The Frontstretch Newsletter: September 11th, 2011 FRONTSTRETCH REMEMBERS

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THE FRONTSTRETCH NEWSLETTER
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The Best Seat at the Track, The Best View on the Net!
September 11th, 2011

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Editor's Note: In remembrance of the vicious attacks on September 11th, 2001, we pause to pay tribute to the lives lost and families affected ten years ago today. In this special edition of the Frontstretch Newsletter, a few of our staff members paused to remember their thoughts on that day and what meaning this terrible tragedy has for them.

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By Amy Henderson

I was teaching middle school that day.  I had a class of seventh grade students at the time.  Our secretary came to the door and called me over and told me that a plane had hit the World Trade Center in New York.  At first I thought -- we all thought -- that it had been a plane crash, not an attack.  But then came the news of the second tower and the Pentagon and the ones who lost their lives in a Pennsylvania field rather than to let their plane be flown into the White House (that was its supposed target). 

Having to tell those children that someone had attacked our country was a terrible moment.  Children at that age still have some of their childhood innocence and it became my job to steal some of that from them and then to calm their fears, to assure them that they and their families were safe.  We were lucky, looking back, because our small New Hampshire town was insulated enough that none of those children lost a loved one that day. 

Because my eighth grade students were studying U.S. History, they were allowed to watch the news footage from that day.  None of the other classes were allowed to watch, as they were too young, and we wanted to shield them from such evil.  I think seeing it on television made it real for my students.  I had them sit at their desks and told them that someday, not too far in the future, events like this would be in the history books that other students would read, and that we were going to watch some of the coverage so that they could see history unfolding, and so they would remember. 

Meanwhile, I was able to check my email and found out that a close friend's wife had flown out of Boston that morning, just like the plane that hit the first tower.  He was trying to find out amid the confusion if her plane was one of the ones in the attack.  It wasn't, but the waiting for that word was a long and difficult time for me and much more so for my friend.

Those seventh-grade students graduated from college this year.  I hope that they remember that day always, not because the terrorists attacked their country, but because they have the opportunity to bring about change so that their children never have to be gathered by their teachers and told that their country is under attack.

On a lighter note, after that week's race in New Hampshire was postponed to late November (when it tends to get mighty cold in those parts), I made the offhanded comment to a friend on Kenny Wallace's fan forum that I would like to see Mike Helton on the track with a snow shovel if the weather didn't cooperate.  My friend was the obliging type and Photoshopped the NASCAR president's head onto a photo of somebody shoveling snow and posted it on the forum.  The only problem was, there were proportion issues and the end result made Mr. Helton resemble Dorf.  He was not amused and the incident ended with both Kenny and his Webmaster (who had enough of a sense of humor about it to be my good friend to this day) being called into the NASCAR hauler to discuss why this was wrong.  My friend and I may hold the distinction of being the only fans ever to get a driver called into the hauler.  Oops.

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By Vito Pugliese

It’s amazing the stark clarity and visualization that ten years later still sticks with me on what was a sunny September summer morning. I had started my first “real” job out of college, and was living at home with my parents. My schedule at the time had me rolling in at 10:30am, and Tuesday was our team meeting day. I was running a little late and clambered downstairs, still half asleep. My Dad was watching the news on TV and said that a plane had crashed into the World Trade Center.

Hmm, that sucks. I just assumed like many that day it was a tour plane that veered off course or something. After I got out of the shower, the second plane had hit. By the time I had got dressed and went back downstairs, reports were coming across that a bomb had went off at the State Department, which later turned out to be Flight 77 which struck the Pentagon. “We’re under –ing attack!!!” my father exclaimed. Having stood guard the better part of his twenties, wokring as a B-52 Stratofortress and B-58 Hustler crewman with the 379th Bomb Wing of Strategic Air Command -- ready to blow up the other side of the world several times over -- these attacks did not sit well.

Then our house shook violently as a 747 cleared it by about 200 feet, being forced to land at Gerald R. Ford International Airport. All planes were ordered down – those that did not respond would be shot down.

Was this really happening?

I got a phone call from a friend who was interning in Los Angeles at the time, who had just flipped on the television. Another friend of mine who was in his morning class called me shouting the same things I could hear from my dad in the other room.

