After The Fire

After a forest fire, after the near-total devastation of plant and animal life, there is a near-miraculous reassertion of vitality. Trees shake off charred exteriors and show new growth, and plants and animals return with amazing speed.

On Sept. 11, 2001, terrorists on four hijacked jetliners ignited a sort of forest fire in our national psyche, burning away notions of invincibility and driving most of us to seek shelter with family and friends, bewildered and uncertain of what would come next.

As word came in first of the planes striking the towers and the Pentagon, then the crash in Pennsylvania, a sort of numbness set in. The human mind isn't hardwired to handle that much tragic input at once. Then the towers fell, and many of us learned to our chagrin that we did, indeed, have the capacity to comprehend horror on an even grander scale.

I will never forget the footage of the people running from the collapse of the towers, the ash like some bitter snowdrifts shrouding everything and leaving in the air a stench that lasted for weeks. The fire had been total, it seemed, and had touched everyone and everything. One look into the eyes of those leaving the collapse zone and anyone could be forgiven for wondering if we'd ever recover.

Within days, however, signs of life began to return. Religious institutions, be they synagogues, mosques, churches or circles in the woods, saw the return of many who had forgotten the solace that could be found there. Fund-raising drives and expressions of hope and patriotism sprung up like wildflowers after spring's first deluge. We began to remember who we were as a country.

Americans are often referred to by others in "older" countries as having no real national identity, but the annealing fire of the twin towers' collapse and the aftermath showed that we truly are a nation united, with an undeniable spirit of generosity and fellowship.

Here in the Chronicles, we didn't document the grand movements, the concerts and tremendous outpourings of grief and comfort. Here, we brought you small-town happenings, expressions of patriotism like the painted horse Shandar, whose pal Stephanie England-Grey used food coloring to achieve the effect.

Such was the fury of our patriotism that things like flags, which had been a "once a decade" purchase for most folks, became very hard to find. Witness the Hall family, who turned their garage door into a rendition of Old Glory.

"Human" flags showed up on countless high school football fields, and mural and graffiti artists took to the walls and train cars, spraying their own unique messages of national pride.

And let's not forget my own personal favorite post-Sept. 11 story, that of Shawn Bradley. He saw footage of rescue workers chowing down on cold sandwiches and fast food and, with some help from his neighbors, whipped up gumbo for 1,000 to feed the hungry workers.

I'm not going to make any grand "where do we go from here" pronouncements, or ponder deep on our national soul and purpose. We'll leave that to the more exalted scions of media conscience. Besides, if the events of Sept. 11 taught me anything, it's that trying to predict the actions of Americans is the sheerest folly. Osama bin Laden and his cronies thought their cowardly attacks would break our spirit and leave us cowed and supplicant. He was just a TINY bit off, there, as I'm sure he's now realized in whatever bug-ridden cave he currently calls home.

One thing I can guarantee you: we will continue to be the wackiest, funniest, most irrepressible bunch of humanoids on this dusty globe. It's part of our charm.