Poor President Bush. As we all know, George W. Bush is a very religious man, and right about now, he must be invoking the name of God every night in hopes that he’ll wake up soon from this nightmare known as being the President of the United States.
As my coworker put it, “His daddy wanted him to be president, and his brother won him the election, and now he just wants to go home and hang out on the ranch.â€
I didn’t vote for President Bush, but I was willing to give him a chance. But every day, I become just a bit more appalled that someone as stupid as George W. Bush can be in charge of the country.
Tuesday night, after the World Trade Center towers and the Pentagon were targeted, was Young Georgie’s chance to shine. This was the moment when all he had to do was show up, pick up the reins, and give us a few words of hope, of support, of strength.
And he blew it.
I am not a religious person, but Tuesday night, the entire country needed some sort of spiritual fulfillment from our leader. Dazed and traumatized, we needed reassurance and comfort that this was a terrible thing to have happened, and that it wouldn’t happen again if we could possibly help it.
Instead, we got a stilted, generic, “You go, America†speech that President Bush could barely read off his sheet. How many aides does it take to write a Bush speech? Enough so that each one can write a line, pass the speech on to the next aide, and have it land just in time in front of Bush and national tv for him to demonstrate just how well Georgie can read now.
Strength is not determined by how well you mask your emotion. Mayor Rudy Giuliani has publicly appeared drained, tired, and immeasurably saddened by what is happening to his beloved New York. Yet every word, unscripted or otherwise, has come from his heart, winning him praise and approval ratings that have never been seen before. When Giuliani finds out new information, you can trust that he’s going to share it with his people.
The federal government, however, has been its typically close-mouthed, paranoid self. In the past, the president has acted as a conduit to bridge the gap between the people and the government. By putting a face to the paper policies, the president reassures us that someone somewhere, who loves a son or a mother as we do, is making the decisions that matter. The path our leader sets for us will determine where we go from here, and how we can begin to understand the events that occurred.
But with Bush merely reciting the lines government gives him, we are unconnected from what is happening and what is being decided. President Bush has thus far not demonstrated any understanding of even being on a path at all. He appears to have no personality, devoid of any personal or original ideas. He has little charisma, and even less intelligence. He has, however, what many perceive as an excellent cabinet staff. Small wonder, because it takes many great people to prop up an inferior, immature one.
Al Gore isn’t terribly charismatic himself, but everyone who knows him knows that Gore is a hard worker. What he undertakes, he does to the utmost of his abilities. Bill Clinton, on the other hand, was not particularly brilliant, or a hard worker, but he possessed charisma (perhaps too much) and an ability to connect with the common people, and he demonstrated an understanding of what was going around him even if he wasn’t personally involved.
But President Bush has only been able to call on God lately, and it will take more than God to get us out of this. It will take someone like Hillary Clinton, who is competitive with Martha Stewart in her work ethic, and whose abilities are very high indeed. Or someone like Colin Powell, who knows to the depths of his soul what his personal convictions and beliefs are, and which ones can be compromised for the sake of the state.
I don’t expect every president to be a genius, or a smooth talker. But I do expect him or her to understand the serious work that being President involves. The greatest of our presidents have been those who remained true to their hearts, while having the confidence to consider other people’s viewpoints. For the sake of our country, I hope that Bush can find his heart before we lose ours.
Transcript by CNN of Bush’s comments at a prayer service on 9/14/01
Transcript by CNN of Bush’s Public Address on 9/11/01
Transcript of conversation between Bush, Giuliani, and Pataki on 9/13/01
“It was a queer, blank day, full of anxious watching [and] waiting…”
Laura Ingalls Wilder, Little Town on the Prairie
Of the four planes that were hijacked yesterday, three succeeded in wreaking destruction in the United States. One plane failed, and it is that failure which I intend to write about.
Details are sketchy, but this is known: Two planes crashed into the World Trade Center in New York City and one plane crashed into the Pentagon in the morning of September 11, 2001. The three planes carried a total of approximately 221 people.
Reports of cell phone calls from passengers and flight attendants from the hijacked planes have suggested that the hijackers were armed only with knives, and that the hijackers seized control by killing flight attendants and luring the pilots out of the cockpit.
We do not know how many hijackers there were on each flight, but it is reasonable to assume that the rest of the passengers and flight crew outnumbered them. It is unfathomable that any American pilot, under any type of duress, would knowingly steer his aircraft into an occupied American building, and it is assumed that some of the hijackers had to pilot the planes while others kept control over the passengers.
