Not very successful at coping with the haunting of 9-11 on this 10th-year observance of the terror heralding the 21st century as our nation was so savagely ravaged. Managed the morning chores, went through the motions of daily routine. meeting most domestic -- and professional -- commitments, but was never free of indelible images of the carnage in lower Manhattan. Could not attribute that to the insistent drone of media replaying the ghastly video clips of yesteryear. No, the images have been with me since day one, sometimes recurring at most unlikely moments, often in the midst of a festive occasion. And with the images has always come pain, a gut-wrenching ache at seeing invasion of my country when for decades I'd believed I'd never see it.
I was not in New York on 9-11, but had been scheduled to fly from Albuquerque that morning on a flight terminating at Baltimore-Washington International Airport. Flight cancelled, of course. But as an ex-resident of Greenwich Village, with a love of the city since childhood, the hours before televised horrors in its streets convinced me that I would never again be the man I was prior to 9-11. Profound change had entered our world, and my psyche. As artist and writer, I wondered if any subject other than the evil being witnessed would merit attention, work or effort in the future.
Ten years ago, and again today, I knew and know still, that my anguish -- so inconsequential to that of victims and their loved ones -- stems from convictions I held as a veteran of World War II. Along with comrades who'd looked on the bombed skeletal towns and cities of Europe, I believed we'd spared our country that -- that attacks hadn't happened in the US mainland, and never would. Belief sustained when we returned home, and after the gruesome cityscapes of a raped continent, gazed on the pristine brilliance of our unspoiled terrain. Admittedly now, a time of naive -- foolish? -- trust, perhaps even a Time of Innocence before its demise. But for long years, not I alone but other WWII veterans I talked with, relished that belief that we nor our loved ones would know attack on the homeland.
There are many days of bright turquoise skies in Santa Fe, where I live. And on 9-11, that September day in New York boasted a sky which rivaled ours. I remember thinking, as I watched those towers burn, that I'd have had a wonderfully clear bright day on arrival in the East if terror hadn't struck and canceled my flight. A sad bequest -- to too often in the years since, and likely for the rest of my life, look on turquoise skies remembering.
