The day the world stood still

When you have been blessed to have reached a certain age there are multiple moments and incidents frozen in your memory. Your first day of school, holding your new baby sister for the first time, graduations, your first plane ride, the very first wave you ever caught, where you were on 11/22/63, an almost hole in one, marriage or the births of your children. I’m sure you have many of your own.

In my case, every single one of those memories is dwarfed by the events of September 11, 2001. Even now, being hundreds of miles from ground zero and years down the line, the feeling and the memories are as sharp as they were then.

It was a very crisp fall morning in Connecticut; Sue and I were both in the middle of teaching our classes at Greenwich High a few classrooms down from each other. I was in the middle of a fairly intense lesson in Algebra 2 when a knock on the door from a friend and para professional working with the math department, Geeta Ashra, letting me know that a plane had hit one of the twin towers.

I had spent two years in the Wall Street area ‘76-’77, as an operations analyst and had enjoyed more than a few lunches in the towers so it was upsetting news. While it was, at first, thought to be a tragic accident, it was very concerning as many of the parents of Greenwich High kids worked in the Wall Street area and some the towers themselves.

Less than 30 minutes later Geeta appeared at the door almost unable to speak, shaking and without much color in her face to let me know that a second plane had hit the South Tower. She was terrified as her son, a recent college graduate and a former student in my Calculus class, was scheduled for an interview in the North Tower that morning. What she didn’t know at that moment, and did not find out for another hour, was that he had overslept and missed his train. He had called and asked to reschedule, which they were happy to do.

Word spread very quickly, even in 2001, well ahead of social media and sophisticated omnipresent cell phones (the iPhone itself would not be released until 2007). Greenwich High had close to 3,000 students and 250 staff members and was divided into 4 houses each with a leader, then referred to as a housemaster.

Sue and I had the very good fortune to work with a remarkable leader, Rod Saggese, and while circulating around keeping things calm, he arranged for a TV to be rolled into his office. Each staff member was told that they were welcome to go to his office during any free time they had to find out for themselves what was going on.

While the day continued along, the bells ringing as they always did, lunch shifts going on, kids moving around the building, it was not a normal day. Subdued would be an understatement.
Phones were ringing off the hook and the support staff was fielding messages both from and to parents, yet it was not chaos.

It amazes me to this day how unified and supportive everyone was, as more news came out, some of the folks, both kids and adults were understandably (and sadly in some cases, justifiably) worried. Academics were, for the most part, put on hold as the day went on, and in each class, we just sat down and talked, and tried to figure out what was going on, and what needed to be done.

We were about 40 miles from the actual event, and everyone was concerned about what else might happen.

There was not a single person in GHS that day that was not touched by the tragedy, either directly or by association.

Driving home that day was nearly surreal, I got home and felt like a zombie. I immediately called my daughter who was in her second year of college and when my son arrived home from school we gave each other the biggest hugs I can remember. For days following (it happened on a Tuesday morning) things continued to move along, but at a very odd and stilted pace.

Gathering each day at the high school was almost therapeutic, we were surrounded by people who had all experienced the same thing at the same time, we knew people who were lost and people who raced to help.

Having grown up in the Bronx, a number of my friends from elementary school all the way through college were first responders and yes, some were lost.

In addition to teaching, I also did a lot of tutoring and one of my favorite sets of parents were Susan and Martin Wohlforth whose daughter Chloe, I worked with at the end of the evening.

The second I sat down, usually around 8 pm, they would put a plate of food in front of me, never asking, just knowing that I had been running around most of the night from house to house. As I left, they would both thank me, Martin would always walk me out to my car and shake my hand, and we would confirm a time for the following week.

Martin’s office was on the 104th floor of the South Tower. Every year when they do the roll call of names, I listen and wait for his to be called, always alphabetically, always towards the end.

The grinding on of the years have not taken the edge off that particular day. While many of the folks who were part of that shared experience have, like Sue and I, left for other parts of the country we remain connected.

I continue to hope that even this far down the line, out of those ashes can grow the same unified feeling the entire nation took on at that time.

Time to let Bruce play us out on this piece:
“Come on up for the rising
Come on up, lay our hands in mine
Come on up for the rising
Come on up for the rising tonight”

Kevin Fitzpatrick is a retired teacher who, along with his wife Sue (also a retired teacher) is enjoying exploring life in the lowcountry and all it has to offer.