On 9-11, let's remember there are heroes all around us.

Heroes are all around us.

They have names like Clint and Paul and Jake and Todd and Harvey and Sue and Mary. 

We can't bring back those brave men and women who perished on Sept. 11, 2001 but we can honor those around us who sacrifice so much to serve us. 

My first close encounter with a hero came when i was very young, shortly after I was born really. 

My first hero was Glen Zellers Jr. 

“Junie” as his mother called him, was my cousin. He was about 20 years my senior and his children were close to my age. 

I remember marveling as he let his children swing from one of his upraise, muscled arms like it was a jungle gym. 

His photo hung in my aunt’s living room. He never talked about it but he was in the Navy during  World War II and he got to see Japan after the U.S. ended the war.

To me, he was the face of the American hero. 

Many of my heroes, growing up, were police officers. 

I met Oscar Strasser when I was younger than 5. He probably knew me from the time I was an infant.
Mr. Strasser was a retired police officer who owned tge grocery store to supplement his income, I was told.

Strasser’s grocery store was near the Winamac bridge over the Tippecanoe River and about five blocks from Grandpa’s house on Riverside Drive. Every summer, Mom and I would visit Grandpa for a few days. I don’t recall Mom ever shopping at a “supermarket” and I’m pretty sure none existed in Winamac in the late ‘50s, but we walked down to Strasser’s store many times, which I remember was quite a hike for my short legs. 

I have looked upon the police as my friends from a young age when an officer stopped to ask me name while I was riding my bike on the sidewalk near home. 

I got my first bike with training wheels for my sixth birthday. 

There weren’t many places I could ride, so I went about half a block down Barrett Street, past the driveways of two houses and would ride down the sidewalk to Grant Street and back. Later I was allowed to ride in the street but not the summer I got the bike. 

My first encounter with a policeman in uniform came during those sidewalk rides. He pulled over to the curb while I was resting and asked my name. I guess we chatted for a few minutes but all I saw was his car, blue shirt, badge and I could imagine the gun strapped to his side.  

My dad loved to watch “The Untouchables” and other cop shows, so I thought I was in trouble. I think I left my bike setting on the sidewalk and ran home to tell Mom about my close encounter. 

“Stranger Danger” is not a new concept. We were told to not speak to strangers back in those Dark Ages when Fred, Barney, Wilma, Betty and I were in elementary school.

I was drinking a pop outside Westside Store a year or so later when an old man sitting in an ominous black car called me to him. 

Instead, I ran in the store and told Mom. 

She called the police when we got home and the officer found out who the man was and assured us he was friendly but harmless. 

The teenage girls who lived next door got in trouble with different police, the kind who worked for the railroad. The girls had been running across the pair of tracks next to their house when trains were coming and apparently scared the engineer, nearly giving him a heart attack, we later learned through Dad’s contacts on the railroad. 

The railroad detective who came to our house to see if I had been running across the tracks quickly learned I would have gotten a good switching by my folks, then my grandpa and then my folks again. Grandpa Phillips and Dad were both railroad men who wouldn’t put up with such dangerous nonsense from their kids. 

When I became a reporter, I worked with police and firefighters on a regular basis. 

Dennis Weir is a great guy and was very helpful when he served as a fire chief. Often, he would give too much information. You could ask him who owned the house where a fire occurred and he would tell you all about the fire, what kind it was, how it differed from other kids of fire and often we didn’t have room to print all the information he gave us. 

The Bennetts, Joe and Jake, have been very good friends of everyone who look to the media for information. 

Earl Hutcheson was general manager of The Brazil Times when I arrived in 2001. He has been an active member and leader of the Posey Towsnhip Fire Department. Earl taught me the importance of fire stories to our readers and that those pictures and stories help when fire departments seek grants for equipment that is so important to their work. 

A police officer I’m proud to know I met when he was still a rookie. 

I can still hear one of the other officers yell at him in 1994, “Noor-maan!” 

Mike Norman was not only a nice guy but he built a good career for himself in the police department. Today he has risen to the office of police chief in Crawfordsville. 

One of the police officers with whom I worked caught me speeding on the outskirts of town one day. He was all serious as he approached my car after pulling me over. 

"May I see your license and registration?"

“Yes sir.” 

He ran my information and then handed my documents back to me. 

“Slow down and be safe, Mr. Phillips,” he said. He never called me “Mr.Phillips” in the more than a decade I knew him. It was always, “Frank” with a smile. 

“Yes sir. Thank you.” 

I waited to let him pull out ahead of me. 

