Americans' questions left unanswered
Tim Casey
Guest column
I went to bed Monday night in the "city that never sleeps‚" wondering whether I would go jogging before or after heading to Fifth Avenue the next day.
Tuesday morning, I wondered whether I would ever run, shop or sleep again.
It was an overreaction, thank God. It was a common reaction, thank no one.
A few days ago, I didn't think twice of being in Manhattan at 9 a.m. on Sept.11, 2001, in my brother's 27th floor apartment a couple miles away from the World Trade Center. I had arrived on Sunday, had gone to the Red Sox-Yankees game that afternoon, had a job interview in New Jersey Monday afternoon and another meeting at a New York newspaper on Wednesday afternoon. I planned on walking around the city all day Tuesday.
But there I was, jumping out of bed, slipping on shorts, sneakers and a hat, brushing my teeth, grabbing some money and keys, then entering an elevator. A few minutes earlier, my sister-in-law watched an airplane fly into a skyscraper and immediately awoke me out of a deep sleep. A few minutes later, we were both outside her apartment building, at 64th and West End Ave., unsure where to go, what to think, how to cope.
I'm in the words business, trying to string together nouns, verbs, adjectives and adverbs, trying to construct a story, trying to explain.
Sorry. There are no explanations for what happened Tuesday in New York, in D.C. and across America. Only stories, plenty of stories.
Here's one:
My brother, a commodities trader who works in nearby Greenwich, Conn., spoke to his friend, Ward Haynes, Monday afternoon. They met a few years ago through business. They played golf together, went to dinner together and talked regularly. Ward has a great sense of humor, a caring heart and a genuine love for life. He is one of those people who makes an immediate, positive impression on others.
I was lucky enough to know him. During my sophomore year at Notre Dame, my brother told me Ward used to be on the staff at Sports Illustrated. So I called him and asked how I should pursue a career in sports journalism. He gave me some tips and phone numbers of people he knew at SI. He genuinely wanted to help an unknown, novice writer and we stayed in touch periodically. I finally met Ward for the first time in March at the Big East men's basketball tournament in New York. We ate at a local bar before walking a few blocks to Madison Square Garden. It was a fun night.
Sadly, it may have been the only few hours we spent together.
Ward worked as a broker in the World Trade Center. On Tuesday morning, he said goodbye to his lovely wife, 10-year old son and 3-year old twins then went to work. As of last night, Ward's family still had not heard from him.
We can only pray that Ward — and all the other missing people — calls home sometime soon. We can only hope that the families remain strong and positive.
Imagine waiting for days for your mother, father, brother, or sister?
For a moment Tuesday, Sharon, my sister-in-law, had that horrific experience. Shortly after we evacuated the apartment building, Sharon began worrying about her sister Sue, who lived a few blocks from the World Trade Center. For several hours, Sharon and her family tried to get in touch with Sue. No luck. It was nearly impossible to use cell phones in the city. So, to pass the time, Sharon and I ate a quick breakfast at a local restaurant, bought some newspapers and magazines and sat down on a park bench.
We saw the financial district crumble. We saw people sobbing and staring at the damage. We saw the busiest, loudest city in the world, suddenly become as quiet as a Midwest town.
We talked to our parents in Rhode Island and my brother in Connecticut and told them we were OK. Fortunately, we were far enough away from lower Manhattan. But no one could reach Sue.
Finally, around 1:30 p.m. my sister-in-law noticed her sister standing about 100 yards away. Sharon jumped off the bench, placed her magazine on the ground and ran towards Sue. Sue had heard the first plane crash into the World Trade Center, gathered some clothes, escaped from her building and walked for a few hours to her sister's apartment.
They embraced. They cried. They said "I love you" over and over and over. Then they wondered. I wondered.
We all wondered.
We wanted answers.
Instead, we got questions. Lots and lots of questions.
Why, oh why, did this happen to innocent people? Why, oh why, did this happen in our country?
Why, oh why?
Tim Casey is a 2001 graduate of Notre Dame and a former Observer sports writer.
The views expressed in this column are those of the author and not necessarily those of The Observer.
All Viewpoint Stories for Thursday, September 13, 2001
