On February 12, 2026 I look back on February 13, 2009 and look forward to finishing Beverly Eckert's story of love, loss and courage

 

It is February 13, 2009. 

As soon as I open my eyes, I reach for the TV remote on the nightstand. 

This had been my routine upon waking up ever since 9/11. On that clear autumn day in 2001, I went about my morning routine, sending the kids off to school, having breakfast, going down to my basement office to write. At 9:37 (I know the exact minute today) I felt the house tremble and heard a far-off rumble. Construction noise, I thought. Then I heard sirens. First one (the closest Arlington County firehouse is just four blocks away), then another, and another. So many sirens that I walked up the stairs and out into the street to see if I could see the cause, maybe smoke rising somewhere. All I saw was a bright blue sky above the trees. I went back into the house and the phone rang. It was my elder daughter, calling from her high school. 

"Dad, dad, is mom okay? We heard there was a car bomb at the State Department!"

"Uh, I don't know. She hasn't called. She must be okay."

After I hung up, I turned on the TV. I watched as the Twin Towers burn and collapsed. I heard about the car bomb rumors, about the plane crash in Pennsylvania and the Pentagon, which is just three miles from my house. The rest of the day was a blur. Picking up my two younger kids from their nearby elementary school. Telling them that some bad men crashed airplanes into buildings. Heavy traffic through my quiet neighborhood's streets because the main roads were jammed. Watching the confused, frightening, heart-rending images on television. So many perished. So much destruction. Relieved at the end of the day when the family was together and safe. Wondering what this horror all meant.

In the days that followed, I wondered what I could do. As an American, I wanted to serve my country. I learned that I was too old to enlist, so I sought other government jobs but without success. In the years that followed, I learned that the 9/11 Commission would be established to discover how the attacks came about and how the government responded. I didn't get a position on the commission, but I went to one of its hearings so that I could write about it. That's when I met Beverly Eckert, one of the family members who lost a loved one on 9/11 and worked on a number of reforms, including the establishment of the commission.

Beverly met her husband, Sean Rooney, at a high school dance. They fell in love, married, and made a good life for themselves. On 9/11, Sean was on the phone with Beverly when Tower Two collapsed and ended his life. She vowed to make sure that such a catastrophe would not happen again, that such an attack would never prevent a loved one from returning home. 

After we spoke, and exchanged messages, Beverly agreed to my proposal to write a book about her story. In subsequent years, we spent many hours talking about her work and her life. She sent hundreds of emails describing her 9/11 reform work. This work included attending a meeting, along with other 9/11 family members and USS Cole bombing family members, with President Barack Obama on February 6, 2009 to discuss the closing of US detention facilities at Naval Station Guantanamo Bay, where terrorism suspects were being held. Beverly shook the president's hand and gave him a letter describing her agreement with him to move detainees from Guantanamo to the US for trial.

It is February 13, 2009.

I click the remote and the first image on the TV screen is Beverly's face. What? Why? Could it be a story about her recent trip to DC? The next image is of a burning aircraft. All on board, including Beverly, perished in a crash the night before, February 12, as the plane was descending toward Buffalo, where she was born, where she grew up, where she fell in love and married, where she was returning to celebrate Sean's birthday and to present a scholarship she had established in his name. 

I cried. Beverly's family and friends lost a caring and devoted loved one. Her community lost a neighbor who help kids read and do math at the local elementary school, who helped build houses for Habitat for Humanity, who kept the memory of her husband and 9/11 alive with small memorials around Stamford, Connecticut. Her country lost a courageous and articulate citizen activist who worked with her colleagues to make airlines, skyscrapers, the country safer. 

Parts of Beverly's story are out there, but the larger story she wanted told is around me in boxes and files. The story I had promised her to tell has been stalled for too long. I am in my basement office, at that same desk, surrounded by her words and the documents she collected. At last I ready to finish her story.

Beverly Eckert's voice, sometimes hoarse from overwork, was always heard

Beverly Eckert was many things. After 9/11 she became an activist, an organizer, a leader, a spokesperson, a lobbyist, a builder of memorials and a conscience for the country. Sometimes her audience was worldwide, televised and spread through all manner of other media. Other times her message was delivered one-on-one.

In September 2004, Beverly was in Washington, DC to lobbying on behalf of intelligence reform bills that grew out of the recommendations of the 9/11 Commission. She shared a taxi with a stranger during the visit, and she told him about her work, her voice hoarse from all the speaking she was doing. A day later, the stranger sent Beverly an email.

Last night we just met in a shared cab in DC. You are the first victim of 911 that I have ever met. Living in Seattle and being untouched by that horrible day insulated me from the pain you have suffered and prevented me from understanding the urgency you feel about putting changes in place as soon as possible.

I am very sorry for your loss and grateful for the effort you are putting forth the make this country safer for me and my family. Just wanted to say thanks... Godspeed. (And give that voice a rest!!!)

For many Americans, 9/11 was not of immediate concern, the need for reforms an abstraction. Beverly and the other family members made the tragedy real. Their message resonated around the world, and it made a difference in the end.

 

When the 'best among us' chose the heroic route: 9/11 family members get a big 'Thank you'

There was a sense of accomplishment and relief after the 9/11 Commission's final report was released on July 22, 2004 to the world, but Beverly Eckert and the other family members did not take time to rest. Their work was only half done until the commission's recommendations were adopted.

So they immediately set their sights on this next goal.

This involved the tough task of convincing members of Congress to formulate laws and pass them. On August 3, 2004, Beverly, Sally Regenhard and Robin Wiener testified before the House Government Reform Committee, adding their passionate and firm voices to the call for widespread changes. Many Americans viewed the hearing on television and were moved by the words of the family members. Here's an email from one woman from New York City. Her sense of disillusionment with politicians rings true even today. But her gratitude shines through.

