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Entry date: 9-11-2022 - Yes, I am going to write about it - Letters to My Friends

Dear Friends,


I’m taking a break from the music lecture today to talk about this day. As you are well aware, twenty-one years ago, tragedy happened. I always grew up hearing about certain days that people would never forget. For my parents, I heard a lot about the day JFK was assassinated as being one of those days.


I have a strong memory of watching Nixon resign. I was little and didn’t understand at all what was going on, but I remember it being on the TV in my parent’s bedroom and my mom talking about what a big day it was or something like that. I wanted to watch Underdog and not some ugly old man waving fucked up peace signs.


On Sunday, September 10, 2001, I spent the evening at the Mason Jar. Hillbilly Devilspeak opened for Nashville Pussy that night, who were enjoying a lot of notoriety because of their name and revved up sound. I was tasked with trying to get an interview with one Corey Parks that night for a zine I wanted to maybe write for. She was the very tall, Amazon-like bass player of the band and I had been corresponding with this guy from Philadelphia who ran the zine and wanted an interview with her. This was before I was doing any writing professionally and had no idea there was a proper way to go about getting an interview with a band of their renowned.


To put it bluntly, she was sort of nice about it but basically told me, “No fucking way.”


She was a piece of work, actually. Good showman, I suppose, and Nashville Pussy brought the good stuff that night, for sure, but when we ran into them again in New Orleans the following summer, Corey tried to hit on my ex-wife. Hindsight being 20/20, I probably should have gotten out of the way of that one and nature take its course.


It was a fun show, though, and somewhere I have pictures from it. I remember, very clearly, leaving the Mason Jar that night and being bummed that I had an early day the next day. I can close my eyes and see Indian School Road clear as day as I got into my truck, which was parked on 23rd Street facing north, getting ready for the drive back to Ahwatukee where we lived.


The next morning was when all the shit was going down. I woke up to sports talk radio, typically, on my clock radio that was next to the bed. They were not talking about sports, though, and I immediately turned on the TV to see what they were going on about.


Like most Americans who were up in the early morning that day, I was shocked by what I saw. They kept playing the video of the first plane hitting the Towers over and over. There was a lot of speculation about what was happening and then the second plane hit and the news about other planes and other possible attacks, as they were now calling it, were flooding in.


My ex and I talked about whether to send Ryan to school or if we should go to work. It was scary, to be honest, and very confusing. I was scheduled to begin a POWER program at Seton Catholic High School which was one of my favorite places to teach, so I figured I would drive over there and see what they wanted to do. I didn’t think it would be worth giving them a call as they would be getting tons of calls from parents.


So, I drove over into Chandler and listened to all the news reports coming in. Everyone I remember seeing on the road had the same “What the fuck” look on their face. Were we at war, I wondered? Was this it? I had no idea.


As I got to the school and walked into the office, I came face to face with a young lady, a junior I think, whose father, I would later find out, was in a business meeting that morning in the Towers. I had here in one of my classes the previous year when I was at Seton and remembered her to be a great kid. One of things about small, Catholic schools is that news like that traveled fast and we were all hurting for her all week and, really, to this day.


The look on her face, though, and the face of her mother who was taking her home, is etched on my memory.


The guidance counselor, who is a friend of mine, wanted me to be there in case students were having a hard time and they liked having me around. I think, at that point, I had been on campus for a couple of weeks a year for two years in a row. It was enough to make me want to get a job there at some point, but that ship sailed long ago.


We spent most of the day talking about the events that were unfolding. I was supposed to be talking about healthy relationships that day, but I figured we could get caught up the next day or the day after. The main thing I remember about those discussions was the students wanting to know why it happened. Why would someone want to attack us who had no chance of winning a war? I spent a lot of time talking about the power of fear.


By the time I got home, I wanted to know about my friends in New York. I wanted to make sure they were okay. One of them, Jay, was working as a reporter for ABC or NBC at the time and I got to see him on the nightly news. It was a relief to know he was okay. I also got word that my buddy, Dave, was okay, even though the blast had knocked him out of his chair blocks away from the Towers. It still doesn’t sit well with him, and I can understand why. His community, and his life, was forever altered because of terrorist attacks.


I hoped, for a long time, that 9/11 would be the only day like that in my lifetime. Of course, it hasn’t been that way. Not that there was a particular day, but COVID-19 is certainly something I will never forget, as well, and it has been far more destructive to our world and sadly, will continue to be. I’m not a believer in a lot of conspiracy theories, but if someone told me that 9/11 was an inside job and showed me some compelling evidence to support it, I would be inclined to believe it. There are just too many questions about it in my head to feel like it was what ‘they’ told us it was.


I know a lot of people are remembering loved ones and where they were today. Peace to you all.


See you tomorrow.



Anything is better. I love sand castles.

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