Because We Are Americans Read online

  You have my appreciation for sharing your feelings . . . your thoughts have helped me come to a better place within myself.

  “The Internet carries the news and connects the masses in a true interactive sob.”

  —DONNA HOFFMAN, A PROFESSOR AT VANDERBILT UNIVERSITY WHO STUDIES THE WEB, The New York Times 9/12/2001

  FROM AN AOL POST, 9/19/2001 2:04 AM EDT

  SUBJECT: I NEED PEOPLE TO READ THIS

  My husband and I have been mourning right along with the rest of the nation since Tuesday morning. Before this I’d only seen my husband cry one other time—the day our son was born. But seeing the destruction and listening to the personal stories of the victims and their families had him crying right alongside me.

  I am writing in this forum because I have to be scared now for a whole different reason than most Americans. Not only do I worry about the threat of war, but now I am also scared of my fellow American. I fear my fellow American. God, isn’t it so sad that anyone should have to say that?

  I am not scared for myself. I am the kind of “American” who is generally accepted and not singled out. I’m just your average white girl. I’ve lived the great majority of my life without the eye of prejudice looking upon me—but it is now focused on my husband and son.

  My husband’s name is Marwan and our son is Khaled. Clearly not your typical American names, but they are certainly Americans. Just as much as you or I. Marwan’s mother is just another white girl like me, but his father is Palestinian. Marwan is an American citizen by birth and grew up right alongside all of us. He cheered at college football games. He said the Pledge of Allegiance every day in school. He was horrified when the Space Shuttle Challenger exploded. He was president of his college fraternity. He was a band geek, and now is a computer geek. He has that same love/hate relationship with 80s music that all of our generation shares. He gives blood every year—not just when there’s a tragedy. He votes. That sounds pretty “American,” doesn’t it? He knows no other culture—this IS his land.

  So why on earth would people start telling him to “go home” now? He IS home, damn it. His home is right in the United States of America with his wife and baby boy.

  Three nights ago a man told me, anonymously by computer like a true coward, that my son’s “blood is poisoned” and that my husband is an “Arab pig.” Have we not learned anything from this? Please someone tell me that from this tragedy people will learn and see what comes from anger and hatred. At a time when we should all be coming together, why would we be turning against each other? And why would we start to blame innocent people?

  If my husband were to trade his baseball cap and blue jeans for traditional Middle Eastern attire, would that make him less American? No. If he were to trade the Bible for the Koran, would it make him less American? No. Then why would anyone want to fire-bomb mosques? Why would someone make death threats to Islamic schoolchildren?

  I am tired of crying myself to sleep. I am tired of being afraid every time my husband walks out the door. I am angry that I find myself thankful he isn’t a “traditional” Arab and dresses like an “American” instead. I’m sad that traditional Arabs are scared to be seen in public right now. I fear that my baby boy will grow up in this country that I love so much and be hurt by the people in it just because of his name.

  I am not writing this for those who are prejudiced—the ignorant generally stay ignorant. I am writing this to those who already know what I’m talking about. I’m writing this to those who understand what’s important and what makes a person good.

  I am pleading with you to not let this continue. I’m asking you to not turn a blind eye or a deaf ear. If you see or hear something happening, do something to stop it. And that ranges all the way from snide remarks to fire bombs. Don’t let them spread their hatred around. I love my family and want to be able to speak their names loudly and proudly. Please help me to be able to do that again without fear.

  Thanks for listening, and God bless America.

  “I was watching the flight path of my wife’s plane on the American Airlines Web site, tracking the altitude and speed, when the image disappeared. The screen said, ‘Please contact American,’ and I just knew.”

  —BOSTON RESIDENT, Newsday 9/13/2001

  FROM AN AOL POST, 9/16/2001 4:08 PM EDT

  SUBJECT: FROM A UNITED STATES MARINE

  I am a United States Marine.