Dear wonderful ladies,

I have lost so much faith in this country, this city, and those who are in power. I watched the DNC [Democratic National Convention] and that gave me a small amount of hope as I think that Kerry and Edwards are decent, thoughtful and intelligent men. But, my real hope for this country came when I watched your testimony before the committee. 

I have long been in awe of all of the family members and their ability to turn horror to good, but today I saw that the members of Congress see you as the only hope to get this country going in the right direction. What an awesome responsibility to have placed upon you, but I know that you are equal to these challenges.

When Ms. Eckert said to the committee that this was their hour to take a place in history and to do the right thing, I was wondering if the three of you (and the other family members) were aware that this was something that you did long ago. You chose the heroic route and you have traveled it with courage and integrity and love -- for your loved ones who so needlessly were lost and for your country and for people like me that just need to know that there is something left in the world that is right, true and full of integrity (without bulshit).

I hope that God will bless you and grace you in all that you do. I hope that you find some relief from your grief, although I know how hard that is. I was sobbing as I witnessed your pain and courage. I hope that you know that you represent the good and decent part of this nation -- you really are the best among us. Thank You.

On a roll with the writing and research of No Truer Hearts, then..

You never know what you will find as you are doing the donkey work of research. Even though it involves digging for sources and reading just one page at a time, it is heavy lifting, believe me. You end up going through thousands and thousands of pages -- articles, letters, reports, statements, emails -- most of them dull and useless to your project. Dead weight piled high on your desk.

Then you strike gold.

It may be a quote that perfectly captures a moment in time. Or you might stumble across a fact no one in the world has ever published. The nuggets come rarely, but come they do, which is what keeps you going. These are the building blocks for your story. And you keep on slogging because of those unexpected jolts, the way that the words on a piece of paper can make you catch your breath in shock, chuckle quietly or send you searching for a tissue to wipe the tears from your eyes.

My eyes are dry now, but I had to stand up a few minutes ago from my current session of donkey work. It is March 22, 2017 and I am poring over the boxes of paper that Beverly Eckert had gathered to highlight some of her struggles to make the country safer after 9/11. These papers mostly deal with her work with other family members on the 9/11 Commission. They chronicle the long and difficult struggle to establish the commission, make sure its work was thorough and honest, and that its recommendations would change the government so that another attack would not leave in its wake another group of grieving family members like them.

Page after page after page. Then I pick up document 95. (Beverly had numbered the documents with colored Post-its.) It is an article I’d written long ago, in 2004, about the commission hearing where I first met Beverly, where our collaboration began. The article describes the hearing at which counter terrorism official Richard Clarke began his testimony dramatically by apologizing to the family members. “Your government failed you, those entrusted with protecting you failed you, and I failed you.”

It gives me goosebumps to go back to that moment. And I think that a big reason that Beverly agreed to allow me to tell her story was that article. I think I captured an emotional turning point for the family members that most journalists missed. A couple of days ago, I found footage of the hearing on C-Span and watched the first few minutes, hoping to gather new insights after all these years. And sure enough, there was Beverly, in the second row behind Clark. And just after he apologized the camera panning, but it’s possible to see her right hand rising to her face -- wiping a tear? covering her mouth? Even in the fuzzy pixels it’s clear to see she was moved.

As soon as the hearing was gaveled to a close, family members rushed up to Clark, something that never happened with other witnesses. Catharsis. Beverly was second to grab his hand firmly and shake it. Afterword, she told me that she said to him: “I forgive you.”

In my article, I wrote that the family members had been craving honesty, openness and accountability from the hearings, and “Clarke was the one who gave this simple gift to them.”

What set me off though, what had me blowing my nose and wiping my eyes, was the tiny notation at the top of the printout of the article, in Beverly’s unmistakable crabbed handwriting: “A simple gift.”

Look! I just found a small gem of a source on Beverly's work in Slidell, Louisiana

The more you dig, the more you find. Today's treasure is this lovely slideshow of Beverly's time with her Habitat for Humanity colleagues in Slidell, Louisiana. I came across it while doing some photo research for No Truer Hearts. I had already seen some of these wonderful photos, taken by New Orleans photographer Matthew Hinton, but in this slideshow I saw others that were new to me and I heard Beverly's voice describing her brief time in this town just north of New Orleans.

At the end of the slideshow, Beverly summed up why she was doing what she was doing.

And it’s really all about… to me, it’s about people. [After 9/11] there was so much outreach to the families, and the country changed a lot. But I think we all need to do our part not to make it a more evil place, but a less evil place. Because I truly believe that love conquers hate.

February 12, 2009: Remembering another routine day that turned into a nightmare

February 12, 2009 was Beverly Eckert’s last day on this beautiful, sorrowful earth. I'll be putting forth a fuller account of the day in No Truer Hearts. What follows is a shorter version. It's a small reminder of her generosity of spirit, her kindness, and her desire to do good in the world to the very end.

Stamford, Connecticut

About 5:30 a.m.

Beverly Eckert rises and begins her day.

6:41 a.m.

Beverly sends an email to her sister, Karen Eckert, with the subject line “yes, please make the sauce”. In Buffalo three days later, Beverly and family members plan on celebrating Sean Rooney’s birthday with a dinner of homemade ravioli, one of the many dishes he used to make at such gatherings before his death on September 11, 2001.

7:45 a.m.

“pillow, bathrobe, hair products, humidifier” -- another email subject line. “Can you get these things out for me?” Beverly writes. “I’ll swing by your house around 9 before I go to my hotel.” Usually Beverly stays at Karen’s house when she’s visiting, and keeps a cache of necessities there so she doesn’t have to pack them. But on this occasion she decides to book a room at the Lord Amherst Hotel because one of Karen’s sons is home, and Beverly does not want to be a bother, even though Karen has told her it would not be.