As he drove by he gave me a big grin and a salute!

Finally, I want to tell you about Harvey. 

Harvey pulled me over more than once for speeding in town. 

On one occasion, my wife was with me. 

“Where you goin’ Frank? To a fire?"

“No sir, just got a little heavy on the pedal.” 

“Well slow down. We don’t want to lose you.” 

“Thank you.” 

When I rolled up my window, Linda got agitated. 

“You never get a ticket,” she exclaimed. “Give him a ticket! Give him a ticket!"” 

Though I did get one or two tickets on other occasions, none came from Harvey. 

He had a son who was a fireman. His son rose through the ranks to become fire chief. 

Harvey’s son is now a mayor. 

It's a terrible thing that Sept. 11 is marked in blood and smoke in our memories but it does give us the chance to say Thank you to the heroes who are still among us. 

September 11, 2001 remembered by a journalist

September 11, 2001.

With each passing year it becomes more apparent how much our lives were changed by attacks on American soil, not by another nation but by those who hold another ideal. An ideal that we cannot accept. An ideal that is opposed to The American Way of Life.

It has been 14 years and we continue to struggle to regain "normalcy." All the time we face the nagging fear that this is the new normal for America and the world.

So, what was it like on Sept. 11, 2001? For every American, there is a different story to tell. Here is mine.

My perspective is not much different than that of many reporters and editors.

I was living in Waveland and had just started a new job as the editor of a daily newspaper some miles away.

We had an early deadline. Our paper had to be ready to go to press at noon, when it was printed and distribution began about 1 p.m.

I went to work that morning, totally unaware of what the day was to bring.

The night before, my wife and I had celebrated our 23rd wedding anniversary. We had a tradition of going out to eat at the nearest Red Lobster each year and over our meal we would chat and reminisce about our years together.

We had two children. Our youngest had just graduated from Southmont and was a freshman at Franklin College. Our son had a good job and was dating a great girl of whom we totally approved.

I had changed careers and was happy to be a journalist for the past seven years, though I had been involved in freelance writing professionally since 1972.

On the evening of Sept. 10, 2001, we wondered what the next years of our lives would bring.

My habit was to arrive at the newspaper between 3 a.m. and 4 a.m. Later, I would learn how to do what we needed to do in that paper faster and be able to sleep in until 5 a.m.

There was a TV set in my cubicle. It was located behind me while I was putting the paper together, which never seemed to make sense.

We always had one of the 24-hour cable news channels on during the day, unless one of our reporters changed channels to watch her soap opera while I was at lunch.

Our TV channel of choice was MSNBC, though I thought seriously about changing stations.

The big story every morning was Chandra Levy, a young woman who was missing in Washington, D.C.. In 2002, her body would be found in a park near where she lived and worked. But, on 9-11-2001, she was still missing.

While I put the paper together, MSNBC, the Chandra Levy story and other news of the day droned on behind me.

"And the big story of the day -- Chandra Levy is still missing. No film at 11!" I thought, wondering how no news could be such a big news story.

I was returning to my desk from the washroom when MSNBC's coverage was replaced by the "Today" show and a picture of the New York City skyline. In the center of the picture was a building where smoke was rising and the reporter talked about a plane of undetermined sized that had hit one of the towers of the World Trade Center.

By that time, one or two reporters had arrived and we stopped what we were working on.

"Oh, that's too bad," someone said. "Do you suppose a small private plane got lost and hit the building?"

About then, we saw a streak and it soon became apparent a second plane had struck the same tower.

I remember we were almost finished putting the paper together and I knew our front page would soon look very different from the one that was then on my computer screen.

The big story of the day became the attacks on the World Trade Center, the Pentagon and the passenger plane, apparently headed for the White House, that was crashed during a struggle by passengers and terrorists in the cockpit. Those passengers would forever be remembered as heroes for their bravery and their sacrifice that others might live.

After the paper went to press and I finished what I needed to do that day, I headed home. We had bought a house near my new job and we were packing to move from Waveland.

I couldn't help noticing how clear the sky was as I drove through the countryside of Parke County that afternoon. No planes overhead and no fading white plumes to mark their trail in the sky.

Of course not! All airplane flights were cancelled. It was just one indication of how serious the 9-11 attacks really were.

Around 5 p.m. I received a call from our newspaper. Our reporters were taking photos of long lines at gas pumps and gasoline price signs that approached $5 per gallon.

There was a wild rumor that the countries of the Middle East had shut off our supply of crude oil and too many oil companies took advantage of the rumor by allowing gas prices to reach insane levels. Later, the Indiana Attorney General's office would send out faxes telling local newspapers which gas stations in their area were being investigated for price gouging.