  We are supposed to be the toughest group of people that ever walked the face of the this planet, but I have feelings.

  I am hurting like the rest of you.

  Can I see another’s woe,

  And not be in sorrow too?

  Can I see another’s grief,

  And not seek for kind relief?

  —WILLIAM BLAKE,

  “ON ANOTHER’S SORROW”

  FROM AN AOL POST, 9/15/2001 8:17 PM EDT

  SUBJECT: PLEASE PRAY FOR COLLEEN

  Please pray for our niece, Colleen Deloughery, murdered in WTC tower 2. Please pray for her two small children, who wait at the window for her to come home at night, and cry for their mommy. Please pray for her husband, who doesn’t know how to comfort his children, while he cries for his wife.

  Please pray for her mother-in-law, who shouldn’t have to bury a daughter, and who cries for her son and grandchildren at night.

  Please pray for her brothers and sister, who have had a lifetime of sorrow, and never expected to lose another family member.

  Please pray that Colleen didn’t suffer, and that her final thoughts were of her family.

  Please pray for the rest of us left behind, that we can find comfort in the fact that Colleen is in a far better place now, and that she is always with us.

  FROM AN AOL POST, 9/16/2001 1:15 PM EDT

  SUBJECT: BECAUSE OF YOUR STRENGTH, WE ARE FINDING OURS

  Everyone has been through a gamut of thought and emotion during this past week. The topics of conversation were unfamiliar and “unreal.”

  To find a light out of this darkness has been more than a small challenge, but there was something that helped us to find that—the people who took action on flight 93. Their efforts were not only important in a physical way—they allowed the American people to feel strength at a time when the strongest of us were struggling to feel that.

  I am glad to find a place where I can write these words and my whole family can express the overwhelming gratitude we feel. Since there are no words to fully communicate our feelings to these people and their families, we must settle for Thank You . . . so very much . . . you are in our thoughts . . . you are remembered.

  FROM AN AOL POST, 9/15/2001 1:05 AM EDT

  SUBJECT: TO DANIEL

  Dan,

  Wherever you have gone, please wait for me there. Tonight I swear it feels as if I am not long behind you. I love you.

  “Everyone either knows someone or knows someone who knows someone who was in the World Trade Center. It’s made the world a very small place.”

  —WITNESS TO THE COLLAPSE, 9/11/2001

  FROM AN AOL POST, 9/15/2001 1:10 AM EDT

  SUBJECT: BEST FRIEND LOST

  I lost my closest and most dearest friend. His name was Michael, and he was visiting his mother at the WTC on September 11, 2001, when the first plane hit.

  I tried calling his mother that day, but could not get through. When I finally got through, all I got was her voice mail.

  On September 12, 2001, his mother called me to tell me that Michael had passed away. I tried to control my emotions, but it was very hard, I blew up at work to co-workers who were being very insensitive. His mother told me that he saved her life by pushing her out of the first-floor door, when suddenly the walls caved in and Michael was left under them. Because of the extensive internal bleeding, the doctors were unable to help. He died 13 hours later.

  My only regret is that I never got to say goodbye to my friend.

  Michael, I know that you are watching me. I just want you to know that I Love You and Will Miss You alw
ays.

  FROM AN AOL POST, 9/15/2001 12:51 AM EDT

  SUBJECT: IN MEMORY OF STEVEN D. “JAKE” JACOBY, COO METROCALL

  Just a few hours ago today I read that a friend/former client, Steven D. (“Jake”) Jacoby, was on the flight that left Dulles Airport and crashed into the Pentagon. He was the COO of Metrocall.

  When I worked as an attorney in Washington, D.C., Jake was my client. I was lucky enough to have worked with him almost daily over a two-year period, preparing financing documents, visiting with lenders and venture capitalists, attending board meetings, and speaking frequently throughout the day by phone on business issues. He and his colleagues went on to create one of the largest paging companies in the country.

