Ten years ago, I was in my office catching up on morning news via the Web and waiting for a regular Tuesday staff meeting. At the time, I was five months pregnant, suffering with sciatica, and in no hurry to make my way across campus and up three flights of stairs on a muggy, still tropically hot September morning. As I clicked from site to site, I found that I could no longer access any news outlet. I immediately assumed our network had gone down and logged off. Then, my phone rang.
One of the many hats I wore at that time was as a leader for the college’s Crisis Management Team (CMT). The call was to tell me to head over to the Admin Building to a CMT meeting about an event in New York City. Since I was, at that moment, sitting in North Central Florida, I knew that something terrible had to have happened. We convened the CMT for hurricanes, power outages -- immediate campus threats. What could have happened in New York City that would impact Gainesville? I joined my colleagues in the Board Room, and we huddled around a small television rolled in from a nearby office, watching the morning’s horrible events play out. We monitored directions from Governor Bush’s office and fielded panicked, frequently mistaken calls about other possible attacks and targets. Would Florida be in danger because President Bush was in the state? Because his brother served as our governor? As these fears diminished over the day, we were all released but once home, I could do nothing but watch the constant coverage with a sense of shock that seemed to grow rather than recede with each image.
Like each of us, my memories of that time are personal fragments, glimpses of a period that is at once so far away and so close. Ned and I had a trip to NYC long scheduled for that mid-October, and as it happened, our plane flew in directly over Ground Zero, lit up at night like a macabre and mangled football field. So many people on the flight rushed over to our side of the plane to get a look that it actually was in danger of tipping slightly, leading to much scolding by the flight attendants. We stayed near Bryant Park, whose fence was still covered with yellowed and stained pictures of those missing, and it was close enough to the event that people on the streets still cheered every passing fire truck. Back home, I finished working on our daughter’s baby quilt while watching the Concert for New York. And, then, as it always will, time moved on.
Last year, my family stayed at a hotel close to the now bustling construction site at Ground Zero. We took time to explain to our children why Wall Street was secured. We stopped outside the Freedom Tower site and shared a child’s version of September 11. Keeping this memory alive seemed the least we could do.
This Sunday, MCC will host its annual September 11 remembrance ceremony at 8:00 a.m. at the memorial our students created so this day would never be forgotten by our community. This Sunday, we pause for a moment to remember those whose lives ended a decade ago and those whose lives have been forever altered by the events of a day now frozen in time. I am attending my third commemoration, and each year, I reflect on what this memorial says about MCC and our students. It speaks to the essential work we do, the paths we encourage our students to take, the people they become along these journeys, and the responsibilities of freedom we share. I hope you will join me.
MCC staff & faculty: What are your reflections on September 11? Share them with your community on my blog.
Anne Kress
President's Office
09/08/2011 |