In remembering all the horrific tragedies and the heroism ten years after 9-11, I can’t help but go back to my freshman year in college. I had just finished my intro to psychology class and was heading over to my intro to anthropology class in a different building. I had come out of my first class to see a bunch of people, both students and faculty crowding around a television. At first, I didn’t understand what I was seeing. Then as I was watching the second plane hit the second tower. People started crying and hugging each other. I was totally numb, I couldn’t completely hear or understand everything that was going on, but I knew that people were deeply affected by what was going on and probably would be for a long time.
As I made my way to my next class a professor literally came running down the path towards me with his hands in the air yelling “they just hit the second tower.” I wasn’t quite sure what to make of his reaction. I’m not known for my loud outbursts or overwhelming displays of emotion. It’s probably the German in me or my realistic, practical mind warning me to not look ridiculous in public. We sat and talked quietly as we waited for the anthropology professor to show up. She came only a few minutes late with red rimmed eyes. I don’t think any of us in the class, most of whom were eighteen or nineteen really understood or grasped the magnitude of what had just happened. At this time most of us didn’t know that it was a terrorist attack or that other planes had been taken over.
My anthropology professor, Susan, is a great lady, but she’s also an expert on forensic anthropology. Think “Bones.” Anyway, she said that she had already gotten a call from the government asking her to come to New York
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