...not a cloud to be seen

It was the penultimate perfect day. Crystal clear blue sky, not a cloud to be seen, the air crisp and clean. New Yorkers of every stripe, in their own inimitable way, hurried about their business, rushing off to school or work, to a morning run or a latte at Starbucks. Down the subway, chasing a bus, stuck in morning rush hour traffic, or scurrying across the crowded streets they came, converging on downtown Manhattan like bees to the hive. For some, the day held an important meeting, for others only the mundane daily grind. They came, thinking ahead to their evening plans – a trip to the gym, pasta or chicken for supper, a romantic evening with that someone special – never knowing that those plans would never materialize.

They also came that morning – filled with hate for Americans and their freedom, their pursuit of prosperity, their individualism and their attitude, nowhere else better portrayed than in New York. Their mission was simple – to kill those who cherish liberty and to destroy the dream that is America.

Remember the first newscast – a plane had crashed into the Trade Center. Surely an accident, it quickly became the focus of the morning news.

Remember watching the broadcast, the speculation, the queasy feeling of seeing the first tower on fire. As the broadcast continued a second plane appears in the background – why was it flying so low, so close to the skyscrapers rising from the bedrock below?

Remember the shock as the second tower was hit. Flames bursting out from all sides – the realization that this was no accident – the understanding that the unthinkable was happening before our very eyes, broadcast for all the world to see.

Remember thinking that this was the worst day of our lives, and soon realizing that it had merely just begun. A fire at the Pentagon? – no another plane on a perverted act of religious vengeance. Then a fourth down in Pennsylvania. Back to the smoking inferno in New York, we watched horrified as office workers, fleeing from the flames, stepped out onto a window ledge one hundred floors above, held hands, and jumped to their deaths, while far below firefighters and police ran into the fire and up the stairs in a valiant effort to rescue their fellow Americans.

Remember the utter despair as the first tower collapsed in on itself, the plume of smoke and debris filling lower Manhattan, only to be followed by the collapse of the second tower, completing the devastation of the financial district and crushing the spirit of America.

Remember the immediate aftermath – air traffic halted, the market tumbled, the fear of subsequent attacks hung in the air, and the economic stability of the country hung in the balance.

But this was America. Unwilling to surrender to fear, defiant and proud, led by the sheer bravado that is New York, the country began to rebound. They came from all across the great expanse of our land, professionals and volunteers, men and women, the rich and the poor, every race, creed and color, united by the common bond that is America. Flags were raised and the ruins were cleared. Offices and schools opened. The wheels of commerce once again began to turn. In Queens a special part of American culture and tradition brought the Atlanta Braves and the New York Mets, bitter enemies, together on a ball field where rivalries were momentarily forgotten and players embraced. Emotions flowed openly, starting with the opening pitch, continuing through Liza Minnelli’s passionate rendition of “New York, New York” in the seventh inning, and culminating in a storybook ending as Mike Piazza, the darling of the New York fans, won the game with a dramatic home run. At that moment it was clear that the Islamic terrorists had failed, and that America would rise up and reclaim its place at the top of the hill.

Remember the resolve as we mourned and buried our dead, united in prayer and purpose, and planned vengeance on those who would destroy us. There was a very special feeling coursing through the veins of the country then. All differences were set aside and political bickering was given a backseat as congress united, not as democrats and republicans, but as Americans.

Just as time heals all wounds, time also dampens our resolve. Vigilance gives way to complacency. Cooperation to partisanship. Volunteerism to entitlement. Leadership roles change, new agendas come into vogue, and the course of our country is altered. Where once we projected military might, we now drop our defenses and apologize for being the great country that we are. We coddle those who wish us harm and prosecute those who rose to the challenge and defense of the country in the face of pure evil. Traditions are jettisoned for a vague notion of change, and our sacred liberties are threatened by a soft tyranny that would transform the face of the nation we hold dear.

As we commemorate the events of 9-11, let us first mourn our dead, both the innocent victims and the heroic first responders who embodied all that is right with America. Let us remember the emotions and passions that wrenched us all on that faithful day – shock, fear, sorrow, despair – followed by rage, vengeance and resolve. Finally, let us also remain vigilant to all forces that would seek to destroy our nation, both via malicious intent or by misguided actions, both foreign and domestic, for we alone are the last defense of our liberties.

Nico