In a state of disbelief and shock – not even anger at this point – I hopped in my car and drove to work, listening to the late Peter Jennings on the ABC News feed on WOOD AM 1300 as the first tower collapsed. I remember my eyes puddling with tears as you could hear the reporter on the street detailing the implosion, with people running and screaming in fear around him as thousands – maybe even tens of thousands – people – mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, children, somebody’s girlfriend or boyfriend, perishing in a cloud of concrete, aviation fuel, and fire.

Then word started funneling in about an unresponsive plane headed for Washington D.C., that eventually crashed in a field in Pennsylvania. My God. When will this end?

As I got to my desk, which was situated next to a customer call center, it was eerily quiet. The "Big Board" which listed the number of calls in cue was blank. Nobody was calling; nobody cared. There were more pressing issues at hand. I had the distinct displeasure of working for the most insensitive individual on planet, who chastised me for being late to our meeting, despite my breathless detailing of what was happening eight hundred miles away. Later that afternoon in the lunchroom, the entire company was gathered around the television watching the horrific events and aftermath unfold. Her reply? “I don’t know what the big deal is, you can’t do anything about it anyway, so just go back to work.”

Comments such as those, by TV commentator/”comedian” Bill Maher heralding the heroism of those who helmed planes full of people whose only crime that day was being an American and showing up for work, or those who prattle on about conspiracy theories and inside jobs, make it really difficult as a Catholic to not wish they would accidentally fall face-first into a wood chipper.

In the coming days the around the clock, news cycle was relentless. Reporters crying with family members searching desperately for loved ones, holding up photos, signs, sandwich boards, anything to help reunite them with one they so cherished. Triage units remained helping those who had suffered injuries that day, while sadness and sorrow began to shift towards anger and rage, and the want to destroy anybody or anything who had a part of this.

Other more positive images indelibly remain as well. The lifted Dodge Ram I saw with a 4’x 6’ U.S. Flag fastened to an iron pipe and stuck in the bed rail going down the road by Grand Valley State University. The landscaping truck in front of me stopping in the middle of the road by Taco Bell on Lake Michigan Drive, one of the guys jumping out to pick up a flag that had just fallen off somebody’s car onto the pavement, picking it up, waiving it like Hacksaw Jim Duggan, and getting back in and driving away while everybody honked, cheered, and give him a thumbs up.

As ugly of a time it was, it was also a beautiful time as well. The fact that we as Americans don’t act like that everyday is sad and almost shameful. One thing I love about our sport, is that those involved seem to not have lost sight of that. The strong military presence at every race is evidence of that; it’s just not a fad. It’s for real.

That first “real job” out of school was the result of a last ditch effort on my part to find employment locally. I had made up my mind in May of 2001 that if I did not find something soon, I was going to go in the Air Force. Luckily for me at the time the entry requirements had been loosened to gain entry into the flight program, after many pilots left during the dark years for the U.S. Military of the mid-to-late 1990s. My dream was to be able to fly one of the H-model B-52s that my Dad had wrenched on, standing guard against communist aggression, which in part helped make yet another failed ideology tap out ten years prior.

Sadly, I got hired. I would not be flying one of Boeing’s finest, but rather one from Steelcase.

That is not to say I wasn’t able to be part of America’s healing. While I was denied the pleasure of planting 2,000lbs JDAMs from 40,000 feet, I was the point of contact for the company I worked for that also sold and distributed American flags. If you happened to purchase a United States Flag from a Home Depot, Ace or True Value Hardware, or a Do-It Best store from 2002-06, you bought one of mine.

Ten years later, the fight goes on, and will likely forever. You can’t fight hate with hate, but with a few Marines, SEALs, Apaches, and Cold War bombers that are twice as old as those flying them, you can put a dent in it. Our thoughts and prayers continue to go out to those who were taken from us ten years ago today, and with those whose pledge is to prevent that from happening ever again.

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By S.D. Grady

As the 10th Anniversary of the attacks on America come around, I don't think there are many Americans who are not thinking back on that horrid day.  I still struggle to understand what happened.  I still shed tears when I think about it... as it remains incomprehensible to me that humans would do this to one another. So for perspective, I offer up a piece I wrote on the 2nd Anniversary for you to think about.  I don't know that much more has changed in eight years...

Written September 11, 2003

What happened that day two years ago. We all have our own memories. We were all affected in some way by those terrible events. My life since has continued much as it was before, and that might be a good thing in many ways. I have not been forced to bend in fear to the terrorists; a small victory in the war. But for a few weeks in September 2001, that was not entirely so.