On Flight 93, Thomas Burnett of Pleasanton, California, called his wife and implied that he and other passengers were going to do something to try and stop the hijackers. Whether he was part of a group that did succeed in stopping the hijackers is unknown, but we do know one thing about Flight 93: something went terribly wrong for its hijackers.
Flight 93 came down in a wooded, deserted area some 80 miles of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. No one knows for sure yet if Camp David, the presidential retreat, was the intended target. Everyone on board Flight 93 is presumed dead. But no one on the ground died with them.
The other three flights that succeeded also presumably killed all of its passengers, but took along an inestimable number of lives in the buildings they hit. Why was Flight 93 the only one that failed to complete its mission?
Flight 93 was not equipped with more people, or inherently stronger or braver passengers. It was, in fact, the smallest flight of all four planes, with approximately 45 people on board, and did not consist of football players heading to a game.
Barbara Olson, sometime CNN commentator and unlucky passenger on the flight that hit the Pentagon, called her husband from the plane to report the hijacking, and also to ask him to tell the pilot what to do.
They were not unwilling to do something about the situation, but merely unsure.
Psychology studies have proven that in a crowd, people will often do less to help someone in need, because they look to others to see how they should respond to the situation. Without a clear leader to direct them, crowds are unable to perceive themselves as individuals who can accomplish something. If you’re alone, though, it’s obvious that you have to do something, because there isn’t anyone else to rely on.
Tom Burnett never lost sight of his individuality, and realized that each one of them could, and should, do something to stop the hijackers. Someone, or some people, on Flight 93 demonstrated the real meaning of courage yesterday morning, and prevented their hijackers from causing even more damage.
Courage is not about lacking fear. I feel certain that Tom Burnett, along with everyone else onboard all of the four hijacked planes, was terrified and confused about what should have been a routine flight. He wasn’t looking to be a hero, or even to survive.
Courage is about moving forward. It’s about continuing to try to do what’s right, even while you’re scared and shivering. Hijacking isn’t right. Killing innocent people, of any nationality or race or religion, isn’t right.
As America tries to recover from this terrible disaster, I hope that it can take comfort from Flight 93. I have great respect for everyone on Flight 93 because somewhere on that plane was someone, or some people, who stopped the hijackers.
Someone had the courage and strength to be facing certain death, and yet continued to do what was right. This person understood that justice has nothing to do with staying alive or getting revenge. It isn’t about knocking out an entire Palestinian village or going home to kiss your child goodnight. Justice is about doing the right thing, which in their case, meant doing all they could to stop their hijackers. And they were fortunate enough to have succeeded.
God bless America, and help us remember Flight 93 in the hard times to come.
by Adam Mayblum
THE PRICE WE PAY: My name is Adam Mayblum. I am alive today. I am committing this to paper so I never forget. SO WE NEVER FORGET. I am sure that this is one of thousands of stories that will emerge over the next several days and weeks.
I arrived as usual a little before 8am. My office was on the 87th floor of 1 World Trade Center, AKA: Tower 1, AKA: the North Tower. Most of my associates were in by 8:30m. We were standing around, joking around, eating breakfast, checking emails, and getting set for the day when the first plane hit just a few stories above us. I must stress that we did not know that it was a plane. The building lurched violently and shook as if it were an earthquake. People screamed. I watched out my window as the building seemed to move 10 to 20 feet in each direction. It rumbled and shook long enough for me to get my wits about myself and grab a co-worker and seek shelter under a doorway. Light fixtures and parts of the ceiling collapsed. The kitchen was destroyed. We were certain that it was a bomb.
We looked out the windows. Reams of paper were flying everywhere, like a ticker tape parade. I looked down at the street. I could see people in Battery Park City looking up. Smoke started billowing in through the holes in the ceiling. I believe that there were 13 of us. We did not panic. I can only assume that we thought that the worst was over. The building was standing and we were shaken but alive. We checked the halls. The smoke was thick and white and did not smell like I imagined smoke should smell. Not like your BBQ or your fireplace or even a bonfire. The phones were working. My wife had taken our 9 month old for his check up. I called my nanny at home and told her to page my wife, tell her that a bomb went off, I was ok, and on my way out. I grabbed my laptop. Took off my tee shirt and ripped it into 3 pieces. Soaked it in water. Gave 2 pieces to my friends. Tied my piece around my face to act as an air filter. And we all started moving to the staircase. One of my dearest friends said that he was staying until the police or firemen came to get him.