Mid-morning

Beverly walks to the the Julia Stark Elementary School to work with students who need help with reading and math. She’s been volunteering here two days a week, and has made warm connections with her students. When she’s done, she goes home with a manila envelope containing Valentine’s cards from the students. She places the envelope on her kitchen counter and finishes her preparations for the trip to Buffalo.

Afternoon

Beverly drives to Newark Liberty International Airport, a distance of about 60 miles, but along New York City metropolitan area roads notoriously congested. She hits traffic backups that make her worry she won’t make her flight. But she arrives in time to check in for Continental Connection Flight 3407 to Buffalo, which at the time is showing an on-time departure at 7:10 p.m.

Evening

“Newark! What are you doing in Newark?” Karen is taken aback when Beverly calls to say where her flight is departing from. On all the other flights she’s taken to Buffalo, Beverly’s flown jetBlue out of JFK. This time was different. She had gotten a free flight voucher for Continental that was about to expire, so she decided to use it.

As the time for departure approaches, Beverly tells Karen that it doesn’t look like the plane will leave on time. Karen talks about how the weather has been in Buffalo during the day, with “pebbly ice,” a consistency she had never seen before. “Oh no, not ice!” says Beverly. But Karen is quick to offer reassurance. “It’s not gonna be a problem because it’s pretty warm. It’s like 36 degrees,” she says. With temperatures hovering just above freezing, there was a little bit of everything that day -- snow, hail, rain and fog. The wintry mix would continue into the night.

7:45 p.m.

Continental Connection Flight 3407 finally pushes back from the gate, 35 minutes behind schedule. Bad weather in the region had cause many flight cancellations earlier, and now the taxiways were crowded with extra planes arriving and trying to depart. For the time being, Beverly and the other passengers sit and wait on a plane that is not moving.

8:24 p.m.

The captain finally makes an announcement: “Folks, from the flight deck, just to keep you updated… we’re gonna be sitting here just for a few more minutes. We did have some taxi delays out there obviously because of the weather. Planes are moving… Right now we’re about number twenty for takeoff.” He adds that it will take 40 to 45 minutes before the plane is airborne.

8:26 p.m.

The passengers are told they can use their phones, so Beverly calls Karen. “We’re on the runway,” she tells her. “They’re telling us the plane’s gonna take off about 9:10. That means by the time I get to your house it’s gonna be late. Just put my stuff on the porch -- all my stuff. You can go to bed.”

“Nooo! I’m not gonna go to bed. I’ll be here,” says Karen, adding that if the flight happens to arrive even later she’ll leave the porch light on to show she’s still up. In the meantime, Karen has packed the items Beverly requested in a black plastic bag and put it on the front porch.

8:41 p.m.

In the plane’s cockpit, the first officer is telling the captain she’s not feeling well. She had flown from her home in near Seattle to make this flight and now she had the symptoms of bad cold. “Well, this is one of those times that if I felt like this when I was at home there’s no way I would have come all the way out here...” she said.

8:52 p.m.

The captain makes an announcement: “Folks, from the flight deck: just to, uh, give you another update. We’re getting a little bit closer. We’re still about number ten for departure, and we’ll be airborne just, uh, shortly, and just to kind of, uh, pass on a little bit more information from, uh, the other pilots who have taken off earlier, uh, The turbulence has, uh, decreased, uh, quite a bit, but ,uh, there’s still gonna be some bumps on the climbout, so make sure those seatbelts are fastened tightly. Thanks.”

9:18 p.m.

Flight 3407 takes off.

10:08 p.m.

The first officers gets on the PA system: “It looks like at this time we’re ten maybe fifteen minutes outside of Buffalo. Weather in, uh, Buffalo is pretty foggy. Uh, snowing a little bit there. It’s not too terribly cold but, uh, at this time I’d like to make sure everybody remains in their seats so the flight attendants can prepare the cabin for arrival. Thank you.”

10:10 p.m.

The first officer is talking to the captain. “Is that ice on our windshield?” she says.

“Got it on my side. You don’t have yours?” he replies.

“Oh yeah... Oh, it’s lots of ice. [sniffles]”

“Oh yeah, that’s the most I’ve seen -- most ice I’ve seen on the leading edges in a long time. In a while, anyway, I should say.”

After a bit of conversation, the first officers continues, “I’ve never seen icing conditions. I’ve never de-iced. I’ve never seen any -- I’ve never experienced any of that. I don’t want to have to experience that and make those kinds of calls. You know, I’d’ve freaked out. I’d’ve, like, seen this much ice and thought: Oh my gosh, we were going to crash!”

10:16 p.m.

Landing gear down, airspeed 145 knots. The captain’s control stick shakes to warn that the plane’s low speed may cause a stall.

[plane pitches up, rolls to the left; the rolls to the right]

10:16:34 Captain: “Jesus Christ!”  [stick shaker starts again and continues]

10:16:37 First officer: “I put the flaps up.” Airspeed 100 knots.

[plane rolls to the left; then right; airplane nose down]

10:16:42 Captain:  [grunts] “*ther bear…”

10:16:45 First officer: “Should the gear be up?”

10:16:46 Captain: “Gear up... Oh, [expletive]!

10:16:51 Captain: “We’re down.” First officer: “We’re... [screams]”

10:16:53

Flight 3407 crashes on a house at 6038 Long Street in the small town of Clarence Center and bursts into flames. Beverly Eckert and the other 48 persons on board perish in the fiery aftermath, as well as a man who lived in the house.

*    *    *

An investigation by the National Transportation Safety Board determined that pilot error had caused the crash. Family members of those who died in the crash, including Karen Eckert and Susan Bourque, another of Beverly’s sisters, lobbied Congress and the Federal Aviation Administration to introduce measures to prevent future tragedies such as this. Thanks to the tireless efforts of these citizen activists, the FAA introduced new rules in 2013 aimed at improving the training of pilots in dealing with stalls and other safety factors in order to improve their preparedness in future flights.