  During that time, Jake was a true friend. In conservative Washington, D.C., others didn’t know what to say about my decision to go through with a “single-parent” pregnancy. But he was kind enough and true enough to his faith to encourage me through a lonely pregnancy; I remember how touched I was that Jake made sure to send me flowers on the day my child was born.

  When I returned to my home state six months after my daughter was born, Jake continued to send work my way because he was loyal and knew that I needed to support my child. He was a compassionate gentleman who understood the value of life and the dreams of most Americans.

  Jake is survived by his wife and their three young children. Please pray for them.

  FROM AN AOL POST, 9/14/2001 11:00 AM EDT

  SUBJECT: KARLETON D. B. FYFE

  I’ve known Karleton since he was about 10 years old. The day after the attack on the WTC towers, I found myself standing in the doorway to my pantry. At my age, this often happens, and I tried to remember what it was I going into the pantry for.

  Then I realized that on some deeper level a higher power was directing my attention to the pantry doorjamb. Many of the Fyfe children had stood dutifully against the doorjamb over the years as they were measured, their height, the date, and their initials recorded there in pencil. Karleton’s first measurement, I saw, was dated 1975. He was barely four feet tall. By 1987—his initials and the date in my own handwriting—he was three inches taller than I am.

  The shock of discovering that Karleton had perished in the terrorist attack was unlike anything I’ve ever felt. How could this happen? Even my sister and friends, people who’d barely known Karleton, felt the loss profoundly, telling me that it had made personal an otherwise incomprehensible event.

  In all the years I knew Karleton, he was unfailingly cheerful and positive in his outlook, and he never seemed to outgrow his rather mischievous and childlike sense of humor. I have no doubt but that he’ll be greatly missed.

  Just a day or so before he left us, he and his wife posted new photos of their toddler online. And then he was suddenly gone. I don’t know that I’ll ever come to terms with the senselessness of it.

  To the Fyfes, to the Hamiltons, and to all those touched by the loss of Karleton, my sincerest, my most profound condolences. All of us who knew him understand that a generous and loving and very original spirit was taken from us on Tuesday. Speaking for myself, it’s so difficult to grasp, to understand that Karleton is gone. I know that I’ll never forget him. Ever.

  “We were two blocks from the collapse, and the dust and debris were flying toward us. I could barely see as I was running, then suddenly a building super was opening a door for us and we dove inside. I don’t know who he was, but he saved us.”

  —A FIREFIGHTER FROM BROOKLYN, New York Magazine 9/24/2001

  FROM AN AOL POST, 9/23/2001 10:27 PM EDT

  SUBJECT: I’VE CHANGED . . . WE ALL CAN DO IT TOGETHER

  I propose that each of us commit to doing one random act of kindness each day in honor of someone who died on September 11.

  If we all do this, and if we do it for all 7,000 people, that will be almost 18 years of kindness from each one of us. It’s a totally simple way to change the world, and it would give some purpose to the senseless deaths we all witnessed.

  HEROIC

  “We have never been braver. We’ve never been stronger.”

  —MAYOR RUDOLPH W. GIULIANI, The New York Times 9/18/2001

  FROM AN AOL POST, 9/16/2001 8:35 PM EDT

  SUBJECT: WHAT HAPPENED IN THE FINAL MOMENTS TO YOUR LOVED ONES

  What Happened September 11, 2001

  To those of you who lost loved ones in the attack on the World Trade Center and the Pentagon, here’s what happened in their final moments.

  Your father was a hero. When the building shook from the blast, he did not concern himself with fear. He helped unblock an office door which had been barricaded by debris and furniture that had moved. He freed three people.

  Your friend who was on the plane being hijacked recognized immediately how serious the matter was and reached to calm the shaking hand of the person in the next seat.

  Your wife saw a man bleeding from his head, and she tore a piece from her shirt and made a bandage for him.

  Your aunt helped her co-workers who could not find the exit through the smoke—they all made it. Then she went back for others.

