The Saturday prior to the attack I was camping with my friends and our kids. Eddie and I had been friends since we were 12 years old. We were soaking our feet in a stream and just BS about our futures and some of our past. We had both survived the streets and the war, he went off to become a Federal Agent, I went off to private industry. We had cut out pretty good lives, good wives and kids.
I knew he was in one of the Towers, phones were jammed, roads were jammed, F-16s were going overhead. My Son and I went to a hilltop behind the house and could see the buildings burning. My son knew that "Uncle Eddie" worked there and was getting upset. The Towers had been down for a few hours at that point. Nothing could be done. My Nextel chirped once and it said "Eddie" then nothing, but it meant he was alive. It was the first time my Son saw his Father cry.
Eddie made it out 10 Mins before his Tower fell. On his way down the stairs he saw cops he knew and kidded them they were going the wrong way. He saw regular office workers helping the Firefighters pulling hose and carrying fresh airpacks up to the advancing Firefighters. These regular people stepped up and he knows they died.
The next day I went over to Jersey and took the ferry across the Hudson. No one challenged me as I made my way to the site. Volunteers were streaming in doing whatever they could, uptown socialites were handing out water and sandwiches. Trucks arrived from all over carrying men with picks and shovels who must have traveled all night but they came to dig people out. There was no North or South, East or West in their minds, they just came to help other Americans. In some ways it was Americas darkest and brightest hour.
Eddie and I, and the rest of the gang still take our Sons camping every year, same spot. All the boys are in College. Eddie and I still soak our feet in the stream. We don't talk about that day.
