May 15, 2014--9/11 Museum

As frequently reported, in lower Manhattan, the morning of September 11, 2001 was glorious but soon to be shattered.

It was 8:40 and we were ready to head for coffee and then the office, our daily routine. Rona went out to our top-floor terrace to check to see if she needed a sweater.

"I don't think so," she called back to me. "It's quite mild."

I was dressed but lolling in bed reading through the paper. waiting for her to decide--sweater or no sweater.

That was the most serious thing we had on our minds that morning.

But then, Rona said, with concern in her voice, "I think there's a problem."

"A problem? How could that be on such a day?"

"Did you hear that?"

I am often asked that since I am hard of hearing.

"Nothing that unusual. But you know . . ."

"A huge plane just flew over the top of the house seemingly descending and at top speed. That shouldn't be."

We are in the LaGuardia Airport flight path and planes flying overhead are not that unusual.

As if reading my thought, Rona said, "That plane is heading south. Not toward the airport."

And with that we heard the sound of a huge explosion.

"I think it may have crashed in New York Harbor. Oh my god! Turn on the TV."

I did and in a moment saw that there was a fire raging in one of the World Trade Towers.

I raced out to the terrace to join Rona just when the second plane struck.

"This is no accident," I said.

                                                  *     *     *

More than twelve years later, early next week, the museum at the site will begin to admit the public. Today, President Obama will attend the ceremonial opening.

I am not happy about this. Not of course what happened that day--about that I will be forever distraught--but the very idea of a museum.

New York City, America, is not the place for museums about death and destruction and fear.

We are about being optimistic, looking forward, overcoming adversity and even tragedy, not memorializing victimhood, commodifying it, turning it into a voyeuristic tourist venue that charges $24 to enter and sells cheesy 9/11 T-shirts at the gift shop.

Gift shop?

Do I really need to see a crushed firetruck? Do I want to look at a pair of shoes that a survivor tossed aside as she fled to safety? Behind glass, no less, theatrically lit? Or the stopped watch of one of the victims on UA Flight 93, headed for the White House, that heroic passengers caused to crash in a field near Shanksville, Pennsylvania?

I will continue to resist a life coiled in mourning and fear.