Three white school buses turn into Soundside Park. The passengers are young. Their heads barely visible against the seats, save for a random moment of inertia as the bulbous vehicles slow down and an involuntary lurch turns children into jacks-in-the-bus. These are fifth graders from the local elementary school introduced by the master of ceremonies as they file onto the playground. The kids and their chaperones have come to join firefighters, police, first responders and local residents to honor over three thousand people killed on September 11, 2001, and for those whose lives have since been taken from health complications related the aftermath.
None of the children on the buses were born on that fateful day or before. None lost a mother, father, brother, sister, husband, wife, son, daughter, grandfather, grandmother, uncle, aunt, cousin or friend on that Tuesday morning twenty-three years ago. What each of these children knows of the attack on the World Trade Center has come from history books, memoirs, museums and memorials. Walking the bridge in Surf City changes perspective for the adults and the children. Personal stories between strangers young and old makes what happened real. Spoken narrative allows each of us walking the bridge a time of remembrance and to be interactive in honoring those lost in the 9/11 tragedy.
Tell a child where you were when the North Tower was hit by the first plane. How life changed forever after the South Tower crumbled and the Pentagon was assaulted. Possibly someone among those attending the bridge walk had been at Logan airport the morning of September 11, rescheduling their missed flight to San Francisco or Los Angeles while someone’s parents were going home to Virginia from a wedding in Connecticut through Washington, D.C.
So many stories.
A wife, soon to be a widow, paced her dentist’s office waiting room unable to reach her husband who worked on the 105th floor of the North Tower. She could tell a child of her grief. Maybe one person in one of hundreds, fire fighters, police, first responders, clergy, doctors and nurses from neighboring counties and states who headed to downtown Manhattan unsure of what they would find or how they could help, might share those long hours of memories.
A student at NYU looked out her dorm window and watched the towers fall. An out-of-state collegiate soccer team, staying on Long Island for a weekend tournament, spent a day touring the World Trade Center thirty-six hours before the attack. Their group photo was captured against a broad window of the North Tower. Smiles. Frozen. For some of those athletes the first time ever to be in New York City, and for all, twenty-three years later, still haunting. A young woman in midtown traffic listens to Howard Stern announce the heinous act of violence perpetrated on the World Trade Center. George Washington University women’s soccer team travels past the Pentagon in a van driven by their captain, on its way to team practice, while American Airlines flight #77 begins its descent into the west side of the building. Maybe someday one of them can tell their story.
What about United Flight #93 crashing into a field in Pennsylvania? Who walking the bridge can tell that story? Who walking the bridge can speak of the bravery of the passengers and the flight crew? Maybe another time, another bridge walk, maybe not all the stories can be told on the same day. Bag pipes fill the beach air with their mournful melody. Flags fly. Furling stripes and stars lead the long line of Surf City firefighters, police, first responders and many more. Silence prevails juxtaposed by cars on the bridge, honking. Drivers and occupants wave. Many move at funeral speed, headlights bright. This is the fifth anniversary of Walking the Bridge. The idea formed and orchestrated by a few Surf City firefighters has now become a tradition.
Much gratitude to those individuals for giving us a way to remember, to memorialize and to Never Forget.
