Just how much is a set of press credentials really worth? Well, I’m not really sure, but for years I’ve heard folks from all walks of life tell me how “lucky" I was to be a journalist, thus being credentialed. I listened as they told me of the many benefits that are associated with having a press I.D. card. Some of the benefits I was often told of included free admission to concerts, auto races, and fairs and carnivals. I was also “lucky," I was told, because I could get beyond the police barricades at fires and other grisly events. I never saw it as being “lucky," however. To me, it was a part of my job, much like carrying a handgun or a pistol is a part of the job of police officers.

As a member of the working press, yes, you get free admission to many things. There are often times you consider using your credentials for personal benefit, such as gaining access to that sold-out concert. Most of the people practicing the craft of journalism have ethics, much like I do, and cast aside the occasional thought of abusing the privileges that could so easily be afforded. You see, having an I.D. card that gains you access to most any event or area is a responsibility and a privilege. If I abuse that privilege today, and the fraudulent act discovered, whether it be next week or next year, the next time I need to use my I.D. at the same location, there’s a good chance I won’t gain access.

So why am I giving the dissertation on the privileges of the press? Simple. I almost fell victim to the snare of credential abuse. Huh? What’s that mean in English? Well, it means that I almost used my press credentials to gain access to an area where I wanted to be, purely for selfish reasons. I restrained myself, which is good, but it was a struggle.

I arrived in New York City on Monday, September 10, 2001. I was to stay overnight in a fairly nice hotel, and then, around 9:30 a.m. or so, I was to prepare to tape a television talk show. Having been to New York City over the years, it was no big deal to me. For my daughter, however, it was a real treat. First off, she’s 14, never been to New York City, and she rode the train from Philadelphia into New York’s Penn Station. She was wooed by the Big Apple’s skyline, seeing the cityscape against the mid-afternoon sky. We stared out the window of the railcar just before the train headed into the tunnel, headed toward Penn Station. The next time we saw the sky would be standing outside of Madison Square Garden. It was a big deal to my daughter, and rightly so.

The second thing that made this trip special for my daughter was that she had two days off school because she was with me, heading to a national television talk show. Her teachers and principal were impressed that she was heading to New York City to do a talk show with a reputable hostess. They all wanted to see pictures, as well as the date the show was to be broadcast. She told them she would be returning with the pictures and the date the show was to be aired. She didn’t mean to lie. Honest.

Shortly after we arrived at the hotel, just across the street from Central Park, my daughter found the sites and sounds of New York City fascinating. She had to look out the window, staring at all the people hustling along. Then, of course, there were the dog-walkers out walking four and five dogs at a time – that was an odd site to her, which I found funny.

I called the liaison at the talk show and reviewed all the details for the next day’s taping. We were to arrive at the studio at 9:30 a.m., where we would be served breakfast and coffee, and I would review the script and questions with the producer. When my daughter learned her hair and make-up were to be done by a professional make-up artist at the studio, she began bouncing around the room like Tigger from Winnie-the-Pooh. Her face lit up brighter than any strobe I’ve ever seen. Tuesday, September 11, 2001 was going to be a special day in my daughter’s life.

After talking with my daughter about the next day’s events, we decided to get out of bed around 7 a.m., be out of the hotel by 8 a.m., and at the World Trade Center by 8:30 a.m. That would give us plenty of time to sit in the lobby and watch the tens of thousands of people hustle to work in the 100-plus floor buildings. We decided that we’d grab a cup of cappuccino from a local vendor, sit in the lobby for a while, and then ride the elevators to the very top, hoping to find a window where we could take some pictures.

We took our turns doing the domestic stuff. My daughter called her Mom, living in the Midwest. I called home and spoke with my fiancée. With the important details out of the way, we were off to bed, with an early-morning wake-up call scheduled.

The call came, but a little later than we planned. We got the 6:45 a.m. wake-up call at 7:15 a.m., which bothered me a little, but with a little effort, the two of us could be on schedule, I figured. We packed our personal items, got our morning showers out of the way, dressed, and then called for the limo. The taping would be over around 1:30 p.m. or so, and we had seats on the 3:15 p.m. train back to Philadelphia. We had to hurry if we were to make it to the World Trade Center.

We grabbed our bags and headed to the lobby. Since I had a special request for the limo driver, I counted out $30 in cash and had it in my hand. Just before the limo arrived, I looked over our luggage and noticed the camera bag was nowhere to be found. I told my daughter to run back up to the room and see if we had forgotten it. I glanced at the time: 8:43 a.m.