In the halls there were tiny fires and sparks. The ceiling had collapsed in the men’s bathroom. It was gone along with anyone who may have been in there. We did not go in to look. We missed the staircase on the first run and had to double back. Once in the staircase we picked up fire extinguishers just incase. On the 85th floor a brave associate of mine and I headed back up to our office to drag out my partner who stayed behind. There was no air, just white smoke. We made the rounds through the office calling his name. No response. He must have succumbed to the smoke. We left defeated in our efforts and made our way back to the stairwell. We proceeded to the 78th floor where we had to change over to a different stairwell. 78 is the main junction to switch to the upper floors. I expected to see more people. There were some 50 to 60 more. Not enough. Wires and fires all over the place. Smoke too. A brave man was fighting a fire with the emergency hose. I stopped with to friends to make sure that everyone from our office was accounted for.
We ushered them and confused people into the stairwell. In retrospect, I recall seeing Harry, my head trader, doing the same several yards behind me. I am only 35. I have known him for over 14 years. I headed into the stairwell with 2 friends. We were moving down very orderly in Stair Case A. very slowly. No panic. At least not overt panic. My legs could not stop shaking. My heart was pounding. Some nervous jokes and laughter. I made a crack about ruining a brand new pair of Merrells. Even still, they were right, my feet felt great. We all laughed. We checked our cell phones.
Surprisingly, there was a very good signal, but the Sprint network was jammed. I heard that the Blackberry 2 way email devices worked perfectly. On the phones, 1 out of 20 dial attempts got through. I knew I could not reach my wife so I called my parents. I told them what happened and that we were all okay and on the way down. Soon, my sister in law reached me. I told her we were fine and moving down. I believe that was about the 65th floor. We were bored and nervous. I called my friend Angel in San Francisco. I knew he would be watching. He was amazed I was on the phone. He told me to get out that there was another plane on its way. I did not know what he was talking about. By now the second plane had struck Tower 2. We were so deep into the middle of our building that we did not hear or feel anything. We had no idea what was really going on.
We kept making way for wounded to go down ahead of us. Not many of them, just a few. No one seemed seriously wounded. Just some cuts and scrapes. Everyone cooperated. Everyone was a hero yesterday. No questions asked. I had co-workers in another office on the 77th floor. I tried dozens of times to get them on their cell phones or office lines. It was futile. Later I found that they were alive. One of the many miracles on a day of tragedy. On the 53rd floor we came across a very heavyset man sitting on the stairs. I asked if he needed help or was he just resting. He needed help. I knew I would have trouble carrying him because I have a very bad back. But my friend and I offered anyway. We told him he could lean on us. He hesitated, I don’t know why. I said do you want to come or do you want us to send help for you. He chose for help. I told him he was on the 53rd floor in Stairwell A and that’s what I would tell the rescue workers. He said okay and we left.
On the 44th floor my phone rang again. It was my parents. They were hysterical. I said relax, I’m fine. My father said get out, there is third plane coming. I still did not understand. I was kind of angry. What did my parents think? Like I needed some other reason to get going? I couldn’t move the thousand people in front of me any faster. I know they love me, but no one inside understood what the situation really was. My parents did. Starting around this floor the firemen, policemen, WTC K-9 units without the dogs, anyone with a badge, started coming up as we were heading down. I stopped a lot of them and told them about the man on 53 and my friend on 87. I later felt terrible about this. They headed up to find those people and met death instead.
On the 33rd floor I spoke with a man who somehow new most of the details. He said 2 small planes hit the building. Now we all started talking about which terrorist group it was. Was it an internal organization or an external one? The overwhelming but uninformed opinion was Islamic Fanatics. Regardless, we now knew that it was not a bomb and there were potentially more planes coming. We understood. On the 3rd floor the lights went out and we heard & felt this rumbling coming towards us from above. I thought the staircase was collapsing upon itself. It was 10am now and that was Tower 2 collapsing next door. We did not know that.
Someone had a flashlight. We passed it forward and left the stairwell and headed down a dark and cramped corridor to an exit. We could not see at all. I recommended that everyone place a hand on the shoulder of the person in front of them and call out if they hit an obstacle so others would know to avoid it. They did. It worked perfectly. We reached another stairwell and saw a female officer emerge soaking wet and covered in soot. She said we could not go that way it was blocked. Go up to 4 and use the other exit. Just as we started up she said it was ok to go down instead. There was water everywhere. I called out for hands on shoulders again and she said that was a great idea. She stayed behind instructing people to do that. I do not know what happened to her.
