The most impressive portrait of this early morning’s Sept. 11 memorial ceremony in the Courtyard of City Hall:
When the starchly dark uniformed members of the police and fire departments of Culver City lined up in three rows of 16 men and women arrayed across the Courtyard, from east to west.
For long, long moments of eloquent wordlessness.
“We honor you who heroically died on Sept. 11, 2001, and we salute you survivors who have summoned the entirety of your previously unknown strengths to carry on for your children and for your families.”
Those were the swaying creeks and rivers of Sept. 11 emotions that were flowing through the minds of about 50 officers from both departments.
Never, however, articulated.
As a modest-sized crowd of community members, and all five City Council members collected on the eastern side of the Courtyard, the firefighters and police officers performed faultlessly.
If you can imagine 50 highly disciplined, single-minded, impressively trained adults standing stockstill for about 20 minutes.
Honor Is Primary
Honoring the still shimmering memories of their (mostly New York) brethren.
Despite temptations, they never looked right or looked left.
They dared not talk.
They did not shift or move, even in a small way.
Their full concentration was on the almost 3,000 victims almost 3,000 miles away.
The renewed tragedy of today, though, is that 11 years ago this morning increasingly may seem 3,000 years away to too many Americans.
Culver City Voices
Retired city employee Steve Newton was one of the first arrivals this morning, rolling into the underground parking by 6:30.
“This is an event that changed all of our lives,” Mr. Newton said. “Being retired from the city after 23 years, and I have been gone for eight, it is just amazing.
“Even when I worked here, 9-11 was a real shock to everybody. It changed our economy, our security, everything.”
Is Sept. 11 as meaningful as it was in the earlier years?
“I think so,” he said. “It’s always in everyone’s mind. We haven’t really recovered in a lot of ways. Just a matter of honoring a lot of people in a bad spot at a bad time.”
Downtown landlord Stu Freeman, a regular at the Sept. 11 memorials, believes the date of infamy continues to burn ever as brightly in American minds.
“It is good they do this annual event to keep it fresh in peoples’ minds,” Mr. Freeman said. “Lives are busy. People have a lot of problems. It is good, though, that they have a day like this so they don’t forget.”
No matter how imperfect lay people and officers may be in their off-stage lives, this memorable morning, they conducted themselves in perfect order in the Courtyard, displaying the respect due to heroes, dead and alive.
Speaking, what little existed, was barely discernible, muted.
It was a funeral without a body, a funeral with almost 3,000 bodies.
Officially and unofficially, people communicated with their minds not their mouths.
Out of respect.
At two minutes before 7, Police Chief Don Pedersen delivered an abbreviated, sincere talk of honor.
Police officer Victor Garcia blew Taps as the three Courtyard flags were lowered to half-mast.
In their honor.
At three separate intervals, Mike Crone of the Fire Dept. rang the memorial bell three times each, and the fire engine out front of City Hall, on Culver Boulevard, mournfully blared its siren.
In their honor.
The only other sound was respectful, grieving silence.
