Plane Is Going To Crash
By Rosanne Cash
Horror And Hope
I took my daughter Carrie to
school on Tuesday morning, and stayed for a parents’ meeting. Her school
is in West Village, in a straight path about 20 blocks north from the
World Trade Center. From the school cafeteria, we heard a plane fly over
low and loud. We looked at one another, somewhat alarmed. One mother said
quietly, that plane is going to crash. In a couple of minutes someone came
in to say that plane had crashed into the world Trade Center. I could
hardly believe this. My friend Olivia came in to me, white and shaking,
and said that another plane had just hit the south tower. Everyone knew
then that it was a terrorist attack, something every New Yorker had been
expecting since the Trade Center was bombed in 1993. A frantic feeling
took over. I hurried to find Carrie, but the teachers asked us to let them
take the children into the school chapel first to tell them what happened.
While they in the chapel, I walked outside and around the school to
Greenwich Street, which had a clear view of the towers, looming so large
they felt close enough to touch.
The towers were burning. I
could see wreckage sticking out of the north tower. People were standing
in the streets, completely shock on their faces. There were no newscasters
describing what I seeing; or telling me how to feel; there was just
silence and horror. I tried to call my husband, John to tell him not to
leave the house, but there was no cell phone service. We left and I
started walking fast, gripping Carrie’s hand. There were no available
taxis, the trains were shut down and I was desperate to get home to my
husband and baby, about a half a mile away. As we walked, a lot of people
stooped on the sidewalk, looking at the towers, I glanced back, but kept
walking. The south tower was collapsing. We saw a bus, ran to get on it
and rode it a few blocks home. It was packed. My husband opened the door,
frantic with worry. I was sobbing. The phones were not working, and I was
anguished not to be able to reach my parents and older daughters. Oddly,
the only call that managed was from my dad. He was extraordinarily calm,
as he always is in crises, but terribly concerned. I asked him to have my
sister call everyone else and tell them that we were okay. We packed our
bags, and put inside water. We didn’t know if this was the end of the
attacks, if chemical weapons had exploded with planes, or if the Empire
State Building, a mere twelve blocks away, would be the next target.
The drive out of the city
was eerie. The streets were empty except for a few cars and lot of police,
ambulance and fire vehicles. When we got up the George Washington Bridge,
thousands of people were walking over it in complete silence. It was a
searing pathetic scene. We got up to our weekend house close to midnight.
The following day, John and I wandered around like zombies. I could not
get the sound of the first plane out of my head, and the knowledge that
seconds after I heard it, so many people lost their lives. We went back to
the city Wednesday afternoon. The smell was horrendous. Like burning
plastic and glass. And still, the only sound was fighter jets and sirens
– the city, usually a cacophony, was empty and silent except for those
two terrible sounds. On Thursday, I walked to the spot on Greenwich Street
where I had stood watching the burning towers two days before. Now there
was nothing there but smoke. I walked to the command post where volunteers
were handling out water to the rescue workers. I stood there for a long
time, cheering the workers along with the other civilians. A station wagon
came slowly out the site with two dirty and exhausted firemen sitting on
the open back door. As the car passed, I raised my arm high to them, in
thanks and compassion. One of the firemen, though he looked fatigued to
the point of collapse, instantly raised his arm back to me in a salute
that convey perseverance and sadness-but not defeat. After he passed, I
stood in that spot alone and wept for half an hour.
Today is rainy and chilly.
As I write, the smell of burnt plastic is wafting through my window. There
is now a central spot for volunteers at the Javits Center, which is where
I am going today. It still unfolds, in most surreal and sad way. My
daughter Cheslsea has three friends whose parents did not come home from
work on Tuesday. The stories are endless; everyone has one, and we are all
compelled to repeat them over and over. And it still does not make sense.
Those of us who did not lose a loved one are full of gratitude and cherish
our families so, so much. I am over come with concern and love I have
received from friends and family. People I barely know have called or
E-mailed just see if I was doing okay. And, though unspeakably sad,
somewhat traumatized and a little fearful, I am more then okay. My family
and I are alive and well, and I am renewed in my faith of the inherent
goodness of most people of this world. I have been in New Yorker for over
ten years, and I have never been so proud as I am now. I have witnessed
and been part of a union of minds and spirits, as people take of those
need help and comfort. Everyone wants to be of service.
