I was twenty five when I stood in the North Tower. I was approaching fifty when I saw it taken away. I actually felt the sensation of having my soul somehow subdivided by this terrible witnessing in which I was forced to participate. All I could think was how dare they! They took the mirrors and music and window seats! They destroyed the Restaurant At the Top and took it down to street level. Those towers were mine and they belonged to my neighbors and my family and friends. And the millions of people I will probably never meet but we were fellow property owners just the same. Those towers weren't just world renowned money managers: they were symbols of a nation that for two hundred years prevailed. We endured two world wars, a massive Depression and a house divided by the Civil War. Yet we were powerless over two tiny airplanes that were hellbent for leather when they drove into two icons of freedom. And, to this day, I carry the memory of this giant work of art and wonder if it's really gone.
Two years afterwards, I was introduced to a man who by trade was an arborist. But, by talent and instinct, was a musical genius. His name is Kent Horner. I was given a copy of his CD, titled, "Secrets in the Sand". And I still remember placing it in the stereo of my silver Mustang and driving to my destination that day. I also recall having to pull over to listen to it: because it so took my breath away. I immediately visualized this man sitting at that baby grand piano wrapped in nearby windows overlooking the New York skyline. And this was before I heard his musical response to 9/11, titled, "Spirit Of America". This song in particular triggered the inspiration for me to write a one act play based on this beautiful and eclectic music. In fact, I wrote the Finale first with this song being sung by my main character, an American soldier named David. My mind's eye saw him standing shirtless before a fallen building. He would voice the words that I felt when I saw the towers hit the ground. Such lyrics as, "Flying high on silver wings, there were angels in the sky . . . each of them knew what he had to do, before they called to say goodbye. There was no rhyme or reason, this was just blatant treason: I don't believe this, I can't believe I saw it go down", gave me the words I had been searching for since September 11th, 2001. I felt a spiritual kinship to this fellow artist and it was solidified when, months later, we realized that he began writing his CD with the final track, "Spirit Of America". I began the play by writing the Finale using the same song. It was just sheer serendipity for us both.
FAYE HOLLINS-MOORE, AMERICAN PLAYWRIGHT
Copyright, 2017