A Memory of 9-11

A Recollection of 9-11, written many years ago.

September 11, 2001—A Memory

How I taught that 10 AM class I don’t know. I did mention the tragedy to the class, as if they didn’t know already, and we all prayed in class before the lesson started. Then amazingly, I proceeded with the lesson.

As the class progressed, I grew more and more anxious, until the end, when I practically busted out of the room and ran back to my office. “I have to see if Mom is all right!” I yelled to myself, racing down the hallways from T-Building. I was also worried about my wife Linda and my 3 daughters. Julia was away at college, Miami University. Carolan was at Chardon High School. Em was at St. Mary’s School, where Linda worked. But Mom was 77 years old, blind, and alone at home in Euclid--Dad four years in the grave. I had to go to her right away!

I ran to the faculty-staff lot and cranked up my car—it was almost empty of gas. A thought streaked across my mind: What if the gas pumps go out? What if gigantic lines form at the gas stations? Are the ATM machines working? As usual I had almost no cash in my wallet.

My first step was to get to the Bank One money machine. The machine worked and I withdrew a hundred dollars, a huge amount for me to carry around. Then I headed to Kirtland Road, the back way to Mom’s. I thought maybe the freeways would get jammed up with cars, people fleeing . . . to somewhere, anywhere. We had no idea what was going on yet. So far we knew that both towers of the World Trade Center had been hit; by this time one of the buildings had actually collapsed to the ground, something unheard of! There was a story about a jet crashing into a field southeast of Pittsburgh. The Pentagon had been hit. There were rumors galore flying around. One claimed that Dayton had been hit. My oldest daughter Julia was a freshman at Miami University, not far from Dayton. What was going on? Are we all in danger?

Down Kirtland Road I drove like a maniac, coming to Rt. 20 in Willoughby. West on 20 to Vine Street. Down Vine to Lakeshore Boulevard. There near the corner of Lakeshore and Vine was a gas station without big lines. I pulled in and filled my tank. Would this be my last chance to get gas?

I zipped out on Vine, then left on Lakeshore down to Lloyd. Down Lloyd to Forestview. Then to East 272, then Farringdon, then East 266 and into Mom’s driveway. I pushed open my car door, one knock on Mom's door, then inside.

There Mom calmly sat on the davenport, drinking a cup of coffee, smoking a cigarette, and watching the television’s grim news. Mom was OK; I was the one who was frantic, anxious, frightened to death. I hugged her. She comforted me like I was a scared 5-year-old again.

Robert M. Coughlin
September 11, 2008

Reposting a 9-11 Memory

[This piece was posted 8 years ago today.]

September 11, 2001—A Memory

How I taught that 10 AM class I don’t know. I did mention the tragedy to the class, as if they didn’t know already, and we all prayed in class before the lesson started. Then amazingly, I proceeded with the lesson.

As the class progressed, I grew more and more anxious, until the end, when I practically busted out of the room and ran back to my office. “I have to see if Mom is all right!” I yelled to myself, racing down the hallways from T Building. I was also worried about my wife Linda and my 3 daughters. Julia was away at college, Miami University. Carolan was at Chardon High School. Em was at St. Mary’s School, where Linda worked. But Mom was 77 years old, blind, and alone at home in Euclid--Dad four years in the grave. I had to go to her right away!

I ran to the faculty-staff lot and cranked up my car—it was almost empty of gas. A thought streaked across my mind: What if the gas pumps go out? What if gigantic lines form at the gas stations? Are the ATM machines working? As usual I had almost no cash in my wallet.

My first step was to get to the Bank One money machine. The machine worked and I withdrew a hundred dollars, a huge amount for me to carry around. Then I headed to Kirtland Road, the back way to Mom’s. I thought maybe the freeways would get jammed up with cars, people fleeing . . . to somewhere, anywhere. We had no idea what was going on yet. So far we knew that both towers of the World Trade Center had been hit; by this time one of the buildings had actually collapsed to the ground, something unheard of! There was a story about a jet crashing into a field southeast of Pittsburgh. The Pentagon had been hit. There were rumors galore flying around. One claimed that Dayton had been hit. My oldest daughter Julia was a freshman at Miami University, not far from Dayton. What was going on? Are we all in danger?

Down Kirtland Road I drove like a maniac, coming to Rt. 20 in Willoughby. West on 20 to Vine Street. Down Vine to Lakeshore Boulevard. There near the corner of Lakeshore and Vine was a gas station without big lines. I pulled in and filled my tank. Would this be my last chance to get gas?

I zipped out on Vine, then left on Lakeshore down to Lloyd. Down Lloyd to Forestview. Then to E. 272, then Farringdon, then E.266 and into Mom’s driveway. I pushed open my car door, one knock on Mom's door, then inside.