Meetup.com and No Truer Hearts: A fortuitous feedback loop that began on 9/11

This is a story about reaching out, finding kindred spirits and expressing gratitude. And it began on 9/11.

After the horror and shock and pain of the attacks, something amazing happened. People reached out. People asked for help and asked if they could help. This empathetic impulse of the heart expressed itself in millions of ways, from the moment the wounded staggered from the wreckage of the Twin Towers, to weeks and months later. New York City was hardest hit, and its people responded with the greatest displays of kindness and generosity. A big city of mostly strangers became smaller, friendlier,  more caring.

Enter Matt Meeker and Scott Heiferman, a couple of tech-savvy entrepreneurs angling for a new project. They felt the time was right after 9/11 for the Internet to become a tool for making human connections. Meetup.com was born. Today it has thousands of meetup groups with millions of members whose interests range from hiking, to speaking French, to writing. Which is how I found the Arlington Writers Group (AWG). In 2010, about a year after Beverly's death, I was going through a big, big personal crisis. My best friend left me (she was also my wife), and for a long stretch I felt very alone, more isolated than usual in my writing life.

I started to attend meetings of AWG mainly for professional reasons: to find other writers who could help me in my work through critiques, contacts, information and skill-sharpening. I found all this and more. Being around the mix of individuals in the group was good for my soul. Some of the writers were just starting out, hesitant, even, to call themselves writers. Others, like me, had been around the block a few times. There were novelists, science fiction writers, poets and the odd non-fiction writer. But everyone loved to write, wanted to get better, and gave of their skills and insights when it was time to offer critiques of our works.

Which brings us to last night. I submitted the first ten pages Chapter 3 of No Truer Hearts to the group for critique. When the session was over, I breathed a sigh of relief (the reaction was generally positive) and felt a wave of gratitude (people offered some helpful suggestions). A couple of comments stuck out, making me feel I was on the right track. Several people said they didn't know I'd written the chapter and thought it was written by a woman (!). This is high praise. The chapter is about Beverly's high school years, so I feel I have succeeded in inhabiting the world of an all-girl Catholic high school. Others didn't realize it was a biography, and said the chapter "reads like a novel." Which is exactly how creative non-fiction is supposed to read. Yay!

Not every comment was positive, but I took them all to heart and will employ them as I polish the manuscript over the coming months, turning it from something rough into a shiny bit of biography. I'm glad I found this particular meetup group. We are kindred spirits, working often in solitary obscurity, but getting together once a week to share our works, our suggestions, our critiques and our praise. So here's to the talented, persistent, bright and brave scribblers of AWG, and to all who have found kindred spirits in the wake of 9/11.

Between the Here and the Hereafter, between science and faith

My radar is always attuned for news and notes about how people think about this life and the next. This article in The New York Review of Books about the recent wave of afterlife-related books illustrates that 1) there is a lot of money to be made in the afterlife publishing business, and 2) while there are some patterns in the description of near death experiences (NDEs), there is a lot of variation. Everyone, in the end (so to speak), has his or her own private idea of heaven, or something else, or nothing at all. It was especially interesting to read about the Biblical literalist who believes that no one can come back from heaven, because the Bible says only those who die (and stay dead) can go there.

And what new scientific study appears (by coincidence? yes, yes, by coincidence) on my news feed but one dealing with NDEs and out-of-body experiences (OBEs)? The most fascinating conclusion is that the concept of death is being re-defined because consciousness appears possible for several minutes even after the heart has stopped. There has long been anecdotal evidence of this, and I'm reminded of one wish my mother had as she was dying of cancer: to have some calm classical music playing so she could have it as her last earthly experience when she passed on.

Another interesting finding? That most of those who could recall a NDE described things, often unpleasant, that did not correspond with the typical NDE: a feeling of well-being, peace, light, contentment, etc. Instead:

While 39 percent of patients who survived cardiac arrest were able to describe a perception of awareness, they did not have any explicit recall of events. This, in particular, suggests more people may have mental activity initially but then lose their memories after recovery. Among those who reported awareness, 46 percent experienced a broad range of mental recollections that weren't compatible with the commonly used term of NDEs; these included fearful and persecutory experiences. [Emphasis added.] Only 9 percent had experiences compatible with NDEs and 2 percent exhibited full awareness compatible with OBEs.

Don't expect a spate of books, though, about the afterlife as a "fearful and persecutory" place. That is not what people want to read about. It's clear that the more we learn about our most complex organ, the further we expand the panorama of what we know as opposed to what we can only speculate about.

'Rare Bird,' by Anna Whiston-Donaldson: A brave and bright memoir of love and loss

Say what you will about the Internet -- its often suffocating avalanche of cat videos, celebrity sludge and infinite lists of what you simply must eat, read, watch or do -- sometimes it can lead you, purely by chance, to an exceptional person. Which makes it all worth it.

Like the time I was perusing the news a few weeks back and read an article in the Washington Post about a local woman with a sad story who has just published a book. It is about the loss of her son and how she struggled to move on. So I think: hmm.. this is a big part the book I'm writing. Interesting. Before the accident that took her son, she had been writing a blog about her kids, her marriage and -- thrift store finds! Which, some of you may know, my house is full of. So of course I click on her blog and am immediately taken by her keen eye, her lively writing style and most of all her sense of humor.

