| | LET'S ROLL
Had we not given them the tools, the beasts could not have felled what we raised up.
The one plane that day that flew out of Newark airport, a NYC hub, the city of trade and moxie, went down in glory in a Pennsylvania field. The proper tribute to them would be the bronze sculpture of an airliner, three times bigger than life, flying up out of the ground, nose skyward, only its tail fin anchored in the earth. Instead they tried to give us a crescent shaped wall, so we settled for nothing.
And Osama, in Western fatigues, wagged his American-made wristwatch at us.
The other three planes that flew that day originated in Boston, the town of the Puritans, of "gentility" and of old money. The second and third of these planes knew of their fate, their passengers huddling in the back, on their cell phones, not acting, but asking "what should we do?" They should have died with honor. I don't pretend to see into their souls. I liked the doomed Barbara Olsen who flew from Boston to the Pentagon. But fuck the regulations. Let's roll.
Ted Keer, Sep. 13, 2006, NYC
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