My daughter was standing in the lobby, waiting for a bellboy to take her back to the room to retrieve the camera bag. She ran outside when she saw our luggage being loaded into the trunk of the limo, telling me she was heading back to the room. I told her to hurry, and conspired with the limo driver about a quick drive and stop at the World Trade Center for pictures. While we spoke, there was a loud bang. It sounded somewhat distant, but possibly like two trucks slamming into each other. You know, it must have been that New York City road-rage thing going on, I thought. I glanced at the time again: 8:45 a.m.

As my daughter came out of the cylindrical holder of the revolving door, I glanced at the time: 8:52. There was no way we could make it to the World Trade Center and still arrive at the studio on time. I told the driver to skip going to the Twin Towers. He asked if I was sure, and I just shrugged and said, “Yeah, I guess. I wanted to go, but maybe we can do it after the taping."

Riding in the back of the stretch limo, we chatted. Then the driver rolled down the window between his seat and the rear of the car and said that a jet had crashed into the World Trade Center. We turned up the volume on the rear radio and listened. My first impression was a terrorist attack, pointing the finger at Iraq and Osama bin Laden.

Fire engines diverted our travels a couple of times, and that was fine with me. I had to stop talking and listening to the radio for a few minutes and just think, then pray. I was shaken, I was filled with anger, but I was never afraid of the attacks.

As we continued our journey to the studio, we found ourselves close to the World Trade Center in time for the second attack at 9:05 a.m. In fact, we were blocks from the falling debris, which was not comforting, at all. When we finally arrived at the studio, we grabbed our bags and went inside, seeking televised coverage of the attacks. Inside, despite knowing that two passenger jets had been flown into the towers, I could only imagine small aircraft, such as two or three-passenger planes, having impacted the Twin Towers.

Once inside, the television networks all had footage of the second plane crashing into the towers. It was like watching a Hollywood production. In fact, as I watched, I tried to discount in my mind that the footage was real news footage. I tried to force myself to believe it was something out of a yet-to-be-released movie. After watching result of the two attacks, time and time again, it was impossible to deny the reality of the situation. The United States was being attacked, and here I am, in the middle of New York City, with my daughter. Holding her in my arms, hugging her, paternally kissing her forehead, I could feel her trembling. I took her to a corner for privacy, and asked her if she was scared. She looked at me, and with her lower lip quivering, said, “No, Dad, I’m fine." She tries to be tough, to accept things, and move on. Men try to be some sort of comic book character made of iron, and girls, well, at least my oldest girl, tries to be the female equivalent. I held her and we prayed and cried. My first instinct was to pray for the victims – both the living and the dead; to pray for the firefighters and police officers on the scene; to pray for the families of the victims; to pray for President Bush and the
members of Congress; to pray for my fiancée who was in New Jersey at a seminar; to pray for my children and ex-wife in the Midwest; and to pray for the safety of everyone in the United States, with an emphasis on those in New York City. I looked at the time. It was now 9:20 a.m. This was one hell of a way to start a day, I thought.

By evening, members of the New York National Guard were patrolling the streets of New York
City. Tactical military vehicles with mounted .50 caliber machine guns, soldiers with rifles and pistols, and a strong police presence conjured up images of impending martial law being imposed.

The two of us were able to make it off the island Wednesday, but not before I began making
contacts to find “alternative" routes off the island. Bribery isn’t something I condone, but when I have a 14-year-old girl wanting to return to the safety of her home, her bed, and to see her cat, well, I will do anything it takes. Fortunately, however, New York authorities opened the tunnels for outbound traffic only on Wednesday, and we were able to catch a train home.

Out of the experience in New York City during and immediately following the attacks, all I can report on are my observations. I found that New Yorkers really are world-class citizens. It brought tears to my eyes, literally, when I saw all the people stopping to help others; when I saw the huge outpouring of volunteers to aid in the rescue and recovery efforts; and when I saw unplanned acts of kindness they bestowed upon others. I also saw, in my own small slice of the city during those three days, how people dramatically changed for the better, and willing to help their fellow man in times of crisis. It didn’t matter if you were black or white. It didn’t matter if you were tall or short. It didn’t matter if you were fat or skinny. It didn’t matter if you spoke English. Nothing mattered when it came to helping each other.

Once I arrived back home and took a couple of days to digest all I had seen, up-close and
personal, I began checking out the hundreds of newsgroups chatting about the spineless attacks. Oh, by the way, did I mention that only cowards attack innocent civilians without
identifying their organization? Well, let me set the record straight. The unidentified attackers were nothing more than ignorant, arrogant cowardly swine. Is that clear enough?