It happened on my way to work. I always listen to the radio in the morning, “Matty in the Morning,” something fun and perky while I stare at the traffic. The DJ came on with an odd announcement. “Apparently a plane has crashed into the World Trade Center in New York. That’s a doozy!”

I thought it a curious announcement. Figuring it must be a small craft, but none the less a newsworthy story, I switched the station to WBZ, the local news radio. From the moment I listened to the first live report in Manhattan, life slowed to a crawl.

I was stuck in bumper to bumper traffic. Realizing that it would take forever to reach my exit a mile away, I turned off on the “emergency” exit I use in such cases. This road twists and turns through grave yards, suburban neighborhoods and inner city slums. The scenery passed by as I listened in stunned silence to the surreal report of a major airliner slamming into the first massive tower. The reports were confused, erratic and unbelievable. And then the second plane came.

I knew it then. This was intentional. This was evil. Fear, anger, impotence and sadness rushed through my body.

Rumors of more planes missing. The Air Force scrambling. Maybe we have to shoot down some of the planes. Targeting the Pentagon, the White House, the Capitol building.

I pulled into the parking lot at the theater, ran into the lobby and dialed my husband at home. He was still asleep. I heard the answering machine pick up. I yelled at him to answer, hung up and redialed. Again, the answering machine. I started babbling at the machine. He picked up.

He turned on CNN and MSNBC and relayed the breaking news. The planes had flown out of Logan Airport in Boston and were supposed to fly to the West Coast. A tiny prickle of irrational fear added up some things. My father often worked at the Pentagon, he often flew out of Logan, he often flew to the West Coast. What if…

I had to know if he was safe. Frenzied phone calls to his home in Maine resulted in busy signals. And more busy signals. I could imagine my mother dialing frantically trying to find him. A moment of clarity offered itself to me. He could be online. I broke company regulations and sent an e-mail. Five minutes later he called me. We both cried with relief to know that our family was intact.

Meanwhile, another manager had gone back home to get a TV. He watched and relayed news to the floor as the fourth plane went down in the Pennsylvania fields, as the towers fell, as we all stood and stared. And then across the parking lot we spied a small army of children.

Across our parking lot is an office building. A mere 15 floors, but a “tower” anyway. It houses tech companies, a major phone switching station for the city, a police training school and a not so secret FBI office. And in its basement, a day care.

The tower was emptied in fear and the children had nowhere to go. We opened our doors and brought everyone in. A video tape was put on the video wall- that helped to distract. Crayons from coloring contests were dug out. Popcorn and lemonade were dispensed. Cribs were rolled in. Parents were called.

It took almost four hours for all the kids to be picked up. We let them watch a movie to help pass the time.

Over at the tower, it looked like the Army had descended. Fire trucks, bomb squads, police cars and local media. Nobody could enter our parking lot without passing a safety checkpoint. Later that day, a passing Police Officer stopped and said a few arrests had been made around the city. He didn’t say what for.

As the week passed, other changes arrived. Our back parking lot became a gathering point for emergency crews. Several times, a massive amount of emergency workers from many communities would suddenly appear - to make sure they were ready. The next day, the tower was evacuated again because an employee called in a fake bomb threat.

We had to remove promotional material for “Spiderman." Most of it showed a helicopter crashing into a giant web strung between two eerily familiar towers. Other, soon-to-be-released films pulled shots of Manhattan that showed the towers.

A young man on an exchange trip from Germany was noticed taking pictures of the office tower in the parking lot. The other managers wanted to call the cops. I asked him what he was doing. He said, “Taking pictures of the leaves,” while he waited for the theater to open. Wrong place, wrong time.

I refused to watch the news. They would only show the towers crashing down again.

Almost everyone at work knew or knew of somebody that died that day. A distant cousin of mine, was in the tower that morning. My cousin, who is a union organizer, had led the restaurant workers at the top of the tower in their contract negotiations. They were all dead. Entire companies from Massachusetts were on those planes.

We hired a security guard to stand in our lobby all day and check everyone’s bags; for what, I often wondered.

I follow the news and listen to the on-going war with Iraq. Time has softened the edge of my anger, but not completely. A death for a death is not right, either. But, can we just let the evil that led to that day continue to exist? I don’t know.