We emerged into an enormous room. It was light but filled with smoke. I commented to a friend that it must be under construction. Then we realized where we were. It was the second floor. The one that overlooks the lobby. We were ushered out into the courtyard, the one where the fountain used to be. My first thought was of a TV movie I saw once about nuclear winter and fallout. I could not understand where all of the debris came from. There was at least five inches of this gray pasty dusty drywall soot on the ground as well as a thickness of it in the air. Twisted steel and wires. I heard there were bodies and body parts as well, but I did not look. It was bad enough. We hid under the remaining overhangs and moved out to the street. We were told to keep walking towards Houston Street. The odd thing is that there were very few rescue workers around. Less than five. They all must have been trapped under the debris when Tower 2 fell. We did not know that and could not understand where all of that debris came from.
It was just my friend Kern and I now. We were hugging but sad. We felt certain that most of our friends ahead of us died and we knew no one behind us. We came upon a post office several blocks away. We stopped and looked up. Our building, exactly where our office is (was), was engulfed in flame and smoke. A postal worker said that Tower 2 had fallen down. I looked again and sure enough it was gone. My heart was racing. We kept trying to call our families. I could not get in touch with my wife. Finally I got through to my parents. Relieved is not the word to explain their feelings. They got through to my wife, thank G-d and let her know I was alive. We sat down. A girl on a bike offered us some water. Just as she took the cap off her bottle we heard a rumble. We looked up and our building, Tower 1 collapsed. I did not note the time but I am told it was 10:30am. We had been out less than 15 minutes. We were mourning our lost friends, particularly the one who stayed in the office as we were now sure that he had perished.
We started walking towards Union Square. I was going to Beth Israel Medical Center to be looked at. We stopped to hear the President speaking on the radio. My phone rang. It was my wife. I think I fell to my knees crying when I heard her voice. Then she told me the most incredible thing. My partner who had stayed behind called her. He was alive and well. I guess we just lost him in the commotion. We started jumping and hugging and shouting.
I told my wife that my brother had arranged for a hotel in midtown. He can be very resourceful in that way. I told her I would call her from there. My brother and I managed to get a gypsy cab to take us home to Westchester instead. I cried on my son and held my wife until I fell asleep. As it turns out my partner, the one who I thought had stayed behind was behind us with Harry Ramos, our head trader. This is now second hand information. They came upon Victor, the heavyset man on the 53rd floor. They helped him. He could barely move. My partner bravely/stupidly tested the elevator on the 52nd floor. He rode it down to the sky lobby on 44. The doors opened, it was fine. He rode it back up and got Harry and Victor. I don’t yet know if anyone else joined them. Once on 44 they made their way back into the stairwell.
Someplace around the 39th to 36th floors they felt the same rumble I felt on the 3rd floor. It was 10am and Tower 2 was coming down. They had about 30 minutes to get out. Victor said he could no longer move. They offered to have him lean on them. He said he couldn’t do it. My partner hollered at him to sit on his butt and schooch down the steps. He said he was not capable of doing it. Harry told my partner to go ahead of them. Harry had once had a heart attack and was worried about this mans heart. It was his nature to be this way. He was/is one of the kindest people I know. He would not leave a man behind. My partner went ahead and made it out. He said he was out maybe 10 minutes before the building came down. This means that Harry had maybe 25 minutes to move Victor 36 floors. I guess they moved 1 floor every 1.5 minutes. Just a guess. This means Harry was around the 20th floor when the building collapsed. As of now 12 of 13 people are accounted for. As of 6pm yesterday his wife had not heard from him. I fear that Harry is lost. However, a short while ago I heard that he may be alive. Apparently there is a web site with survivor names on it and his name appears there. Unfortunately, Ramos is not an uncommon name in New York. Pray for him and all those like him.
With regards to the firemen heading upstairs, I realize that they were going up anyway. But, it hurts to know that I may have made them move quicker to find my friend. Rationally, I know this is not true and that I am not the responsible one. The responsible ones are in hiding somewhere on this planet and damn them for making me feel like this. But they should know that they failed in terrorizing us. We were calm. Those men andwomen that went up were heroes in the face of it all. They must have known what was going on and they did their jobs. Ordinary people were heroes too.
Today the images that people around the world equate with power and democracy are gone but America is not an image it is a concept. That concept is only strengthened by our pulling together as a team. If you want to kill us, leave us alone because we will do it by ourselves. If you want to make us stronger, attack and we unite. This is the ultimate failure of terrorism against The United States and the ultimate price we pay to be free, to decide where we want to work, what we want to eat, and when & where we want to go on vacation. The very moment the first plane was hijacked, democracy won.
Permission for me to post was granted by the author. Paragraphed by me, but otherwise presented as he wrote it.