"When the Buildings Fell"
by Connie Dunn (c) July, 2002
On September 11, 2001, the New York skyline forever changed. It was
the
worst day of my life.
On August 19, my Uncle Max, who lives in Saint Louis, had given me
a
wonderful tenth birthday present. It was a small, black terrier puppy.
Uncle Max said, “Take good care of your puppy, Will.”
I promised that I would.
I named the puppy, Max, after my uncle. I took him walking every day
in
Battery Park with my mom. Battery Park was near our high-rise apartment
building. My mom worked on Wall Street, so it was close to where she
worked.
Battery Park looks out over the harbor to the Statue of Liberty.
I loved my dog more than anything else in the world, even more than
my
baseball glove or the Mickey Mantle-autographed baseball that my Uncle
Max
gave me.
On the morning of September 11, 2001, a plane crashed into one of the
towers
of the World Trade Center. Not long afterward, a second plane crashed
into
the towers. And the towers came crashing down. It crashed my life and
the
life of my friend, Jack, as well.
Jack’s dad worked in the World Trade Center. His dad was never
found and was
believed to have been killed when the building crashed. Jack and his
mom
moved to Illinois to live with his grandmother.
My personal tragedy came shortly after my mom picked me up from school.
I
was glad to see her, because she worked on Wall Street not far from
the Twin
Towers. I was worried, but she was okay.
Our apartments were close to the towers. In fact, all of the windows
blew
out of the building when the towers exploded. And when fire rained down
from
the debris of the towers, my apartments were burned.
We couldn’t get to our apartment that night. I was a wreck, because
I wanted
to see if Max was okay or not. We went down as far as we could, but
the
firemen would not let us pass.
One fireman with kind eyes said, “I’m sorry, son, but your
dog is probably
dead. The apartments have burned.”
To my mother, he said, “Everything down there is on fire or has
burned to
the ground. And more may go yet. We’ve got some gas leaks, as well.
It’s
just not safe. Go to the other end of Manhattan...as far away as you
can
get. We don’t know what else will go!”
Max was burned up in the fire along with my baseball mitt and my Mickey
Mantle baseball.
Many people we knew did not survive the Twin Towers crash. As I look
back, I
know how sad we were. We walked around like robots with a lot of other
people. There were lots of people who had nowhere to go just like us.
Some people we didn’t even know asked if we needed a place to
spend the
night. They cooked us food and let us sleep in their apartment. The
Jordans
turned out to be good friends.
That first night, I woke up crying. Ms. Jordan said, “You’re
okay, Will.
You’re okay.” And she held me.
When I told her about Max, she and her son, Daniel, cried with me.
Ms. Jordan told me that my memories of Max will keep him alive forever
in my
heart. I told her that I had only had Max for about three weeks. She
assured
me that those had to be Max’s best days of life.
We stayed with the Jordans for several months, since we couldn’t
return to
our apartment. They didn’t seem to mind. We did lots of things
with them,
such as attend the Unitarian Universalist church. Ms. Jordan helped
me
create a memorial service for Max. Daniel rounded up some of the kids
in the
neighborhood. We went to their church and participated in a memorial
service
for all the people who died or were still missing.
When we got to the church, the minister lit a chalice. From the chalice
flame, many people lit candles to remember someone. I walked with my
mother
to the front of the church. She lit one for Jack’s dad. I lit a
candle for
Max.
We stayed with the Jordans until we got our own place with furniture,
clothes and other stuff. And though we had lost a lot, my mom and I
realized
that we had also gained a lot, such as new friends and a new church
community.
We began going to the Unitarian Universalist church regularly. When
I
learned the Princliples and Purposes, like “the inherent worth
and dignity
of every person and the goal of world peace.” I knew this was the
church for
me.
Last week, my friend, Brian, was very sad. His dog, Cindy, died. I
told him
that we could do a memorial service. I taught him what Ms. Jordan had
taught
me.
That made me realize: now, I know that the memories of Max really live
inside my heart. I also have the memories of Jack’s dad. He took
Jack and me
to the zoo often. And there are memories of people with no names. I
used to
see them at the World Trade Center every time my mom and I shopped.
It makes me sad. But, now, I know that it’s okay to be sad. We
take flowers
or dog biscuits and toys to the site to add to the collection of flowers,
wreaths, toys, stuffed animals and other things people have placed there.
Whenever I visit the site, I remember Max. But I’m a boy with
lots of things
to do. If I don’t think about Max for days or weeks, it’s
okay. I still keep
his memory in my heart forever.
I don’t have to put flowers or dog biscuits at the site to remember
Max. Someday when I feel even better, I’ll get another dog. I know
it won’t be Max, but still, when you’re a guy, having a dog
is like having a best friend. And I need a best friend.
SageCreekProductions, mail@sagecreekproductions.com
Connie Dunn, connie_dunn@hotmail.com
Writer: Articles, Books, Curriculum, Screenplays
1807 N. Elm St., PMB238
Denton, TX 76201
PH: 940-243-5125
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