A few days later, I notice in the Literary Calendar section of the Sunday Post that she is having a signing and talk at a local bookstore. I think I was the first one to buy a book, arriving early because I was sure there would be a crowd. There was. Family, friends, former students, blog followers, fellow bloggers, former classmates, neighbors, and that special group of persons who had also suffered the loss of a loved one -- 99 percent of whom were women. I did feel slightly out of place, but I also felt at home. Here was a women who had walked through the fire, was still finding her way, and had produced a remarkable account of that journey, Rare Bird. The line of fans waiting to have their copies of the book signed was long. I waited until it shrank. I told Anna that my youngest had the same name, and was attending the same college that she had: James Madison University. She smiled and signed my book, "To Tony, Soar!"

There were a number of reasons I was eager to read Rare Bird. There was, of course, the subject of love and loss and moving on, which is at the center of No Truer Hearts. It is a process we all go through, so it is universal. But just as every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way, the experience of grieving and recovery is unique to each individual. The other thing I was keen on seeing was how Anna Whiston-Donaldson would do what I would have to do: take the reader to a very frightening and sad place. No one wants to wallow in terror and depression, so writing about death and suffering is not easy. Some people refuse to read or watch things that darken their hearts. But Anna tells a story of both heartache as well as hope. Of slogging through numb, gray days but of being uplifted, of healing, of learning to smile again.

Beverly's story has many similarities. Anna talks about things that happen before and after her son Jack's death that seem to give meaning, shed light, offer hope. There are Bible verses, dreams, comments, signs, visions, ways in which she feels that God is making his presence felt. The questions of religion and the afterlife come into play in Beverly's story as well. In her life, too, there have been dreams and visions and various portents pointing to more than everyday existence. The questions of the Here and the Beyond were ones she struggled with to the very end.

Rare Bird has taken me on a rewarding journey. My guide was an author whose honesty, open heart and keen observations made vivid the people in her life, their feelings, their quirks, their triumphs as well as their failings. By laying bare the nightmare she endured, the nightmare of any parent, she took me to a terrible place, eyes wide open. In the days and months and years that followed, though, I got to experience the gradual way she came back from the abyss, with the help of family, friends, strangers around the world, and her God. Anna's unique journey, in the end, is about finding a way to just survive the loss of her son and then to get him back. Forever.

When someone does exceptional things in the aftermath of losing a loved one, you realize that the person who was lost had to be exceptional to elicit such a response. In Rare Bird, Anna takes us on her odyssey of healing, which is a great gift in itself. But she also paints a loving portrait of her Jack, which is yet another gift. Beverly did what she did because of the Sean she lost. And her story, too, is about rising out of the darkness and finding Sean again, and sharing his legacy with the world in a number of ways.

The world is too, too full of people not worth spending even a minute with. (We all have our list..) It's nice to get to know a few -- like Anna and Jack, like Beverly and Sean -- whose lives in one way or another inspire us, shine a light and warm our hearts, and are worth keeping in our memories for a long, long time.

Beyond the words: Reading Beverly Eckert's poems... and wondering

A poem is like maple syrup.

No, I'm not talking about being sweet, or even sticky. I'm talking about concentrated. Intense. Essential -- as in having the quality of "essence" -- something basic and important. Poem-as-syrup is part of a metaphor I use when talking about different genres. A novel is like a tree: expansive, sprawling, complex, grand. A short story is like a leaf: compact, almost like a miniature tree, but self-contained and unique in its own way. But a poem... ahh, the poem. It's like maple syrup because it is intense. In one drop it can tell the story of the whole tree, and not just the tree but the sunshine that warmed it in the summer and the cool nights that colored its leaves in the fall.

A poem, at the end of the day, is many things. At its most basic level, it is a collection of words and their meanings. But the words carry more than their own weight. Because of this, a poem is also the emotions the words arouse. It is the images they conjure. A poem shows the power not only of words as words, but words as rhythm and rhyme, of lines and verses that speak through their length and shape as well as their content.

All of these thoughts came to mind as I read one of Beverly's poems from her high school years at the Buffalo Academy of the Sacred Heart. I'm working on a chapter about these important years in her life, and I've been lucky enough to get copies of some of her poems and other writings. They are wonderful ways to catch a glimpse of different aspects of her character, her state of mind, her emotional journeys. The poems are sometimes straightforward, sometimes enigmatic, sometimes both.

Knowing much of the story of Beverly's life and of her husband Sean's, one verse in particular from one poem has stood out, made me wonder, haunted me even. And one line, that stretches across the page, like a snake. It is from the poem "The Ash Tray," about the vision she has of a snake rising from an ashtray, full of menace. She wants it to go away. "Go back where you came from," she says.

                 But it began to hiss
                 And the hissing began to form
                 Words.
                 Words like----smoke;choke----coughing----coffin-----breath
                 Death.

The more I've worked on putting together a story of Beverly's the life, the more I've come across moments that can only be described as strange, unsettling, inexplicable. In this case, it was the writing of a simple poem during emotionally turbulent teenage years. A simple poem that today, after the passage of time and the unfolding of events, seems to convey more than words and their meanings. It carries a hint of mystery, a touch of the ineffable.

Why read (or write) a biography? Lessons from two lives: Beverly Eckert and Sean Rooney

Every September 11th, I think back to the day -- how it gradually evolved from routine to ominous to shocking and... unbearably sad. Like an earthquake, it shifted the path of my life. Now, here I am, remembering the day, remembering Beverly Eckert, who I met because of 9/11. Here I am, thinking about her beloved, Sean Rooney, who perished in the rubble of the South Tower, who I only got to know about through the fond memories of Beverly and Sean's friends and relatives.

Two lives.

I had met Beverly in 2004 because that earthquake set me on a course to "do something" in connection with 9/11. And so, after sitting through a dramatic meeting of the 9/11 commission in a crowded hearing room on Capitol Hill, I spoke with Beverly for the first time. The next day, I wrote an article about the meeting and about Beverly, whose story I began to learn about. She and Sean had met at a high school dance, fell in love, lived a life of joy and accomplishment.

Until that day.