Over on alt.fan.pratchett, I found Mary Messall arguing whether it’s right for the U.S. to demand that countries neighboring Afghanistan close their borders. Mary said, “I think that is unconscionable. And quite apart from the humanitarian aspects of the problem, I don't think we're going to get out of this with our international political lives unless we at least give the appearance of following your advice." Well, she does have a few good points, but she is also arguing on the grounds that the U.S. is going to be waging a traditional war against traditional enemies. Things are different this time. We’ve been invited to a dirty game of pool, and the only rule is that there are no rules. To win, you have to trap your opponent and snuff them out. That’s right, you have to eliminate the roaches hiding the in corner of your cabinet. In this case, Osama bin Laden and his spineless, worthless, ignorant cowardly swine are the roaches that need to be snuffed, eliminated, stomped, crushed, destroyed.

Being a Christian, a God-fearing and God-loving man, I fought back my anger. I prayed. I talked with my pastor. Then I turned to the Bible. I turned to the Old Testament and found a story about God telling Moses to conquer Og, king of Bashan, as well as the land of Gilead and Bashan. The story, as told by Moses:

• Deuteronomy 3:1 THEN we turned and went up the road to Bashan,
  and Og, king of Bashan, with all his people came out to meet
  us in battle at Edrei.
  
• 2 But the LORD said to me, "Do not fear him, for I have delivered
  him and all his people and his land into your hand; and you shall
  do to him just as you did to Sihon king of the Amorites, who
  lived at Heshbon.'
  
• 3 So the LORD our God delivered Og also, king of Bashan, with all
  his people into our hand, and we smote them until no survivor was left.
  
• 4 We captured all his cities at that time; there was not a city which
  we did not take from them: sixty cities, all the region of Argob,
  the kingdom of Og in Bashan.
  
• 5 All these were cities fortified with high walls, gates and bars,
  besides a great many unwalled towns.
  
• 6 We utterly destroyed them, as we did to Sihon king of Heshbon,
  utterly destroying the men, women and children of every city.
  
• 7 But all the animals and the spoil of the cities we took as our booty.
  
• 8 Thus we took the land at that time from the hand of the two kings
  of the Amorites who were beyond the Jordan, from the valley of
  Arnon to Mount Hermon
  
• 9 (Sidonians call Hermon Sirion, and the Amorites call it Senir):
  
• 10 all the cities of the plateau and all Gilead and all Bashan,
  as far as Salecah and Edrei, cities of the kingdom of Og in Bashan.
  
• 11 (For only Og king of Bashan was left of the remnant of the Rephaim.
  Behold, his bedstead was an iron bedstead; it is in Rabbah of
  the sons of Ammon. Its length was nine cubits and its width four
  cubits by ordinary cubit.)
  
• 12 So we took possession of this land at that time. From Aroer,
  which is by the valley of Arnon, and half the hill country of
  Gilead and its cities I gave to the Reubenites and to the Gadites.
  
• 13 The rest of Gilead and all Bashan, the kingdom of Og, I gave to
  the half-tribe of Manasseh, all the region of Argob (concerning
  all Bashan, it is called the land of Rephaim.
  (source: New American Standard Version)

I never noticed anything in that story telling the Israelites to have mercy or compassion on the people in that land. I see where they were directed to “smote them until no survivor was left" in the land. That’s exactly what the U.S. has to do in Afghanistan. Once we launch a decisive action like that, without relenting, terrorists will give very serious consideration before striking at the heel of the U.S. in the future. Sure, an attack like that will take months to accomplish, and during that time a heightened level of security would be needed in the U.S., as well as additional travel and immigration restrictions. A few internal attacks could happen, as well, in vain attempts to deter the U.S. for completing the mission. I am thankful that I am not the leader of this nation, and do not have direct input into the policies of this nation. If I did, well, suffice it to say that we would already be bombing.

Over on comp.internet.net-happenings, I found Michael Connor offering some tips for helping children, and others, ourselves, as readers, included, deal with the stress the attacks have brought into our lives.

In sarcastic tones, Gregory Gadow, on the seattle.politics newsgroup said he and others,
including the Gay Men's Terrorist League and Coffee Klatch (of which I am a proud member),
the Lesbian Feminist Abortionists of America and the Association of Pagans, Atheists and
Secular Humanists (United States branch), all planned the attack. He was responding to a
posting about comments Jerry Falwell and Pat Robertson made on a television show. The
comments upset many, especially in the gay community.

Continuing in his sarcastic tone, Gregory said, “Bin Laden? Rank amateur. Blaming him only
demonstrates the ignorance and prejudice of the Bush Administration. ‘The World Conspiracy
to Stamp Out Fundamentalist Christianity will make an attack to destroy New York, aided by
the Elders of Zion and the Servants of Cthulhu, with Suicide Bomber and Fanatics, Unite!’ Fnord."

Well, whatever your persuasion, sexually, politically, religiously, or otherwise, I hope you find rest and peace.

From hundreds of feet below the aerial reconnaissance of the Air Force and Navy here in Philadelphia, I sit back and wonder just where the world is heading. Oh, wait! That would be another column.