I would call one station manager on the list and she tried to tell me she had to follow Terre Haute's lead when they raised prices. Funny that when Terre Haute's gas prices fell she and her competitors didn't lower their prices.

Over the next few years, 9-11 would impact local news in many ways. The federal and state departments of Homeland Security would be formed and across Indiana and the rest of the United States a war mentality would develop.

Sept. 11, 2001 has been called this generation's Pearl Harbor. It may be. Both events were terrible. It can be argued that one was worse than the other but why make comparisons? Both dates, Dec. 7, 1941, and Sept. 11, 2001, left deep scars on America and to quote FDR, they are both dates "that will live in infamy." .

Next week, in a follow up column, we think about those heroes we honor each year for their service on Sept. 11.

The new swimming pool

Saturday, Aug. 23, 2008
We bought a swimming pool today!
Not one of the little kiddy pools, but onethat is 18 feet across and 4 feet deep!
Linda and I went to Terre Haute today to buy Logan's birthday presents. We ate lunch at Red Lobster (she had the luncheon shrimp special and I had lunch soup and salad. Delicious! I highly recommend it.).
While we were waiting for our food, I told her I watched DIY network while she was at work and they had a show on building a rock garden. I would like to drastically reduce the amount of grass we have to mow (and buy gas to mow) and make our lawn more attractive. I really don't want to have to buy another riding lawn mower when this one quits – and it's on its sixth year.
We moved here shortly after 9-11 (2001). I went home to pack the afternoon after the planes hit the World Trade Center and the Pentagon. So, next month will mark our seven year in our home and we haven't had anyone interested in looking at the house since two weeks after it was listed ... and that was a couple months ago. So I think we will still be in the house next spring.
When we sold our house in Waveland, it took two years and three offers before we got it done. We had things packed in boxes behind the couch fr two years! We're not doing that again. We will continue living our lives and enjoying the house.
I think Linda's cancer surgeries have taught us to make more of each day. I've also learned what Carol, my old nursing home administrator boss in elkhart used to tell me.
“Don't sweat the small stuff ... and it's all small stuff.”
She was right.
When I mentioned the rock garden, I added, “And, if you want to get a swimming pool, we need to make room for that next to the big garage.”
“It's funny you should mention that,” Linda said. “I almost bought a swimming pool the other day.”
She got my attention. I thought she meant a pool that cost $300-$500.
“It was on sale for $150,” she said.
“Really? How big was it?”
“It was one of those that the wall rises as you fill it..”
Our neighbor across the back yard has one of those. They have put it up every summer we have been here, I think. Theirs is pretty big.
“How big is it?” I repeated.
“I don't know. Sue has one.”
Sue is Linda's office mate. I tried a different tact.
“Is it like the size of Terry and Becca's?”
“It's pretty big. They have them at Wal-Mart. We'll have to check them out when we're shopping for Logan's presents and I'll get my groceries at Wal-Mart.”
My mouth killed me after we ate at Mario Brothers Friday at noon. I have had three teeth pulled in recent days and managed to stab myself in the mouth with a chip. It hurt all day until I got home from work about 3 a.m. Saturday and brushed my teeth and rinsed with mouthwash. Dark blood came out with the mouthwash bt my mouth immediately felt better. So, I got the soup and salad for lunch Saturday. It was delicious and I had no desire to kill my mouth again.
I am glad we bought the swimming pool, though we robably won't set it up until next year.
We are dogsitting for the newlyweds. Ed and Amanda are at the wedding of some dear friends Amanda met when she first went to Purdue. She was so concerned about attending graduate school at a big university but Ted and Maria became two of her earliest friends and Amanda learned her fears over being swallowed by the University were unfounded.
This morning, after about 7 hours of interrupted sleep, I got up and let Happy Dog out of his dog crate. He wanted to play and I was grumpy.
This was not like me. I used to really enjoy playing with Billy, our Labrador Retriever, and with Butterball, Linda's Miniature Poodle (after he adopted me – he was her birthday present).
So, I felt I was really getting the middle aged grumps, even though I turned 56 this month and 50 is supposed to be the new 30.
So, I was glad to buy the swimming pool (it was n sale for $100 – the sign receipt said we saved $149). We will enjoy it. I have new motivation to eat healthy and become a little sleeker.
We didn't get to go to Florida this year, and we might not next year, Linda said. (My banker wife is keeper of the exchequer.)
It was a good day.