Fifteen years ago today, our nation was subject to a horrific terrorist attack. Four civilian airliners were hijacked, two smashed into the World Trade Center in New York City, one struck the Pentagon, and a fourth was forced down into a field as a result of the bravery of the passengers who sacrificed their lives to prevent further loss of lives.

If you were alive and cognizant, you will never forget that day. I remember the day President Kennedy was assassinated. I will never forget 9/11/2001.

I can never forget that day because I lived right across the harbor from the World Trade Center, in Brooklyn Heights. It was as gorgeous, cloudless day, as beautiful as it ever gets in the fall. I was sitting at my breakfast table when I heard a thunderous sound, which I wrongly assumed was either a sonic boom or a crash on the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway, a highway that abuts New York Harbor. My partner called from work and told me to turn on the television; something terrible had happened at the World Trade Center. I did, and I saw one of the tall buildings on fire at the top. What happened? Did an airplane hit it by accident? I ran down to the waterfront, a two-block jaunt, and as I looked up, I saw the second airplane hit the second tower. I stood there with half a dozen people. We didn’t speak. We all took a deep breath. We knew it was no accident. I watched the plumes of thick black smoke and the flames, and I knew that people were being incinerated. I could see what was happening but at the same time, I didn’t know what was happening ran home to watch television to find out what was going on. After 15 minutes watching and listening, I ran back to the waterfront. Then the wind shifted, and the dense cloud of smoke turned towards east, where I was standing. I could no longer see anything. Small bits of debris and ash were falling everywhere. The cars were coated with ash. Later, in my backyard, I found a charred piece of paper that had been on someone’s desk, and except for some burn holes, it was intact. It had floated gently from his or her desk across the river to my yard. After my partner came home, we went to the nearest hospital to see if we could give blood. They turned us away. They said no blood was needed. We walked to the foot of the Brooklyn Bridge and watched hundreds of people trudging slowly across the bridge, from Manhattan to Brooklyn. They were dazed. Some were shoeless. All of them were coated in ashes. We went back to the house. We were glued to the television, filled with apprehension and sorrow. We watched the buildings collapse, one after the other, knowing that many people were still inside. We stayed inside, because outside, the air was thick with the dust from the burning towers. There was a peculiar smell in the air, an acrid smell of burning plastic. That smell remained for weeks. We watched television, we were glued to the screen. The city ground to a halt. No subway service, no bus service, nothing flying overhead except fighter jets. It became very quiet, except for the sound of sirens. The sound of sirens continued for days. Gasoline stations quickly ran out of gasoline, so not many people were driving. After some days, when we were able to walk across the bridge, we saw the photographs, posted everywhere, on every empty wall: have you seen this man? have you seen this woman? Missing. Help. For months afterwards, I could not stop thinking of the people who were trapped in the towers, especially at night. I traveled to a family wedding in November in Texas, and people were surprised that I was so obsessed with what had happened. To them, it was a news story, but it was over. For me, and for everyone else who had a personal connection with that day, it will never be over. I don’t have nightmares anymore, but the vivid memories will be with me always.

Let us never forget. I won’t.

So Hillary spoke ill of half of Trump’s supporters. 

Did she mean the delegates who chanted, “Lock her up!” at the GOP convention?

Or was she thinking of these gentlemen?

So Hillary spoke ill of half of Trump’s supporters. 
Did she mean the delegates who chanted, “Lock her up!” at the GOP convention. 
Or was she thinking of these gentlemen?