Remembering the Kindness of Strangers

September 11, 2001 — Morning

For those who may not have read it, you can read my account of that morning here. I've shared the small miracle that I took a different route to work that day — instead of walking through the World Trade Center, I taxied around it. I spoke of the shock and the anger and the shifting emotions as I realized this was not another boiler explosion but an outright attack. I spoke of the heroism of the first responders and the leaders I watched demonstrate courage and strength in the middle of a crisis. I described my walk through dust and debris across the Brooklyn Bridge, and my sense of anger and frustration. And I admitted I had no clue what I would do once I reached the other side.

Thirteen years later, I found myself planning another trip to New York — this time to celebrate the marriage of a good friend's daughter, in Brooklyn. This year, I chose to share the rest.

September 11, 2001 — Around Noon

When I first walked into Brooklyn, I remember thinking how strange it was that this was the first time I'd ever set foot in the borough. In fact, it was the first time I'd left Manhattan. I know how that sounds. I had dozens of friends — many from my class at Wharton — who lived in Manhattan and, like me, lived a life that mostly stretched from Lower Manhattan to Midtown. The adventurers among us lived on the Upper East Side, a few even in Harlem, but none I knew were in Brooklyn. (Tons of them live there now.)

A mobile cell tower had been set up near the Marriott, and people were gathered around it, reaching for family, friends, and loved ones. I started making calls and confirmed that all of my friends had headed north from Tribeca into the "safe zone." As I stood there wondering where I would go and where I would sleep — all my clothing was still in the Embassy Suites on the other side of the World Trade Center — I got a call from my friend Kim, checking that I was okay. I told her my situation. She called a friend who grew up in Brooklyn.

Her friend called a friend, and about twenty minutes later I was walking with a perfect stranger toward a brownstone in Brooklyn. We came from different backgrounds and had lived that morning differently, but our emotions were the same. Along with his girlfriend, we sat in the living room and watched the day continue to unfold — more buildings falling, more information emerging about the attackers.

After a couple of hours, his girlfriend — by now four degrees removed from my friend Kim — drove me to her mother's house. Another first: I was driving to Queens. I would spend the night after the attacks sleeping in a twin bed, in the room of a boy who was maybe eight years old. The room was full of pictures and artwork and school awards — a stunning little vignette of innocence, in stark contrast to the horrors of the day.

It took about two days to get back to Chicago — a trip that involved making my way by train to Philadelphia, then sharing a van with more strangers for the drive west. Perhaps someday I'll share that story too, and maybe I'll write about my return to Manhattan on September 22. There are so many memories, good and bad, and some are kept in the back corners of my mind for my use only. This year, I choose to honor those we lost by remembering the good that came out of the tragedy: the unity of a city and a nation, and the compassion of a little boy who slept on the sofa so I could have his bed and try to sleep away what I'd seen on the other side of New York.

However you choose to remember, make today a day for doing something kind for a stranger. Help out. Give back. Show compassion. Make a difference to someone. That's how we honor fallen heroes and innocent victims. That's how we try to move on, and bring good from the bad.