I am happy to say that I
have not heard a single word of retaliation or hatred. I cannot imagine
wishing this destruction on any other person on earth, even the most
hateful and coldhearted. I do not believe in further violence in robbing
more children of their parents, in putting more holes in this precious
planet, or horror of thousands more people devoting their days to
searching for pieces of human bodies. I believe in justice, civilized and
honorable, and in peace. Peace to all, and let the city that suffered the
most, and let began with you and me. Love Rosanne Cash
Friday 14, 2001 On September 12, Willie
Cash - Finding Her Voice
When Rosanne Cash lost her
voice she wasn’t that worried at first. But then it wouldn’t come back
– and that concerned her greatly. “I was freaked out” she admits.
“I did go through a dark night of the soul, thinking, “what if I never
get my voice back” What will I be? What will I do?
She had developed vocal
polyps a common ailment for singers, during her pregnancy with a 5-year
old Jakob. The condition usually lasts few months, but hers persisted for
exasperating two-and-a-half years. During that time, Rosanne (who also has
three daughters, ranging from 15 to 24) had no guarantee her vice would
ever return. She thought she could content herself with writing –
she’s authored two books, and is working on another.
But I was surprised to find
that wasn’t enough of me, explains Rosanne, sitting at her desk in her
New York City apartment. “I was devastated at the idea of not having of
not being able to sing” Finally her voice returned, and she, dove into
work with her husband, producer and songwriter partner, John Leventhal.,
on what would became her latest album Grammy-nominated “Rule Of
Travel”. In fact, it was John’s idea for Rosanne to do a duet with her
legendary Dad Johnny Cash. On the track “September When It Comes”. I
was very reluctant at first, she recalls. But if there was ever a right
song and a right time, this was it.
The song took on an
unexpected, eerie resonance when Johnny died in September four months
after the unexpected death of her stepmother, June Carter Cash. A video
montage of family photos set to the ong has been running on CMT. Rosanne
is still practicing what she remembers as the best lesson she ever learned
from her father. She tells of the occasion when Johnny saw her reading an
offbeat book. You’re not into this are you? She asked him No, he
answered. No but I think you should find out everything you can about it.
I though WOW, what a brilliant thing for a parent to say, she marvels.
“Like, Don’t shut down your world your world – expand it as fast as
you can go”. Find Out everything you can, and form your belief system
after you have all the knowledge.
Diabetes. By Rosanne Cash
Hello. I’m Rosanne Cash. Because you’re visiting this Web site, you’ve probably already seen or heard one of my national TV or radio spots. This public service campaign is meant to help millions of Americans with diabetes get their disease under control. I’m so proud to join with the American Association of Diabetes Educators (AADE) in this campaign, because it cuts right to the heart of why and how to manage diabetes.
Why should you manage it? Because diabetes is serious. It can steal your sight. You can lose your limbs. And worst of all, it can take you away from the people who love you. I know this about diabetes, personally, because diabetes took its toll on my dad, Johnny Cash. For years he ignored it, until his vision – and finally, his health – slipped away.
But it doesn’t have to be that way.
How do you manage diabetes? By checking your blood glucose on a daily basis, and then knowing what to do with the results. That’s why AADE, with the generous help of our corporate sponsor, LifeScan, Inc., has launched this public service campaign and Web site – so you can learn more about controlling your blood glucose and living healthy with diabetes.
What’s a good way to get started? Use the workbook we’ve created, “Controlling Your Blood Glucose Around Meals.” This step-by-step guide tells how food can affect you when you have diabetes. It also explains steps you can take to control your glucose. You'll learn a lot, and you'll begin the process of better managing your disease.
We would also encourage you to work with a professional diabetes educator, if you aren’t already. A diabetes educator can provide support and counseling that can build on what has been recommended by your physician. The AADE can help you locate a diabetes educator.
Please, control your diabetes – and be there for the ones you love.
Please listen if
not to me, but Rosanne Cash, "PLEASE"