They were on the phone in those last minutes, he struggling to escape from the floors above the inferno, she frantic to give him any information she could to help him. When it became clear that there were no exits, neither through the doors to the roof, which were locked, nor through the stairs and elevators down, which were blocked and spewing intense heat and choking gases and smoke from the inferno below, they began to say their goodbyes, their final "I love yous." They had lived and cherished a life together with many "I love yous." Through the phone, Beverly heard the roaring avalanche of the massive tower coming down around Sean Rooney, silencing his last "I love you." Beverly softly spoke into the phone. "Sean... Sean... Sean..." She sat helpless on the floor of her home in Stamford, Connecticut, clutching the phone, watching the TV image of the dust cloud rising from Sean's office tower high, high into the Manhattan sky.

Beverly sat. She knew. He was gone.

Then she got up.

Her life before 9/11 was as a busy insurance executive, as loving (and sometimes high-strung) partner and wife to Sean, as dedicated daughter, loving sister, doting aunt, and the most thoughtful and energetic friend you could ever ask for. After 9/11, she made an entirely new path. Organizer, advocate, lobbyist -- all for the causes of 9/11 family members and for the future security of the country.

Which is how we met. When I learned Beverly's story, I asked if she would like to work with me on a book. She deliberated for several weeks, then agreed. The process has had its ups and downs, but my efforts over the years have been constant. Then came the crash of Flight 3407 on a snowy evening in January 2009 and Beverly was gone, too.

My writing continues, and on this September 11th I think about lives -- Beverly's, Sean's, everyone's. Why write about them? Why read them. My first impulse to do Beverly's story was the amazing arc of her love of Sean and her determined efforts after he was gone. That story in itself was worth telling. But the more I've discovered about the lives and personalities of Beverly and Sean, the more I see other reasons to write and read their story. One of the main ones is that they offer lessons for us all. To see the unfolding of a life well-lived offers us an example to emulate. If an average person can do exceptional things, it gives us hope and inspiration and strength in our own struggles, our own quests.

And so, on this 13th commemoration of that terrible day, I express my gratitude for the example of two exceptional people. Beverly Eckert, for her artistic talents, her impish sense of humor, her generosity of spirit -- to friend and family alike, but most of all for her gutsiness, her drive and the shear force of her will once she set her mind on a course. She and a small group of other 9/11 family members took on Washington and won. Sean Rooney, for the way he could make anyone smile, anyone his fast friend; for his skills in the kitchen, in the garden and in the workshop, skills he shared with an open heart; for his courage and expansive spirit.

Two lives.

How so very sad that they were cut short too soon. How so very wonderful that they touched so many while they were alive. And when their stories are told, they will have a chance to touch even more.

Another Milestone of 9/11 Memory: The Museum at Ground Zero

With the opening of the National September 11 Memorial Museum, another important step in the process of remembering has taken place. Family members, including Beverly Eckert, argued passionately that the footprint of the Twin Towers was sacred ground that must be preserved for eternity -- down to the bedrock. There was much debate after 9/11 about how the area around Ground Zero should be used. The developers wanted to minimize the space for the memorial and museum. The family members and their supporters would not tolerate the commercializing of this hallowed space, and in the end their view prevailed. The story of this struggle will be told in No Truer Hearts.

A good account of the museum experience appears in the New York Times. But every person will have a unique encounter with this thoughtful and moving exhibition of that clear-skied September day.

Writing a biography means tracking changes, from the ground up

Anyone who's ever done serious research will tell you that the digging part is mostly tedious. But the feeling you get when you find a shining nugget makes it all worthwhile. I've got a passel of nuggets after years of work on No Truer Hearts, many of them placed in my hand by Beverly and her friends and relatives. Here's one I stumbled upon while trying to find maps and photos of the area around Wickham Drive, the setting for the book's first chapter. It's an aerial photo taken in 1951, the year Beverly was born. It shows mostly open fields and golf courses in Amherst, northeast of downtown Buffalo. The photo gives me a wonderful window on how this area changed during the course of Beverly's life, from a bucolic space of fields, streams and woods, to an orderly grid of suburban streets and homes.

A current satellite image of the same area illustrates the dramatic changes that development have brought. The story of Wickham Drive is the story of the rise of suburbia, repeated thousands of times around the country. It is the story of the baby boomers growing up with backyard cookouts, go-cart races in the streets, block parties, and sock hops in garages. Beverly's summers on Wickham Drive tell that story through the eyes of a creative and optimistic girl.

On Beverly's birthday, some new readers of her story

Beverly Eckert comments on documents and articles at her 

dining room table in Stamford, Connecticut while I take notes 

as part of our work on No Truer Hearts. [Photo: Anthony Toth]

Everyone knows how solitary an act writing can be. Three years ago, when my marriage fell apart, solitary turned to aching loneliness. I looked around and realized that I had not a lot of friends around who were writers, members of my tribe. Not a lot of friends period, in fact, since my closest chums were scattered about, far from Arlington, Virginia.

Then, in conversations, meetup.com kept coming up. "It's a great way to meet new people!" I was told. "They have groups for every interest." So I was happy to find a group called the Arlington Writers Meetup Group, and I started to attend its Wednesday evening meetings. At first, I felt anxious and out of place. I'd never been much of a "joiner," plus this group was made up mainly of people writing fiction -- young and old, greenhorns and old hands. I had dabbled in fiction and poetry, but my writing life has centered on journalism and scholarship. But they were all writers, and that was the important thing. They devoted most of their meetings to offering critiques of members' works. And whether the discussion was about an offbeat sci-fi short story or the chapter from a young adult novel, I felt at home. Writers are writers, after all. We believe in the magic of words strung together in just the right way. It felt good to be around people who lived the life and spoke the language and cared about the power of story. I looked forward to the day when I could present my own work, this biography I've been working on, and see whether my attempt at this daunting genre would strike any chords with these discerning readers.