There Mom calmly sat on the davenport, drinking a cup of coffee, smoking a cigarette, and watching the television’s grim news. Mom was OK; I was the one who was frantic, anxious, frightened to death. I hugged her. She comforted me like I was a scared 5-year-old again.

Robert M. Coughlin
September 11, 2008

Retirement Dinner

Last night the English Department faculty at Lakeland Community College, where I have worked for the past 27 years, had a retirement dinner for me and my colleagues Micki Ling and Deb Shearer. All but two people were able to make it. Even two of our beloved retirees, Phil Skerry and Larry Needham, came! These are all very bright people--most of them have doctorates. A few are brilliant poets and fiction writers. I have been so lucky to work with them and to work at Lakeland all these years.

Micki, David, Larry, Phil, Patrick, Meryl, Jamie on left. Sue, Tobin, Deb, me, Linda, Joanna, and Angie on right.

Larry, Sue (reading my poem "Harry Man"), and Phil.

Linda, me, and Deb.

Phil, telling one of his stories. To his right, Patrick and Meryl.

Patrick, Meryl, Larry.

Angie and Joanna.

Phil, Patrick, Meryl.

Micki, David, Larry. I have worked with Micki for 27 years. She has been our union president for 10 of those years.

Good-bye and Good Riddance to Winter! Hello Spring!

I normally think of St. Patrick's Day as the first day of spring (and I do that in spite of all the evidence that we are still in later winter!). Today, as I was teaching a class at Lakeland Community College, I looked out the third floor window, and in the distance I could see frozen Lake Erie. From here it still looks like the lake is frozen solid. I know that the ice is starting to break up--and it is being broken up by ice-breaking ships trying to open up shipping lanes.

For the past two months Lake Erie has been frozen solid. I have heard figures like 96% and 98% frozen. But practically speaking it has been 100%. Geez, you could probably drive a four-wheeler across the lake--or ride a horse! But it won't be long before fishermen and recreational boaters are back out on the big waters of the beautiful lake. I gave away my boat this past fall, but plan on hitching a ride now and again with my brother Jim and Barry O'Donnell.

Here are some photos taken three weeks ago at Mentor Beach Park:

Looking north past the building at Mentor Beach Park

The frozen lake is not all smooth!

An animal made tracks out onto the ice.

No swimming or boating this February day!

Faculty Art Show at Lakeland Community College

There is a nice art show at Lakeland right now, featuring the work of the arts faculty. The works are in all sorts of media, from jewelry to painting to photography to ceramics to bronze sculpture. There is no unifying style, but it strikes me that the fragmented world of modernism is still very much present--and about 100 years after the modernist writings of James Joyce and T. S. Eliot, and the paintings of Picasso and Braque. That vision of an exploded world is clearest in the pottery of Derak O'Brien. Here are cell-phone photos of some of the art:

An Example of Eddie Mitchell's popular pointillism

Bruce Cline photograph

Theresa Hess's work makes you think about life and death

David Samiec's photo makes you think about the soul of all living things, even the smallest

Chris Berry's spectacular study of color

My favorite--Paula Blackman's evocative bas relief (in bronze)

Derak O'Brien's exploded ceramic pot--Modernism is alive and well!

Two Wendell Berry Poems to Honor Professor Bob Jaynes

To honor the late Bob Jaynes, Lakeland professor of psychology since 1971, here are two poems by one of his favorite poets, Wendell Berry:

The Peace of Wild Things

BY WENDELL BERRY

When despair for the world grows in me

and I wake in the night at the least sound

in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,

I go and lie down where the wood drake

rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.

I come into the peace of wild things

who do not tax their lives with forethought

of grief. I come into the presence of still water.

And I feel above me the day-blind stars

waiting with their light. For a time

I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

Manifesto: The Mad Farmer Liberation Front

                by Wendell Berry

Love the quick profit, the annual raise
vacation with pay. Want more
of everything ready-made. Be afraid
to know your neighbors and to die.
And you will have a window in your head.
Not even your future will be a mystery
any more. Your mind will be punched in a card
and shut away in a little drawer.
When they want you to buy something
they will call you. When they want you
to die for profit they will let you know.
So, friends, every day do something
that won't compute. Love the Lord.
Love the world. Work for nothing.
Take all that you have and be poor.
Love someone who does not deserve it.
denounce the government and embrace
the flag. Hope to live in that free
republic for which it stands.
Give your approval to all you cannot
understand. Praise ignorance, for what man
has not encountered he has not destroyed.
Ask the questions that have no answers.
Invest in the millennium. Plant sequoias.
Say that your main crop is the forest
that you did not plant,
that you will not live to harvest
Say that the leaves are harvested
when they have rotted into the mold.
Call that profit. Prophesy such returns.
Put your faith in the two inches of humus
that will build under the trees
every thousand years.
Listen to carrion - put your ear
close, and hear the faint chattering
of the songs that are to come.
Expect the end of the world. Laugh.
Laughter is immeasurable. Be joyful
though you have considered all the facts.
So long as women do not go cheap
for power, please women more than men.
Ask yourself: Will this satisfy
a woman satisfied to bear a child?
Will this disturb the sleep
of a woman near to giving birth?
Go with your love to the fields.
Lie easy in the shade. Rest your head.
in her lap. Swear allegiance
to what is nighest your thoughts.
As soon as the generals and the politicos
can predict the motions of your mind,
lose it. Leave it as a sign
to mark the false trail, the way
you didn't go. Be like the fox
who makes more tracks than necessary,
some in the wrong direction.
Practice resurrection. 