I still drive to work every day and run the movies, providing an escape from a world that is sometimes very wrong. Perhaps that is something. Perhaps it isn’t.

The sun was shining bright this morning. It was shining two years ago, too.

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By Beth Lunkenheimer

I remember it like it was yesterday. I was still in bed -- after all, it was before 8 AM and I wasn't scheduled to work until 10 AM that day -- and my cell phone woke me out of a dead sleep. The first thing I heard was, "turn on the news." So in my groggy state, I stumbled to the living room and turned on CNN and couldn't believe my eyes ... and it only got worse from there.

As soon as I hung up, I called my husband -- my then-boyfriend -- to wake him up. We watched some of the coverage until I had to get ready to work. Even though he was off that day, he accompanied me to the mall I worked at as a Customer Service Representative, only to find out the mall had been shut down for the day. Still incredibly emotional, we called my parents and went over to spend the day with them. We spent the day sitting there watching the news, talking to my parents and my husband's parents all day as we all shared in our disbelief.

Like most, if not all of America, the first emotion that struck me was absolute shock. How could this have happened? There were no words to express what I was feeling that day, but it didn't matter to my husband because he knew -- extreme sadness. It wasn't until later that I felt the anger that, to this day, still resides somewhere inside me. How could anyone do this?

To this day, I can't look at pictures of the tragedy without shedding a tear, and I have a feeling that will be the case for many years to come. Ten years later, I shed several tears during last night's pre-race performance of God Bless America and the National Anthem. My husband and I sat silent along with ESPN between laps nine and 11, and we marveled at the wonderful paint schemes several teams had put together.

Like JFK's assassination for my parents, 9/11 is something that will inevitably become a topic that my husband and I will sit down and share with our children exactly what we were doing, what we felt and how the United States changed in the days and months after. And I have a pretty good feeling that it'll still bring tears to our eyes as we remember.

God Bless all of the families who lost someone that day and God Bless the members of the United States Military and their loved ones -- past, present and future -- who sacrifice each and every day to protect the rights we take for granted.

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By Mike Neff

9/11's anniversary holds a mixed meaning for me. We, as a nation, often make big deals out of anniversaries of events and the ten-year anniversary is obviously a time for everyone to reflect, but for me, I reflect every day. Every time I see a plane in the sky, every time I see a service person, every time I see a fireman or policeman, every time I see New York on television I remember what the terrorists did to our country and to us. I am always reminded that there are people who are jealous of America and who try and impose their will on us quite often. I think of all the sacrifices that are made for us every day by policemen, firemen and service personnel. I love the fact that we live in the greatest country in the world and am proud to say I'm an American.

 

I was working in computer support on the southeast side of Charlotte on 9/11 and right after I got to work that morning a friend told me that a plane had hit the World Trade Center. As most rational people would think, we assumed it was an accident. We were working and trying to get updates on what was happening when the second plane hit. We immediately knew it was no accident. Shortly after the second plane hit, we heard that all air traffic was being recalled. Charlotte Douglas Airport is on the west side of Charlotte and the approach that day was from the south. We watched as hundreds of planes came in from all directions to the airport. Eventually, we were told to go home and I spent the rest of the day watching television and talking to my kids about what had happened.

 

As a nation, we have learned a lot of things after that fateful day. We've learned the strength of character that the citizens of this country had somewhat forgotten they had after WWII. We've learned that the security of our borders is an important thing for us to focus on, although since then it appears as though we've already forgotten that lesson. We've learned more about the true evil character of some people throughout the world. We've learned that the members of Seal Team Six are some of the baddest dudes on the planet. We've learned that NASCAR is the most patriotic of fan bases in the entire country.

 

Thank you once again to all of the service personnel and public defenders who do so much to keep us safe at all times.

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by Tom Bowles

Ten years later, the events of 9/11 for me are blurrier than most. I remember moments, the first of which came during a bleary-eyed, 9:30 walk to education class with a friend (I was a Junior in college). As we got to our classroom, the door was shut; instead, there were a bunch of students gathered. An outspoken girl I knew stood outside the door.

"We should not have class today," she said, almost defiantly as if she could hear our education teacher coming to let us in. "There's no way."

"Why is that?" I strolled in, somewhat rolling my eyes; this particular girl got on my nerves at times.

"Didn't you see? There's been a crash. A big plane crash." Those eyes scorned down as if my friend and I were the most ignorant people on the planet. "The World Trade Center has been hit."

