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Che Potèmo Fa’?
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It was to be my first time as a juror and I arrived at the Courthouse in Mineola early on September 11, 2001. All the jurors were seated on the second floor overlooking the long walkway leading to the entrance, including one man with a small transistor radio. We were all engrossed in our thoughts, newspapers, and books when the man with the radio stated that a plane had crashed into the north tower of the World Trade Center, where he worked for Port Authority. I remember hoping it wasn’t another terrorist attack like back in 1993. Apparently others thought the same thing as we each flashed looks at one another. No sooner we settled back into whatever we were doing when the man with the radio said there had been another hit. I knew. I think we all knew by the time the cell phones started ringing that this was a deliberate attack on our country, our freedom, our futures. I wanted to get out of that building a government building – but stood looking out the huge plate glass window. I watched a very large man in a dark suit carrying a briefcase drop to his knees crying into his cell phone. Others were hugging, running, yelling. Others, not knowing, looked bewilderingly at those who already knew.We were sent home and asked to come back the next day. On Wednesday most of us were back at the courthouse but the case was postponed. The judge asked if any of us was directly affected. The man with the radio stood up to tell us that he had lost all his buddies from Port Authority and how he was spared because he was chosen for jury duty. I don’t remember that man’s face or his name, but sometimes I pray for him.
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