Hurray for Unions! Labor Day Meditation

Labor Day Meditation--2014

My family, surely like yours, is from a long line of hard workers. My father was a factory worker, a blue-collar worker. He was a union man nearly all his working life, after escaping the pathetic wages of Cleveland Trust in Willoughby, where there was no union protection. His first union job was as a repairman on diesels for the New York Central Railroad in the Collinwood Yard. After maybe 8 years there, he left because the diesel exhaust exacerbated his asthma. He then worked briefly for Thompson Products, in Euclid, then Fisher Body, on the Cleveland-East Cleveland border, East 140^th and Coit Road. There he was a member of the United Auto Workers. He made a decent salary, got a respectable retirement, and had all the benefits of union membership. Who other than a union would stand up for his interests against the world’s largest and richest company, General Motors? Their goal was to maximize profits for their stockholders—not ensure my Dad a decent wage, safe working conditions, and an honorable retirement. Only the union—workers organized together to advocate their needs and interests—only the union could do that.

I have had many crummy, dangerous jobs, with no union protection. I also had two decent college jobs with no union protection. I was unjustly fired from one of those jobs. At both jobs there was no one, no organization that would stand up for my rights. One person made a decision, based on who knows what, and you had no recourse. It was work at will, fire at will. That was the case in Kentucky. And it is the case in Ohio, especially if you have no union protection.

Since 1988 I have been in a strong union, the Lakeland Faculty Association—part of the Ohio Education Association (OEA). Our union is the most democratic organization I have ever seen. It is full of strong, even brilliant leaders, who work for our union for free. We all work for Lakeland Community College. Though a fairly benevolent organization, the interests of the administrators are not necessarily our interests. Institutions like this are thoroughly organized, with deep deep pockets that can help insure that they will get their way. It makes sense for us to be organized as well. Only our unity and organization can begin to match up against their deep pockets. Only our union assures that we will be treated with respect, be compensated adequately, and be treated with consistent and fair due process in all matters.

Unions make sense for workers. They are as democratic as you want them to be. When up against powerful corporations or institutions, they are workers’ only chance.

Lakeland teachers, late August 2014

The Definition of Solidarity: Lakeland Faculty Association

This is what Solidarity looks like in a crisis:

Support from one of our adjunct professors

LFA President Micki Long

The signs show strong support from part-time (adjunct) professors

More of my Lakeland colleagues

My brilliant colleagues

Unanimous, enthusiastic support from full-time faculty members

I have never in my life been this close to striking. Luckily, I'm in the same boat as about 130 of my colleagues. And if there is a strike, everyone will be affected, the adjunct profs, the students, and other Lakeland employees. At Lakeland Community College we have the most brilliant collection of professionals in the area. We have the most democratic union I have ever seen, the LFA, Lakeland Faculty Association. I am so privileged to know these folks and to work with them. There is perfect unity here, perfect solidarity, incredible organization. We are ready for whatever happens.

Announcing Lakeland Community College's 2014 Poetry Contest!

The 27^th Annual 
Poetry Competition
For Students and Community Members

Category 1 – High School Students

            1^st prize -- $40

            2^nd prize -- $25

            3^rd prize -- $20

Category 2 – Lakeland Students

            1^st prize -- $40

            2^nd prize -- $25

            3^rd prize -- $20

Category 3 – General Public

            1^st prize -- $40

            2^nd prize -- $25

            3^rd prize -- $20

• There will be a $5.00 fee with your entry, payable to Lakeland Community College.
• Submissions will be accepted until Friday, April 18, 2014.
• Prizes and certificates will be presented at the awards ceremony at the Lakeland Library, C-3051, 7:00 p.m., on Tuesday, May 6, 2014.
• Winners will be invited to read their work at the awards ceremony.
• Winning poems will be published, with your permission, on the internet.

