Empire writer Anne-Marie Oomen read the following poem this morning—September 11, 2021—at the annual September 11 ceremony of remembrance at the Glen Lake Fire Department. Her poem, “Morning at the Monument” (a roughshod sonnet) was inspired by this 20th anniversary and a study of the monument, a shard of one of the Twin Towers that is memorialized in Glen Arbor.
Bronwyn Jones’ reflection on September 11, 2001, and her New York City childhood was republished from our September 2001 edition of the Glen Arbor Sun, to commemorate the 20th anniversary of 9/11.
More than 200 patriotic Americans, local townspeople and students from two high schools attended an emotionally stirring September 11 Memorial Service at the Glen Lake Fire Department this morning — an annual event in Glen Arbor to remember the fallen, to honor those that serve in uniform and risk their lives for our communities and our nation, and as a reminder that evil still exists today in a dangerous world.
Meeting Taro Yamasaki for the first time, one would never guess that this soft-spoken, bespectacled man with a bit of gray in his beard wasn’t a typical Up North transplant with his slice of heaven amongst Leelanau’s trees, beaches and lake scenes. Then he begins to talk about his life’s work as a photojournalist, whose strong, often beautiful pictures paradoxically convey searing images that indict those who not only perpetrate violence upon their fellow beings, but also those of us who stand by, silent or indifferent or ignorant.
On the 10-year anniversary of the terrorist attacks, Glen Arbor Sun writers Anne-Marie Oomen, Mike Buhler, Mary Sharry, Pat Stinson, Waleed Al-Shamma and Jacob Wheeler reflect on September 11, 2001.
I walk to the island in my mind. I start in Leonia, New Jersey, the town I grew up in. At some point I am sixteen again and wearing heavy-duty hiking boots as I trudge up the stairs to the pedestrian walkway that leads across the massive, vibrating George Washington Bridge. The broad, serene Hudson River lies far below and the buildings of Manhattan stretch out to the distant lower end of the island. The World Trade Center isn’t there yet. I remember the feeling of space, and slight dizziness, suspended at such a great height; the exhilaration of crossing from one state to the next on foot.