  Your nephew who was the pilot on the plane had only the safety of everyone on board in focus every second.

  Your grandfather found a young man pinned under a fallen piece of ceiling, and even when the young man said to go on without him, he stayed until others heard the calls and came to help.

  Your husband took on the hijackers, believing that it would cost him his life. He helped save hundreds of people that none of you will ever know.

  Your grandmother who worked at the Pentagon led hundreds who were physically stronger to a secure area, putting them before her own welfare, as she always has.

  Your uncle gave his water to a choking woman, who gave him God’s blessing with every floor they arrived at, arm in arm.

  Your brother who always wanted to be a policeman knew without doubt as he followed the cries for help up the stairs that this was the moment why.

  Your sister searched her entire floor to make sure everyone was out of there before she began to make her own way down.

  Your friend held the exit door open for his office mates with his wheelchair, cheering as they moved on that “We’ll all get out together.” And he didn’t so much hold on to those who lifted him down as hug them.

  Your son would not let the tired woman stop. He cajoled, telling her that she reminded him of you and how you two had to meet. He even called her “Mom” to keep her moving.

  Your flight attendant daughter was forced to the back of the plane with all the others on board but stood in front of them in protective defiance, keeping herself between the terrorists and her passengers.

  Your sister climbed back up three flights against the crowd and the heat, in the belief that her assistant was still there.

  Your college buddy’s sense of humor kept all in his voice’s range smiling and moving with hope.

  Your niece provided a shoulder to lean to a man she had seen in the elevator so many times but whose name she never knew.

  Your sister-in-law saw a man sitting in the stairwell coughing, and shared her asthma medicine. They moved on together.

  Your firefighter brother-in-law helped hundreds of people out, redirecting them to clearer exits as he climbed higher and higher.

  Your nephew and his boss carried an older woman 38 floors.

  Your cousin got everyone to sing “The Long and Winding Road” as they worked their way down, making up the words they didn’t know.

  Your mother’s last thoughts were the same thoughts she had as she lay her head down every night since you were born.

  You wonder what happened. You want to know what these people you love were feeling, what they were thinking, what they went through in their final moments.

  These are actual facts, exactly has they happened. As true as their love for you. As true as their faith in your love for them.

  “I was in a wheelchair, on the 46th floor. Two of my coworkers
carried me down, through all the heat in the stairwell. I kept telling them to go on ahead, but they wouldn’t leave me behind.”

  —SURVIVOR FROM TOWER 2, 9/12/2001

  FROM AN AOL POST, 9/15/2001 4:15 AM EDT

  SUBJECT: WE ARE ALL HEROES

  Wednesday night, as nine other EMTs and paramedics and I were being driven home from the World Trade Center disaster, not much was said among us. Many of us had been there almost 20 hours, but still we did not want to leave.

  The pain that I feel is unbearable. I feel that there is more that I should have done. I am sure that this sentiment was shared by my co-workers.

  As we drove up the West Side, I was so touched by the people who were in the streets holding signs of love and appreciation for us. They screamed to me that New York loves us and that we are heroes. Being a native New Yorker, I was not accustomed to that kind of outpouring of love and genuine affection. I am a little warmer inside knowing that all of my wonderful country is praying for me, my fellow rescuers, and, of course, the innocents who were so wrongfully taken from us.

  I cannot cry any more, and I am sure that I will never be the person I was. But let me say this to all of you who read this: I love you all too and pray for all of us. Without your prayers, I cannot go on. We are all heroes, not just the ones at the WTC, but all the people who make up this great nation of ours.

  “I was thinking we were doomed because there were so many people on the stairs and it wasn’t moving. Dozens and dozens of firefighters were running past us, telling us to stay calm and keep moving. I remember looking into their eyes, thinking how brave they were.”

  —A WORKER FROM THE 83RD FLOOR OF THE WORLD TRADE CENTER TOWER 2, New York Magazine 9/24/2001