Remembering to Laugh and Cry

"I woke up this morning to an empty sky." -Bruce Springsteen

I didn't know anyone who died 12 years ago today. I know people who knew people. That's as far as my connection to the victims goes. But still, I mourn. I think about what happened that day and I still shake my head in disbelief. How could that have happened? It's still mind-boggling, even though we lived it. Thinking about it still evokes confusion, anxiety, sadness. There was a time when we weren't sure it was ok to laugh. When we did, it made us feel normal again, at least for a moment. The first time I truly laughed after 9/11 was shortly after the first time I really cried.

I work in television news. During the marathon of wall-to-wall coverage of the biggest news event we'll ever witness, sleep was hard to come by. Few of us wanted to take a break since the brave men and women at Ground Zero were not stopping their work either. After all, we were not providing a fraction of the service, making a fraction of the sacrifice, toiling through a fraction of the heartache they were.

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Soundtrack: New York State of Mind

"I know what I'm needin' and I don't want to waste more time. I'm in a New York State of Mind." -Billy Joel

I have always considered myself a New Yorker. Maybe part of that is envy, from growing up in New Jersey. As I've grown older, I've learned to wear my New Jersey roots as a badge of honor. I'm proud of it. Still, to use a line from that famous tourism ad campaign, "I love New York." I love New York even though my hometown is actually closer to Philadelphia than it is to New York.

"Some folks like to get away. Take a holiday from the neighborhood. "

I've just always identified more with New York than any other place. A lot of that is growing up a fan of Billy Joel, more so than Bruce Springsteen. A lot of that is my family being from Jersey City, right across the Hudson River. My parents grew up in the shadow of Manhattan. And let's be honest: New York is a hell of a lot cooler.

There is a framed picture of the New York city skyline as we once knew it hanging in our bedroom. I gave it to My Director for Christmas 2001, three months after the attack on our city:

I broke down in tears when she opened it. Because our city was healing, but still badly scarred. The wounds were still sore. The horror still fresh in our minds.

"I don't have any reason. I don't want to waste more time. I'm in a New York state of mind."

That song by Billy Joel was the last song we put on our wedding CD, the thank-you gift we gave to our guests. A compilation of songs about us, about our love and our life. Is there anything better than his slow, cool piano solo in the beginning of this song? The saxophone at the end? We were married in Pennsylvania, where My Director is from. I am born and raised in New Jersey. We lived in Hoboken, the town right next to Jersey City, at the time. But we were always in a New York state of mind. We always will be in our hearts.

"It was so easy living day by day out of touch with the rhythm and blues."

I treat New York like one of my siblings. Respect. Love. Loyalty. With full knowledge of some of its more annoying quirks and habits. Drivers that insist on speeding up to red lights. Cabs who think having the right of way means they are legally permitted to run you over. The throngs of tourists in Times Square who pose as a daily obstacle course as I make my way to the bus ride home. And whatever that appetite suppressant of a stench is on summer mornings that is so gag-worthy it makes eating anything on the go impossible.

"I'm walkin' here." (I've done this many times myself.)

Like my siblings, I accept New York's faults on most days. That's just who she is. Then there are the days it's so aggravating I lash out with an audible F-bomb of my own. But like I do with my sisters and brother, I defend New York to outsiders, even if they're right. While New York can be a jerk sometimes, she's my jerk and it's none of your business.

Most of my time in New York is spent at work. And I must admit there are times I'm walking from place to place and hear a car backfire or a crash-boom at a construction site and it'll startle me. For a split second I'll fear the worst again. But if 9/11 taught me anything at all, it taught me that our city will always be here. They can knock down buildings but they can't knock us down.

I love New York. For its strength, its majesty, its diversity. But most of all, I love it for its resiliency.

Enjoy this great live version of Billy Joel's tribute to the greatest city in the world:
 Last year I shared the story of one of my greatest professional accomplishments, and how it serves as a daily reminder of 9/11. You can read it here.

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9/11: A Constant Reminder

"I woke up this morning to an empty sky" -Bruce Springsteen

An Emmy sits on our mantle. Not many people can call themselves an Emmy-winner. But I can.

That gold statue serves as a constant reminder... of an accomplishment. And of a tragedy.

I won my only Emmy for my work covering the first anniversary of September 11th. That statue is so bittersweet. It almost seems like there shouldn't have been awards that year.

There was a feeling of helplessness when the attacks hit, and the towers came down. I especially felt helpless because all I wanted to do was get into work. I couldn't at first because the city was on lockdown. There was a bigger feeling of helplessness from our inability to provide any information or comfort to the countless families whose loved ones were missing.

I remember our reporter standing there live at the Armory, interviewing relative after relative awaiting word. None came. All he could do was comfort them. Temporarily. Momentarily. And all we could do was watch through the screens in the control room and not loose our sh!t, and concentrate on the next shot to go to.

It seemed every waking hour, for that entire year, was about 9/11. The firsts. The first month. The first Christmas. The six month anniversary. The wars. Then summer, and the planning for the one year anniversary.

Leading up to the first anniversary was like opening an old wound. I remember pouring my heart into that special. Not for me. But for them. The victims. Their families.

Obviously, I didn't do it for any award. I did it because it was my job. And I did it because I - we - felt that somehow we were serving these people in some way. We were easing their pain however slightly by telling their stories.

That night, when we signed off at 11pm, we all went out. Everyone at the station. Talent, bosses, technical crew, producers. Everyone.

We got hammered. I got really hammered. We were blowing off steam... a year's worth of steam. There was so much work to do from the moment that first plane struck to the moment Seinfeld (Seinfeld of all things) rolled right after us on the one year anniversary.

We all took a deep breath. And finally exhaled. I don't remember much about that night. I remember a friend put me in a cab to send me home... from the East Side of Manhattan to New Jersey.

Then I remember collapsing into a heap in the bathroom of our apartment maybe 45 minutes later. Kicking and screaming and crying and punching. My wife (who was my fiance' then) came in. I had obviously woken her up because it was late at night/early in the morning.

The tears started flowing, fueled by the alcohol, and they just didn't stop. She came in to console me. I remember yelling, "I can't do this anymore." And "I shouldn't have taken on this project. I can't handle it."

Over the next several years, I earned the job of 9/11 producer at each station I worked. Despite my drunken pronouncement in the bathroom in the early morning hours of 9/12/02, it became my thing.

But I could never forget that first time. When all of those memories came rushing back. When I finally let go and let loose.

Ten years later, I still wish there was more I could have done to help those who lost someone. Something more than wall-to-wall coverage. Something more than producing an Emmy-winning show.

But I can't. Nothing I can say or do can take away their pain.

9/11 taught us about the strength and triumph of the human spirit in the face of unspeakable tragedy. A daily reminder of that sits on our mantle. It is a testament to them.

And that is why I'm proud of that Emmy. But I'd trade it in a heartbeat if it would bring them all back.

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