September 11 Service of Remembrance

Princetonians gathered at the campus 9/11 Memorial Garden on Friday, September 11, for our annual 9/11 Service of Remembrance honoring the fourteen Princeton alumni who perished. These are the remarks I delivered as our community marked the solemn twenty-fifth anniversary of the terrorist attacks. The service included readings and prayers from campus faith leaders, a bell-ringing to honor the dead, and a stirring oboe solo before our gathering dispersed. — C.L.E. 

Twenty-five years ago, on September 11, 2001, we lost nearly three thousand innocent lives, including those of fourteen Princetonians. We gather in this garden each year to remember them and to reflect on the lasting significance of that terrifying and terrible day. 

Perhaps there are poets and orators who can craft words adequate to the greatest human tragedies, but I find the task impossible. What can I add to what has already been said this afternoon and in years past? How can words do justice to those who perished or to the grief we endured?

As I searched for inspiration, I reread the memorials published in the Alumni Weekly to honor the Princetonians killed in the attacks. Written by family members and friends, the tributes sparkle with humanity and charm and love. In brief strokes they paint beautiful portraits of the people we lost.

They are more eloquent and moving than anything I could possibly say today, and I commend them to you.

If you read, or reread, those memorials, you will find stories about athletes, scientists, executives, actors, teachers, and students; about new grandfathers and newlyweds; about the foods that they loved to cook, the ideas that inspired them, the jokes they told, the brilliance they exhibited, the talents they cultivated, and the care they gave to friends, families, classmates, neighbors, and strangers.

You will learn, too, about the people who loved them, who mourned them, who lost them, and who have missed and will miss them profoundly for the rest of their lives.

Some lines from the memorials, written about an individual by a friend or a family member, resonate more broadly, applicable to all who perished and indeed to all of us.

“It is impossible to accept that this is all we will know of him,” wrote Thaddeus Huetteman *80 about his friend Joshua Rosenthal *81.

Robert Klitzman ’80 wrote about the nearly incomprehensible fact that he lost his beloved sister, Karen Klitzman ’84, when she literally “disappeared in a cloud of smoke,” later adding that he envisioned her among a “long stream of spirits flying off to a better place.”

The late Douglas McGrath ’80 praised his friend Robert Deraney ’80 and concluded with these reflections:

“In a world as full of fury and ignorance as  
this one, it takes strength to be loving, to stay 
cheerful, to widen one’s focus beyond the tiny 
piece of property to which each of us so anxiously 
clings. It takes courage to choose compassion 
over passion, dancing over kicking.”

McGrath wrote those words a quarter century ago. 

I wish that I could add to them some grand lesson, or deep wisdom, or reassuring solace drawn from the intervening twenty-five years, but the tragedy remains ineffable even after the passage of so much time.

I hope you will permit me to close simply by repeating Doug McGrath’s words about his classmate and friend, reframed and adapted as a wish for us all.

In a world still full of fury and ignorance, may we find the strength to be loving, to widen our focus beyond selfish interests, and to recognize and appreciate and celebrate the miraculous particularities that make every human life so precious.

May we find the time for dancing and joy.

Today, as we observe this annual ritual, and every day, as we go through our lives, may we remember those whom we have lost, and may we cherish those whom we love.