I was at school, preparing to teach my first class of the day when a fellow teacher came in and informed me of what was going on. The rest of the day was marked by extreme frustration because the school's cable system was down. I had an old set of rabbit-ear antennae that I hooked up to a small set in my room, but the reception was lousy. When the towers came down, we could barely tell what was happening.
That night, while the wife and I were watching the news, my mother called. She told me that a former history student of mine, Deena Burchfield, had lost her husband on flight 93. I knew her entire family; had attended school with her cousins, one of whom had been MY history teacher in high school. You know her as Deena Burnett.
I cried like a baby.