What? Huh? Now I was waking up. I had never been in the Trade Center, but knew of the 1993 attack well; my family and I lived just an hour from New York City. I walked the streets by it time and again, with family and friends as part of my love for Manhattan and everything inside those five boroughs. I had a relative who worked in the Trade Center. I had a number of friends whose lives, family, future was connected to them.

I was anxious. Here I was, caught in the tranquil beauty of Central New York - a place where time had stopped somewhere in 1955 - and just 300 miles away, something big was happening... or was it? The Trade Center has been attacked before, with limited success; was this just another small-scale attempt? Either way, I needed to find out what as going on. Immediately.

The education teacher, as expected, explained there was a national crisis and released us. The second those words came, my friend Thais and I scrambled down the hill back to our dorm. Three minutes. Four minutes. Five. They felt like an eternity as neither one knew the magnitude of the tragedy that was about to unfold. I opened the door of my room, then turned on ABC News just as a third plane was reported to hit the Pentagon.

Chaos. Mass chaos. The Trade Centers were burning, although I remember never expecting them to fall; in the beginning, my mind was just not clicking. This was America... what I was seeing only happened in the movies. I called my grandmother; she was OK, but afraid. Very afraid. We talked for a few moments, and the biggest thing I remember is she thought - as many people did - we might have to go to war and I'd be required to join the Army. "I am so afraid for you," she said. At 5'6", a scrawny 140 pounds at the time I wasn't exactly the most coordinated person to handle a shotgun at age 20. I'm still not.

My best friend, up in Albany called me claiming he wanted to join the army, would do whatever it took. We talked about whether we needed to drive home to CT, but thought better of it - they were grounding planes, and any type of trip anywhere would probably lead to being stopped at some sort of security checkpoint. Meanwhile, my grandmother was trying to reach her niece, who worked in the Towers and was directly affected. All this, panic and confusion... before the Towers actually fell during the 10:00 hour.

That's when it hit me. I cried. And cried. And cried... what was happening? Why were we being attacked? I was very scared, both for our country and our future. Another enduring image that day was from other countries celebrating, burning our American flags while treating our sullen tragedy with sickening smiles. That's the one thing I think, ten years later we still struggle with as Americans. Everyone's urge was to retaliate, violently and without remorse. I certainly had that attitude, too; but I was also curious. Why do these millions of people want to, for lack of a better term bring us down? What have we done to incite such hatred? There's more here than just differences over the Koran, the Bible, and detesting our success. No matter the circumstance, despite the urge violence met with violence doesn't start a cycle of peace. There are reasons other than pure evil some cultures despise the U.S. - a simple push to understand, not impose our will as the number one country in the world can sometimes work as a better long-term solution beyond the short-term destruction. Of course, sometimes we have no choice... see? I'm even struggling with it now.

I mentioned my relative who worked in the Trade Center. Of all the days to be late to work... she was 45 minutes behind schedule. Stuck in traffic, sitting on the George Washington Bridge was the place she saw the planes crash instead of her office. I've had multiple conversations with her about that day, but words can never express how much a near-death experience changes your life. My friends at Colgate University were also very, very lucky; no one lost a family member that day. But I had a friend whose parents worked in a restaurant close by; for a week, a simple walk to and from left them covered in soot, destruction's dust settling at a snail's pace. Their harrowing story, fearing death from disease coming from the black cloud surrounding them and Manhattan was enough to sicken me even to this day. When I visited the Trade Tower site, that November, three months later it's the one thing I'll always remember: dust still settling, a seemingly permanent cloud around these former Twin Towers of architectural perfection.

Years have passed, but the true tragedy for all is the terrorism threat that remains. I worked in New York City for two years, before NASCAR from 2004-06. There would be random days where my family would call just to see if I was OK... and times where threats of attacks would loom over what should have been a beautiful, sunny day in the most diverse city on earth. Walking down the street, you shouldn't be suspicious of your fellow neighbor but welcoming; at least, that's what I was taught. Can we ever get that national innocence back?

That's my wish; I don't know if I'll get it. But 9/11 has taught me that life is fragile, even in a country as great as ours and we should take this day to remind those we care about how much we love them. And thank you to the military: our Army, Navy, Coast Guard and Marines - for protecting that fragility as much as they can, in spite of their own. It's personal sacrifice we often take for granted.

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