongside our parents and grandparents, who knew war and death, stood it down, and emerged stronger for it. It is they who have silently passed along the genetic code which now draws us together and pushes us to action. I confidently hope that we will make them proud this time.
*AUTHOR'S NOTE: I do not intend to pen any follow-up articles on this subject, as I am not a journalist. Given one wish, I would make today Tuesday at 7:00 am, and would alert the world to the presence of the snakes in our midst. All I ask is that my readers take a moment to reflect on the gravity of this situation, realize that it is far from over, and do
something.
Should anyone wish to help by volunteering your services or donating to help the people of New York, please call 1-800-801-8092. Thank you, and God Bless America.
-Mitch