Well, today I find out.

Just over a month ago, I asked if I could submit to the group at the end of May. I was eager to become more of a participant, after many meetings where I just offered the odd word of advice. It helped, too, to have a deadline, so that I would feel an extra push to finish the first draft of the first chapter of this book. As the time for submitting approached, it dawned on me that the day of the critique would be Beverly's birthday: May 29th.

Some people would call this a sort of sign; others, a mere coincidence. I count myself in the second group, but I understand what drives the hearts of the first. We are all hungry beings. Hungry for love, which is epitomized by Beverly's story. And hungry for meaning. When a strange, unlikely concurrence of events pops into our view, it can serve to sate this hunger. It can seem utterly meaningful, fateful, just right. In a world of chaos and confusion and pain, it is the most natural thing for this fragile human heart to seek order, logic, a comforting master plan.

Whatever you may believe, one thing is true: life is a journey, and each of us does our best to make it enjoyable, meaningful, filled with the things we love. A biography is one person's travelogue of that journey. Back in 2004, I asked Beverly if she would allow me to chronicle her journey. When she agreed, it was my first step on a daunting and rewarding undertaking. Putting the first chapter in the hands of the members of my writers group is another important step.

I think it's the perfect way to celebrate the birthday of a woman who was never afraid to take that first step. And the one after.

The Newtown Family Members Can Take Note of the Successful Activism of 9/11 Family Members

"Speed, urgency and focus" are three tactics the new activists can adopt from the ones employed by Beverly Eckert and the other 9/11 family members, according to a recent article in National Journal online. "Persistence and nerve," are two more. Carie Lemack said, "The most important lesson is never give up." She had lost her mother on 9/11, worked tirelessly on the Family Steering Committee for the 9/11 Commission, and has continued to advocate for a safer America by working as director of the Homeland Security Project at the Bipartisan Policy Center.

Another article on the same site focused on the reflections of Lemack, as well as two other Family Steering Committee members: Mary Fetchet and Kristen Breitweiser. Fetchet, who co-founded, with Beverly, the advocacy and support group Voices of September 11th, went to Newtown in the wake of the shootings to assist family members in dealing with the process of coping and moving forward.

9/11 to Newtown: Tragedies link family members in the difficult quest to cope with unbearable loss

In her most recent Washington Post column, Lisa Miller notes that the families of Newtown are going through the difficult process of surviving their great losses. Each family must find ways to cope in their own ways, as have the families of other tragedies: 9/11, Columbine and Virginia Tech.

For example, Adele Welty, whose firefighter son, Timmy, was killed on 9/11, was not one who believed in "moving on." For her, the memory of her son was something to keep close, every day. Jay Winuk lost his brother Glenn in the South Tower on 9/11. "It's hard to imagine that you'll ever heal," he said, "But to provide a happy life to your children or other people, you have to heal. It doesn't mean that the pain ever goes away. The questions remain. How could people go so wrong as to cause so much pain in so many innocent lives?" Monika Iken's husband Michael was killed on 9/11, and though she has remarried, she still feels "like we're still connected spiritually. He sends me signs. I'm always aware of his presence. Rainbows come out of nowhere. Butterflies."

Beverly Eckert's story of horror, loss, pain and healing is very much the same. After Sean's death, she had to answer the monumental question: How do you go on when you lose the person who was at the center of your life, of your heart, your soul? Every day after 9/11 was Beverly's answer to this question. You live a life with meaning. You never forget. You survive. You fashion yourself a new life. You make the world a better place.

Family members of the Sandy Hook School shooting victims will be powerful forces in the debate on gun violence

I was listening to the Diane Rehm Show on NPR and heard one of the guests make an important connection between 9/11 and the shootings at Sandy Hook Elementary School in Newtown, Connecticut. Susan Davis of USA Today was discussing the looming national discussion about the ways to reduce gun violence, and she said that one potentially crucial factor will be the family members of the victims. She noted that after 9/11 it was the family members who were a powerful force in making the country safer. Beverly Eckert and other family members organized demonstrations, vigils, lobbying campaigns, press conferences -- anything that would keep their concerns from being shunted aside or defeated. Many of those who had firsthand knowledge of the workings of Washington have said that if it weren't for the 9/11 family members, the efforts at reform would not have happened. The political opposition -- from the Bush White House, its allies in Congress, the Pentagon, FBI and CIA -- would have just been too great. Beverly and the other family members did not know at first they were up against such formidable forces. They only knew that for the sake of their loved ones they had to do something, and that they would not give up. So that small group of inexperienced, low-budget but passionate, savvy and determined citizen activists took on Washington and won.

The family members of Sandy Hook are still reeling, still healing. But soon they will be asking themselves, "Why did this happen? How can we make sure it doesn't happen again?" Then they will join hands, united in the love of those they lost, and take on the powerful forces arrayed against them. For once, the biggest political bully in Washington, the NRA, may finally meet its match.

A lesson from Beverly Eckert: cherish those you love every day, "Because life can change in an instant"

Once again, hell has visited earth.

This time, it was at a grade school in Newtown, Connecticut. The pain it brought, the gaping, black-draped sadness, reminds us of times past when a day of horror left us weeping for the loss of those we loved. For so many, including me, the slaying of those 26 innocents brought back the shock and vertigo of 9/11.

Now, just as then, the first question is "Why?" Then, a gathering sense that something must be done. "We can't tolerate this anymore," President Obama told the people of Newtown. "These tragedies must end." In the same way, Beverly Eckert, other family members, politicians and others worked tirelessly to make the country safer after the hell of that clear September day in 2001.

