Memorializing September 11th

[Valin]

National Affairs:

Wilfred M. McClay
Sept. 2011

In the run-up to the tenth anniversary of the September 11th terrorist attacks, one could predict with ease two things about the nation's observation of that grim occasion. First, that a huge amount of journalistic attention would be paid to the terrible events of ten years ago, with lengthy and reflective feature articles in magazines and newspapers, lavish photographic spreads, television specials, colloquia and panel discussions, and editorials and opinion columns. The media might, for a time, partially lift their strange, self-imposed prohibition on displaying the horrifying imagery of the attacks. We could once again see the surreal images of the planes crashing into the Twin Towers; the resulting chaos in the streets of New York; the titanic collapse of the Trade Center buildings; the gargantuan plumes of smoke and fire rising from Manhattan; the bullhorn speeches; the heroism of firefighters, policemen, emergency medical teams, and other first responders; and the generosity and gritty determination of thousands of ordinary New Yorkers, along with the profound and inconsolable grief of many others. Some of the most horrifying sights we remember from that day, such as the desperate souls forced to plunge to their deaths out of the towers' high windows, might still be kept off the air. But minute attention would again be paid to the human toll of the calamity, the immense scale of destruction, and the multiple facets of suffering.

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The wave of patriotic sentiment that emerged was remarkable in its spontaneity and breadth. No one can forget the sudden appearance on American streets of a vast profusion of American flags, or the sudden fondness for the playing of patriotic songs in public places. Even the rock musician Neil Young, not previously known for such sentiments, penned a stirring song in November 2001 called "Let's Roll" — the title and song being an unabashed tribute to Todd Beamer, one of the heroic passengers whose resistance helped ensure that the hijacked United Flight 93 crashed into the fields of Pennsylvania rather than into the seat of the United States government, the hijackers' intended target. The words "Let's roll!" were said to have been Beamer's last (which he preceded with the Lord's Prayer), an admirably blunt and quintessentially American exhortation to action directed at his fellow passengers. President George W. Bush echoed those same words at the conclusion of a memorable and equally hortatory November 8th speech.

As powerful as September 11th proved in its immediate effects, though, the event's influence rapidly dissipated. The flags were soon put away, and less than five years later, at the height of public anger over the Iraq War, Neil Young received a Grammy Award nomination for singing "Let's Impeach the President." Yet controversy over the Iraq War was not the sole reason that the 2001 attacks faded in importance. Although such things are impossible to measure with precision, there seems to have been a growing level of unease and even defensiveness and guilt about the nation's alleged Islamophobia — sentiments that increasingly overshadowed any anxiety about the possibility of another attack. More and more Americans have been willing to take seriously the idea, peddled by figures like the literary critic Susan Sontag, University of Colorado professor Ward Churchill, and the Reverend Jeremiah Wright, that America was somehow to blame for the attacks, and fully deserving of them. One could argue that the luxury of entertaining such ideas and indulging in such gestures was an ironic tribute to the effectiveness of the very anti-terror efforts that Young's impeachment song protested so scathingly. The nation's impressive success in prosecuting the war on terror made it possible to contend that there was no such thing as a war on terror, and that the danger of al-Qaeda and other jihadist groups had been grossly exaggerated for political purposes.

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The Freeport Flag Ladies probably haven't read Renan, but they fully understand his words regarding sacrifice, and the responsibilities imposed by a nation's grief. They aren't suffering from gridlock. They aren't suing anyone; they aren't demanding that the government subsidize them or compensate them for the income they have had to forego, or for the bowls of chowder they have missed out on during their long drives on those icy roads. They aren't anti-Muslim bigots. And they aren't waiting on elite figures in New York or Washington or Cambridge to tell them how September 11th should be most tastefully memorialized by sensitive Americans.

Instead, they took their own steps to observe the tenth anniversary in a big way — importing a piece of steel from the World Trade Center and transforming Freeport into "9/11 Central" for all of Maine. Such keepers do not suffer from ambivalence about the meaning of September 11th, and their love and clarity are both tonic and contagious. New York, and the rest of America, need to find a way to share in their spirit.

The Freeport Flag Ladies

[Valin]

"I knew he was going to put the flag somewhere."

9/11 Firefighter Speaks With ABC News 10 Years Later

CHRISTINA CARON

9/7/11

 

 

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When he arrived at ground zero, at about 10:45 a.m., one of the most eerie parts, he said, was the "absolute silence" accompanying the dust and papers strewn throughout the downtown area. Around 5 p.m., after spending the entire day searching the pile, all emergency responders were told to leave, out of fear building 7 was going to come down.

 

Eisengrein was sitting on the front bumper of his rig when he noticed two other firefighters carrying a flag. One of them was his good friend, Daniel "Danny" McWilliams, now an FDNY lieutenant in Brooklyn in his 21st year with the department. The other person was someone Eisengrein didn't know at the time, but would soon be linked with for the rest of his life: George Johnson, who is now in his 20th year with the FDNY and a battalion chief in Brooklyn.

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As the story goes, McWilliams, who had grown up with Eisengrein on Staten Island, found the flag on a 130-foot yacht in the Hudson named "Star of America," owned by Shirley Dreifus of the Majestic Star Co. in New York. As soon as Eisengrein saw McWilliams, he said, "I knew he was going to put the flag somewhere."

 

He hollered out, "Do you need help?" then joined them in looking for a place to hang it.

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