Another clueless product of American education.
"SHANNON GREENFIELD, 26, teaches first grade at PS 234, two blocks from the World Trade Center. When the school was evacuated, she ended up taking care of a 6-year-old girl named Alexis. “She was running alongside me and I was holding her hand. Her shoe fell off, but she was such a trouper. Then I saw this emergency bus going by. I screamed out, ‘I’m a teacher, this is my student, we have to get on!’ And while the bus was still moving they dragged us on. Everyone on the bus had been in one of the buildings, so they were covered with mud and soot and ash. “When we got to PS 41, we had to wait for her father. He worked in the WTC—a lot of our kids’ parents do. I can’t believe it, but somehow he found us there. He came in with an oxygen mask on, but he was so calm. He hugged his daughter and said, ‘Hi, sweetie. I’m here to pick you up.’ She said, ‘What’s that mask for?’ And he said, ‘Oh, it’s just something I decided to wear to work today’.”
Two different teachers. Two different takes. The elitist hack that calls himself a "teacher" at Harvard-Westlake deserves to be dropped into the middle of Ground Zero and be put on body bag detail. I'm telling you now, I don't care if the Shannon Greenfield is only a "publick school teacher" - she's the one I want for my child, and she deserves a raise.
This uninformed miscreant must not have realized that MANY of the missing represent a cross section of society who worked in minimum wage jobs.
The people should NEVER forget!!!
They were there two minutes later. Peter Blaich, a 29-year-old whose father, two uncles and cousin also are New York City firefighters, was intent on gathering his gear from the engine - so he didn't see the bodies falling from the north tower.
"Someone said, `We have jumpers,'" Blaich said. "I kind of knew in the back of my mind that they were hitting the ground nearby, because you could hear the thuds." He didn't look. He just grabbed his stuff and ran toward the burning north tower.
When the lobby elevator doors opened to Blaich's engine company, jet fuel gushed out, so they knew they knew they had to walk up. Ninety floors to where they figured the plane had hit, with each man carrying 100 pounds of gear.
At about the seventh floor, they heard an explosion. The other tower had been hit. As they climbed, people streamed past, going down. Some people, fully clothed and calm, encouraged the firefighters as they brushed shoulders. Others were naked and whimpering, with charred hair and skin peeling from their bodies. A few of the naked ones covered themselves with jackets.
Ascending the same stairwell just ahead of them, Ladder 6's Billy Butler and his fellow firefighters stopped on several floors to break the glass fronts of vending machines and grab bottles of water. They kept a bottle for themselves but handed out the rest.
"We were telling people, `You're almost there. You're almost there. Just 15 more floors. Just 10 more floors.'" At about the 28th floor, they heard and felt a tremendous blast. Traffic quieted on their fire radios. If they had had time to listen closely, they might have realized that virtually no transmissions were coming from the other tower.
That cry over their radios, which came somewhere about Floor 25, stopped the ascent of Peter Blaich and the others from Engine 9. They turned and started down, stopping at each floor, yelling for people to evacuate.
They found the lobby littered with slabs of concrete. A lieutenant from another engine company grabbed them and said: "I'm missing all my guys. Can you help me?" They stopped to help as the smoke grew thicker and chunks of the building fell around them.
"That's when our lieu(tenant) said we have to go," Blaich said. "We didn't want to leave."
One block from the building, he was knocked to the ground by a flying tire. Another guy from his company dragged him behind a car as the freight train of concrete, steel, smoke and dust slammed past.
Well, then I'm glad I sent my freshman daughter to Notre Dame High instead. It's about half the price of Harvard-Westlake, with a fraction of the propagandable nonsense.
I was watching ABC News coverage the morning of the attack as my daughter was getting ready for school. When the second plane hit, I called her to the TV. My mother was four when the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor, and always remembered the day it happened as a pivotal one in her life. I knew that this was going to be that same type of moment for my daughter.
As we watched the incomprehensible smoke billow from the second tower, she asked me, "what's happening to those people?" She wanted me, her Dad, to reassure her. To tell her that things would be OK. That her world was still safe. I couldn't do it.
"They're dying," was all I could say.
I've never felt so futile as a father, as we watched the carnage. She asked me "Why are they doing this?"
"Evil," I told her. "Evil people have done this."
Then I took her to school... At ND, as it happened, there was a school mass already scheduled for that morning. She was singing in the choir. She told me that at the Mass, teachers were crying. Most of the kids already knew what was happening in New York.
But I'm proud and relieved to say that rather than seizing the "teachable moment," Brother Bill and Principal Connelly recognized that this was a spriritual moment. And the kids were mightily comforted by that Mass.
I'm only sorry that there doesn't seem to have been as much wisdom shown at Harvard-Westlake.
Well, then I'm glad I sent my freshman daughter to Notre Dame High instead. It's about half the price of Harvard-Westlake, with a fraction of the propagandable nonsense.
I was watching ABC News coverage the morning of the attack as my daughter was getting ready for school. When the second plane hit, I called her to the TV. My mother was four when the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor, and always remembered the day it happened as a pivotal one in her life. I knew that this was going to be that same type of moment for my daughter.
As we watched the incomprehensible smoke billow from the second tower, she asked me, "what's happening to those people?" She wanted me, her Dad, to reassure her. To tell her that things would be OK. That her world was still safe. I couldn't do it.
"They're dying," was all I could say.
I've never felt so futile as a father, as we watched the carnage. She asked me "Why are they doing this?"
"Evil," I told her. "Evil people have done this."
Then I took her to school... At ND, as it happened, there was a school mass already scheduled for that morning. She was singing in the choir. She told me that at the Mass, teachers were crying. Most of the kids already knew what was happening in New York.
But I'm proud and relieved to say that rather than seizing the "teachable moment," Brother Bill and Principal Connelly recognized that this was a spriritual moment. And the kids were mightily comforted by that Mass.
I'm only sorry that there doesn't seem to have been as much wisdom shown at Harvard-Westlake.
“Write this down,” said a redheaded man with a thick accent. “This is a wake-up call for the rich. Be sure to write that down.”
An elderly couple with tickets to “The Producers” were particularly upset. “We’ll never get to see the show!” the woman wailed. “We had such a nice trip planned.”
Morons.
Why do "gun-loving" and "nut case" always appear in the same sentence??? BARF
BUMP to NEVER FORGET!
Good heavens, what appalling words. I HOPE she is ashamed of her callousness.
I know that the descriptions are as discreet as they can be and still convey the horror.
I have been praying for the volunteers, firefighters, and especially the survivors and bystanders who saw "things no one should ever see."
The volunteers and firefighters probably have received some training regarding this kind of disaster, but those poor people who just had it happen before their eyes need special help to deal with what they saw.
Barf.
Reminds me of Penis Jennings, who was grinding his political axe within minutes of the tragedy.
People like this piece of marxist trash believe the world will be a perfect place when everyone is as poor and miserable as him.