Each entrant will submit 1 to 3 poems to one category. No single poem should be longer than 2 typed pages. Entrants should include a separate sheet with name, address, phone, category, and titles of the poems. No personal information should appear on the poems themselves. Manuscripts will be returned if entrants supply a self-addressed stamped envelope. The competition is not open to Lakeland employees, but family members are welcome to submit.

This year’s judge is John Repp, the award-winning poet, fiction writer, and essayist from Erie, Pennsylvania. Click here for John Repp's Web Site.

SEND SUBMISSIONS AND FEE TO:

Prof. Robert M. Coughlin  B-2051

Lakeland Community College

7700 Clocktower Drive

Kirtland, Ohio 44094-5198

Cover Page of Issue 3, Chagrin River Review

Look at Amy Dwyer Peck's beautiful cover of issue 3 of Chagrin River Review. A beautiful issue! Two of our poets have recorded themselves reading their poems. Some great stories. Check it out!

Here's the link: Chagrin River Review--Issue 3

Chagrin River Review--Goes Live Monday, September 24th

Several of my colleagues and I have been developing an online literary journal, Chagrin River Review. The co-founders and co-editors of this journal are (besides me) Angie Weaver, Tobin Terry, Tom Hyland, Ellen McHugh, and Suzanne Ondrus--with some help from Byron Kanoti. We all brought something different to the task, and the fruit of our work will be revealed in the first issue this Monday at this web address: www.chagrinriverreview.com. We are all connected to Lakeland Community College in Kirtland, Ohio, but the college's role so far has been peripheral--so don't blame the college if any material offends!

One of my covert goals with Chagrin River Review is to develop a literature and mythology of our home--which is the Chagrin River drainage area of Northeastern Ohio: Lake County, Geauga County, Cuyahoga County, and surrounding area. This area is part of what the French Jesuit Exploreres and Voyageurs called "La Nation du Chat," the Cat Nation, the home of the Erie Indians.

Can we make any progress on such a mythology? This is the same kind of task that William Butler Yeats set for himself in Ireland over a hundred years ago. Was he successful? Of course we can make a start on this!

The journal will evolve as we learn to exploit the power of the internet--so we will include oral readings and more graphics in the future. And who knows--maybe some day a bit of video. Right now we have some excellent poetry and short fiction. Take a look at our new journal!

Link to Chagrin River Review

September 11, 2001--A Memory

September 11, 2001—A Memory

How I taught that 10 AM class I don’t know. I did mention the tragedy to the class, as if they didn’t know already, and we all prayed in class before the lesson started. Then amazingly, I proceeded with the lesson.

As the class progressed, I grew more and more anxious, until the end, when I practically busted out of the room and ran back to my office. “I have to see if Mom is all right!” I yelled to myself, racing down the hallways from T Building. I was also worried about my wife Linda and my 3 daughters. Julia was away at college, Miami University. Carolan was at Chardon High School. Em was at St. Mary’s School, where Linda worked. But Mom was 77 years old, blind, and alone at home in Euclid--Dad four years in the grave. I had to go to her right away!

I ran to the faculty-staff lot and cranked up my car—it was almost empty of gas. A thought streaked across my mind: What if the gas pumps go out? What if gigantic lines form at the gas stations? Are the ATM machines working? As usual I had almost no cash in my wallet.

My first step was to get to the Bank One money machine. The machine worked and I withdrew a hundred dollars, a huge amount for me to carry around. Then I headed to Kirtland Road, the back way to Mom’s. I thought maybe the freeways would get jammed up with cars, people fleeing . . . to somewhere, anywhere. We had no idea what was going on yet. So far we knew that both towers of the World Trade Center had been hit; by this time one of the buildings had actually collapsed to the ground, something unheard of! There was a story about a jet crashing into a field southeast of Pittsburgh. The Pentagon had been hit. There were rumors galore flying around. One claimed that Dayton had been hit. My oldest daughter Julia was a freshman at Miami University, not far from Dayton. What was going on? Are we all in danger?

Down Kirtland Road I drove like a maniac, coming to Rt. 20 in Willoughby. West on 20 to Vine Street. Down Vine to Lakeshore Boulevard. There near the corner of Lakeshore and Vine was a gas station without big lines. I pulled in and filled my tank. Would this be my last chance to get gas?

I zipped out on Vine, then left on Lakeshore down to Lloyd. Down Lloyd to Forestview. Then to E. 272, then Farringdon, then E.266 and into Mom’s driveway. I pushed open my car door, one knock on Mom's door, then inside.

There Mom calmly sat on the davenport, drinking a cup of coffee, smoking a cigarette, and watching the television’s grim news. Mom was OK; I was the one who was frantic, anxious, frightened to death. I hugged her. She comforted me like I was a scared 5-year-old again.

Robert M. Coughlin
September 11, 2008