At times such as these, there are other lessons as well. The most important being: show your love in words and deeds each and every passing day. Because you just never know. This thought was in my head on Friday, December 14, the day of the shooting at Sandy Hook Elementary School. Just two days before I had been transcribing an interview with Beverly's sister, Karen Eckert. I had asked her to tell me about the days before and after 9/11 because this was the one subject I did not cover with Beverly. She had talked to me at length about her early years in Buffalo, her life with her husband, Sean Rooney, and her work after 9/11. But I knew that even though she had spoken about the day itself many, many times -- to friends and relatives, to journalists, and at official hearings -- it would still be the most difficult part of our collaboration. So I had left that topic as the last one, because it would not be easy, and because I thought we would have time. Turns out, we didn't.

Karen told me that Beverly's memory of the times with Sean just before 9/11 were peaceful, warm and filled with a deep, mellow love. On the evening of September 10th, Sean had his arm around Beverly as they sat at the end of the day in their den, a soft rain outside, the soothing strains of "Theme from a Summer Place" playing on the stereo. Both of them had a sense that life was good, and the reason for that was that they had each other. The next morning, as he was leaving on his commute to the World Trade Center, Sean walked up behind his beloved, softly kissed the back of her neck, and said, "You make me so very happy."

It was the last time she would be kissed by her best friend, her partner, her one love. The magic of that moment stuck with her, treasured until the end. And the lesson, too. Karen said that after Sean's death, Beverly "always used to say to us: 'If you love someone, don't leave the house without telling them something nice -- 'I love you' or 'This is great' -- because life can change in an instant.'"

Vivid childhood memories of the street where she lived

Who was Beverly Eckert, and how did she become that person? These are some of the deeper questions I'll try to answer in No Truer Hearts. My task was made much easier because of all the help Beverly provided during the course of our collaboration. In addition to sending me scores of emails over the years, she gave extensive interviews, and opened up her bulging files of articles, documents and reports. She also provided visual tours of parts of her life, paging through fat photo albums and giving me copies of videotapes with media coverage of her post-9/11 work.

But my favorite source is one I received from her sister Karen after Beverly's death. It is a small book that Beverly had written around 1963 at age twelve titled "Summer on Wickham." In it, Beverly recounts tales of the previous couple of years, when she and a group of her buddies happily roamed the sidewalks, streets and fields around Wickham Drive in Amherst, New York.

This little literary gem is remarkable for a number of reasons. It is quite well written, considering the author's age. Beverly was at times very dramatic in recounting some of her adventures, like this one about a bicycle outing that went awry.

The heat of the day was oppressive, so it was hard going for bicycles. Finally [Beverly and her friends] came to a hill which had a stone wall going all the way down. "Hey Bev!" yelled Cheryl. "If you want to go down faster, keep your feet off the pedals!" "All right," agreed Bev. She pedaled furiously till she reached the part where the hill began. She started down this, her feet off the pedals. The stony wall had jagged edges of rock protruding from it on either side. Bev, as she was going down, looked over this wall. Her heart stopped beating. A car was coming down the driveway that was at the end of the stone wall!

The stories in "Summer on Wickham" provide nuggets of gold for the biographer, for they reveal aspects of young Bev's character: her leadership qualities, her zest for life, an eagerness to make friends, her amazing creativity, and a budding sense of romance. The book is a wonderful gift that she left behind, of cherished memories, frolicsome vignettes of youth, and a window onto her young but precocious personality. Every time I read it, I smile at the memory of Beverly, and remember as well similar episodes in my own youth, and the things Beverly and I had in common, Baby Boomers growing up in America's new and expanding suburbs. And on this day after her birthday, I hope these words bring others closer to her memory and to her bright and vibrant soul.

A proper home for the Koenig sphere

The Koenig sphere as it is remembered, glistening in the WTC plaza

The sphere post-9/11, the sun still glinting from its damaged surface

As the years have passed, most of the struggles over how 9/11 should be remembered at Ground Zero have been resolved. But now the final resting place of a very special work of art is in question, again.

In the months and years after 9/11, there were many battles. Back when the twisted steel girders and mountains of ash and remains of those who perished were being taken from the site, family members were pushing hard to make their voices heard. When developers and city officials tried to erase most of what was left after the towers fell and thousands died, Beverly Eckert and other family members said no. Their voices were united in the Coalition of 9/11 Family Members, a group that focused on making sure Ground Zero would not be bulldozed, buried, developed and forgotten, with only a token space devoted to a memorial. 

Beverly and other family members had to fight hard, but often they won. Thanks to their efforts, major features left behind after the destruction of the Twin Towers was cleared away were incorporated into the design of the 9/11 Memorial and Museum. The issues the coalition fought for are listed in this 2005 petition.

But once again people are talking about the sphere, a massive metal sculpture designed by Fritz Koenig which was damaged by the pieces of the falling Twin Towers and was displayed for years in Lower Manhattan's Battery Park. The sculpture, which is titled "Sphere for Plaza Fountain," after it's original location, must soon be moved to make way for a long-scheduled renovation of the park. But moved where?

It seems that the owners of the the artwork, the Port Authority of New York and New Jersey, have not figured out where to place it. Beverly and other coalition members felt strongly that the sphere belonged at Ground Zero, as an integral part of the memorial complex. Thousands of others feel the same way, and have signed a petition to that effect.

There are many good reasons for 9/11 Memorial officials to incorporate this unique and deeply evocative survivor of that horrible day. The artist himself said it was meant to be a symbol of peace through world trade. For countless people who worked in the Twin Towers or visited them, the sphere tells a moving story, bridging the happy, busy days before and the tear-stained days after. It captures the memories of those times before the horrible day, of sunny lunches shared with friends by the plaza fountain, of school trips to the big city, of business deals, of work, play, wonder and love in the shadow of those magnificent buildings. But now the sphere shows scars, dents and scrapes from that day. 

May it gleam once again in its proper place under many, many sunny days.