SmokeJumperStrategy

A Personal 9/11 Reflection

admin — Mon, 12 Sep 2011 03:51:04 +0000

As most of us have taken time to reflect on the events of a decade ago, I was taken back to my own small, personal connection to NYC shortly after 9/11. Below is a note I sent via email to my immediate family members (all of whom are Canadian, some of whom have lived in the United States – ‘though none as long as I have). I wonder have I done enough . . . .

Subject: Thoughts of NYC

Date: Thu, 08 Nov 2001 21:07:47 -0800

From: brenth@netscape.com (Brent Harrison)

To: Joan Harrison ,

Bev Harrison ,

Scott Harrison ,

Andrew Mardon ,

Gary Harrison ,

Judith Harrison ,

Joy Mardon , Joy Mardon ,

Sandra Cunningham ,

Sheila Vanstone

CC: Brent Harrison

Hi All,

I moved to the United States some nine years ago from Canada. Like many

Canadians who have emigrated to the US, I was very grateful to this

country for the opportunity afforded me — education, work, many

wonderful friends. Also like many Canadians, amidst my gratitude, there

was a guarded cynicism for the things I felt “wrong” with American

society — socio-economic stratification, public education, gun control,

urban violence, some degree of cultural and moral decay, and, perhaps

most insidious, of all a sort of blind patriotism. Mine was not a

mythical American immigrant story — I came from a country which

possesses many of the same wonderful rights, privileges, freedoms and

opportunities prevalent in America. Unlike many of the immigrants to

the United States, I did not come here overtly in the pursuit of life,

liberty or happiness. I did not necessarily look to the US as a beacon

of goodness and liberty. I was not escaping oppression or persecution.

My feelings have changed dramatically since September 11th. Only when

the higher mores of American society — liberty, freedom, opportunity –

were so viciously and graphically attacked, did I become an American.

Yes, I still possess a Canadian passport and live in this country as a

“Resident Alien.” But I am an American.

I’m returning from a number of days in New York. I took some holidays,

got a plane ticket and went to New York. I wanted to see the city and I

wanted to contribute in some way. On Monday, I was able to prep meals

and move supplies at a restaurant that was contracted by the Red Cross

to cook meals for rescue workers and uniformed officers. But a 1/4 of a

mile from ground zero, what with the inherent evil act that occurred

just down the street, I rolled up my sleeves and put on gloves with many

other people volunteering their time. David, a laid off corporate VP

from Wall Street; Eileen, a middle age executive who had just sold her

company and was on “sabbatical;” June, a Sunday school teacher; and

Chris, who I don’t know what she did, other than keep us all engaged and

cried a lot when she had to cut onions. There I was amidst many

volunteers and chefs from 4 & 5 star restaurants and executive dining

rooms that had been destroyed along with the Twin Towers. Most were

from New York — colorful people from Manhattan, Queens, Brooklyn and

the Bronx — and I from California.

I saw people bustling on the sidewalks of the Upper West Side. I

enjoyed the serenity of the fall colors during a number of runs in

Central Park. I put a tie on and made two sales calls to customers. I

took in my first ever event at Madison Square Garden — a Rangers hockey

game. I took the subway all over town, often times packed in with

people from all walks of life. I walked through Mid-town during midday,

dodging the crowds. I ate in restaurants. I visited friends. I got

stuck in traffic. This is a city full of people from all over the world

doing their utmost to live. It was good to see. I even enjoyed hearing

truck drivers yelling at cabbies — it seemed as if life can and will go on.

Yesterday, I volunteered at Pier 40, which is where the “barricade”

dispatch of the New York City Police Department is stationed

permanently. It evolved in the days following September 11th into a

food serving station for police officers and rescue workers. So, for 6

or 7 hours I stocked ice chests full of soda, made coffee, kept the

sterno canned heats lit and warming the food other volunteers brought

in. I chatted with many NYPD, New York State Troopers who came to this

location for refuge. Many came in with a tremendous amount of trauma

written all over their faces. I’ve never see such trauma in humans

before. They were so appreciative of the volunteers, many who had been

serving 12-16 days 7 days a week for weeks on end now. I can’t imagine

what kind of work they’ve had to do, but these men (and a few women) are

gallant and truly heroic. I met the widow of a man who died in the

South Tower, moments after she returned from ground zero to say goodbye

to her husband. Her and her children’s story is unique and yet so

similar to so many. I read about so many wonderful and unique people

who were killed. I read so many cards and notes written by school

children all over the country. Reading the clarity and impact of the

voices of innocence often brought me to tears. In this particular

station, the notes covered a whole wall. After my day and night were

done, the lead volunteer arranged a police escort to my dinner

arrangements. I joined Officer “Wayne” in an NYPD cruiser. He took me

on a detour before the restaurant. After passing through a half dozen

police checkpoints, he stopped the car and we walked a final block into

Ground Zero. I still haven’t processed what I experienced there. I’m

not sure I ever will. The smell of dust, destruction and decay was

palpable. The magnitude of the destruction is difficult to put into

words. It is cold, dark and dusty, despite the bright construction

lights. It is burning still. It is historic. It is sacred. It is

mind boggling the amount of evil that so few people could perpetrate.

The people down there may be just doing a job, but I think it is so

much more. They are heroes. I slept very little last night. I’m not

sure when I will sleep soundly again.

So I find myself on an airplane back home to California with so many

wonderful memories of this week. New York is a very special place and

the people who live there are unique. Those of us who believe in the

ideals of freedom and opportunity come from all over the world to

America, most specifically to New York. There are many of us who

believe these ideals are worth living for, fighting for and even dying

for. I believe we are all New Yorkers. My name is Brent. I was born

in Canada, I live in California, and I am a New Yorker. I’m going home

and will continue to do all I can to help. My work allows me to help

make electronic communications faster, more efficient, cheaper and more

secure. I hope it helps the economy and supports the military. I’ll

continue to be the best Dad, family member and friend I can be. I will

do my utmost to be understanding, tolerant and respectful of others.

But I do not fear evil. I saw, smelled and tasted the remnants of what

evil can deliver up close. I refuse to turn back the clock on

civilization and live in a cave or believe that twisted, martyr

worshipping religious zealotry is somehow justifiable. The United

States is a flawed country. But it’s people are good. It’s core values

and ideals are good. And it is a great country. (I haven’t been to

every country in the world, so i don’t know if it is the greatest

country in the world. But I do know it is a great country.) It is

worth living for every day, it is worth fighting for and it is worth

dying for when absolutely necessary.

God Bless,

Brent