I had the same experience at the 9-11 Memorial, breaking down into a cascade of tears, snot, and sobs. I had gone to NY with my son as he finished his junior semester as a journalism intern in D.C. in 2013, before One World and the Memorial Museum were completed. As we walked up to the first square fountain, the first name I saw carved into the metal was that of a girl I'd sat next to in Statistics back in 1977 at Dickinson College. I did not know her well enough to say we were friends; after all, I'm still allergic to numbers and she was a natural math whiz. But a large number of Dickinson grads worked at Cantor Fitzgerald, and all of them perished that day. I scared my son badly, because I usually don't cry in front of him and I sure as hell don't get into uncontrollable sobbing. It was so intense, a group of Italian tourists came over and tried to comfort me. It just really hit me hard that someone I personally knew and had spoken with and joked around with had died such a horrific death. It does, indeed, wear you out.
Ah, David, this makes me feel like I am walking along with you and Ellen and prizing what arriving in NYC meant to so many in our families. America isn’t perfect, but a lot of people have arrived here to make better lives for themselves and a better nation for all of us.
I'm so enjoying and savoring your NYC columns. I was there when the 911 Memorial was just at a make-shift, temporary site, but it was still full of haunting sorrow & grief. I will look forward to your next column.
Dave, you described it so beautifully. When I visited the memorial, I touched each panel so all those thousands of people would know I cared deeply how they ended. I shed tears when I came across a name that included “and her unborn child.” It still makes me cry.
I had the same experience at the 9-11 Memorial, breaking down into a cascade of tears, snot, and sobs. I had gone to NY with my son as he finished his junior semester as a journalism intern in D.C. in 2013, before One World and the Memorial Museum were completed. As we walked up to the first square fountain, the first name I saw carved into the metal was that of a girl I'd sat next to in Statistics back in 1977 at Dickinson College. I did not know her well enough to say we were friends; after all, I'm still allergic to numbers and she was a natural math whiz. But a large number of Dickinson grads worked at Cantor Fitzgerald, and all of them perished that day. I scared my son badly, because I usually don't cry in front of him and I sure as hell don't get into uncontrollable sobbing. It was so intense, a group of Italian tourists came over and tried to comfort me. It just really hit me hard that someone I personally knew and had spoken with and joked around with had died such a horrific death. It does, indeed, wear you out.
Hell of a link to this terrible tragedy
I have no words for you Jude… my heart broke again!
Here's the real story on how Progressives destroyed NYC: https://yuribezmenov.substack.com/p/escapefromnewyork
Ah, David, this makes me feel like I am walking along with you and Ellen and prizing what arriving in NYC meant to so many in our families. America isn’t perfect, but a lot of people have arrived here to make better lives for themselves and a better nation for all of us.
Thank you for chronicling your trip.
I'm so enjoying and savoring your NYC columns. I was there when the 911 Memorial was just at a make-shift, temporary site, but it was still full of haunting sorrow & grief. I will look forward to your next column.
Excellent - thanks, Fitz.
Dave, you described it so beautifully. When I visited the memorial, I touched each panel so all those thousands of people would know I cared deeply how they ended. I shed tears when I came across a name that included “and her unborn child.” It still makes me cry.