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Detective Sgt. Mare Sheehan from “Mare of Easttown” and Chief of Police Del Harris from “American Rust” mine different turf in Pennsylvania about five hours’ drive from one another, what with Sheehan working a small town near Philadelphia while Harris patrols an area in the Southwestern part of the state — but if they ever happened to run into each in a bar and exchanged pleasantries, they’d find out they had a lot in common. They’re both middle-aged, world-weary, emotionally damaged souls whose respective territories are rife with murder cases involving young people, complicated family relationships and combustible romances.

Oh, and neither is above bending the law if that’s what it will take to protect someone close to them.

Thing is, Mare is mixed up in a more compelling, more suspenseful and more colorful world than Chief Harris in “American Rust,” a Showtime limited series based on Philipp Meyer’s novel of the same name. Set in the bleak, economically depressed, seemingly always brown-and-gray fictional town of Buell, Pennsylvania, this is a sincere and sometimes effective but plodding portrayal of lower-middle-class despair and a town filled with residents who are either on the way down or struggling to stay on their feet after recovering from one hard punch after another. (The closed and rusted-out mills loom in the background as a haunting reminder of what once was.)

The always-watchable Daniels leads a wonderful ensemble cast in a story with occasional flashes of inspiration — but based on the first three episodes provided for review, “American Rust” too often gets bogged down in meandering subplots, and some truly clunky dialogue. (It’s never a good sign when a woman looks into the eyes of the conflicted antihero during a time of crisis and declares, “You’re a good man,” and then says his full name, as if we’re in a 1950s B-movie Western.)

Daniels’ Police Chief Del Harris is a stone-faced loner, Iraq War veteran and former Pittsburgh police detective who has moved to the town of Buell in the rural southwest section of Pennsylvania. Del is trying to wean himself from the cocktail of prescription drugs he takes to cope with his PTSD, so each morning he meticulously grinds the pills into a fine powder in increasingly smaller increments, weighing the pile on a scale and then scooping it into his drink. Then it’s off to make his rounds in a Rust Belt town where the unemployment rate has skyrocketed and even if you’re lucky enough to have a job tending bar or sewing wedding dresses in a local shop, it’s a struggle to make ends meet.

Del is in love with Grace Poe (Maura Tierney), but it’s complicated, as Grace is separated from but not yet entirely free from her no-good husband Virgil (Mark Pellegrino). There’s also the matter of Grace’s son Billy (Alex Nuestaedter), a high school football star who turned down a D-1 scholarship to help out his mom but is now lost and angry — especially after the love of his life, Lee (Julia Mayorga), fled for New York City. That left Lee’s troubled brother and Billy’s best friend Isaac (David Alvarez) to care for Lee’s and Isaac’s father Henry (Bill Camp), who was injured in a work accident and is in a wheelchair and spews bile at everyone and anyone at every opportunity.

This is one sunny bunch.

When Del discovers a body in an abandoned mill and it’s clear a murder has transpired, he has a pretty good idea of who did it — but he puts the investigation and his career into jeopardy when he has an impulsive reaction at the scene of the crime and hides a key piece of evidence before further law enforcement personnel arrive. We now have our murder mystery, our troublesome romantic triangles and our complex family dynamics, all intertwining as the case expands and Del somehow becomes even more glum than when we first met him, and what’s the deal with Isaac hopping on a train to escape town like he’s in a 1930s Depression movie?

There are times when “American Rust” gets things just right, e.g., an extended wedding sequence that feels authentic in every detail (of course everyone would hit the dance floor to Kool & the Gang’s “Celebration”) and is like a miniaturized version of the greatest wedding reception sequence in movie history from “The Deer Hunter,” which of course was also set in western Pennsylvania. Too often, though, we’re mired in wheel-spinning storylines. The great Canadian poet Neil Young once told us rust never sleeps, but “American Rust” takes too many naps.

Non-subscribers may view the first episode of “American Rust” free on YouTube, at sho.com and on most on-demand platforms.

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Chicago Park District Supt. Michael Kelly speaks at the ribbon-cutting ceremony Friday for the bridge replacement project at Irving Park Road in the North Center neighborhood. | Mark Capapas/Sun-Times,

“I don’t love that decision. … Anything that gives a semblance of comfort to going in that water where it says, `Do Not Swim’ [encourages people to break the rules], but we’re gonna do it,” Park District Supt. Mike Kelly said.

The Chicago Park District will install life rings in staffed locations along the lakefront and on Pratt Pier in Rogers Park — where swimming is off-limits — to prevent a repeat of the drowning that killed 19-year-old Miguel Cisneros.

A rower at St. Ignatius College Prep who spent his freshman year at Columbia University taking classes online, Cisneros drowned on Aug. 22 after jumping off Pratt Pier in Rogers Park where swimming is prohibited.

There were no life rings on the pier at the time. In fact, the Park District had removed life rings that had been installed by Rogers Park residents.

On Friday, Chicago Park District Supt. Mike Kelly reversed that decision.

He announced that life rings would now be installed on Pratt Pier and at staffed locations along the lakefront and at Park District-controlled areas along the Chicago River as part of a six-point safety plan.

The plan also includes “restricted access” through installation of fencing; additional signs; adding swimming regulations to all e-registration forms; and educational outreach that includes teaching more kids to swim by the time they reach fourth grade.

“There will be a life ring at Pratt Beach, which is normally a manned location. There will be a life ring on the pier as well. I don’t love that decision. I cannot stress enough, folks. We’re in the life-safety business. We’re in the teach-kids-to-swim business. Anything that gives a semblance of comfort to going in that water where it says, `Do Not Swim’ [encourages people to break the rules], but we’re gonna do it,” Kelly said.

“I’m not above the city. I’m not above the citizenry. … I have a loved one who was saved by a life ring years ago on the Chicago River. So, I get it. It doesn’t make my job any easier as the head of the Park District. But this decision needs to be made. There will be a life ring on the pier. there will be a life ring at the beach. There will be life rings on all manned beaches.”

Under fire from Cisneros’ friends and family, the superintendent was asked whether he regrets his decision to remove life rings installed on Pratt Pier by Rogers Park residents.

“No. … I don’t regret [it]. I don’t regret. I think I made the right decision then. I think I’m making the right decision now,” Kelly said.

Mayor Lori Lightfoot was asked a similar question after joining Kelly to cut the ribbon for the newly reconstructed Irving Park Road Bridge over the North Branch of the Chicago River.

“What we need to do is focus on how we can go forward. The life rings are important. To my simple mind, they’re like a fire extinguisher. You don’t want to encourage people to burn the buildings down. But if there’s an emergency, you have it there. The life rings are the same thing,” the mayor said.

“There’s a lot of undertows up and down the lakefront. It looks calm. But we know every year, people are challenged by struggles that they have with the lake. So we’ve gotta just keep educating people about how to enjoy this beautiful, incredible asset that we have but do it safely. Adding life rings are gonna be important. But it’s gotta be coupled with the signage and the awareness of the risk and dangers inherent in the body of water.”

Like Kelly, Lightfoot expressed misgivings about sending mixed messages by installing life rings in areas where swimming is supposed to be off-limits.

“The lake is beautiful. There’s no question about it. It certainly calls us on a bright sunny day like today. But the lake is also dangerous. … People should not take unnecessary risk. Be careful,” the mayor said.

“And while I believe that we absolutely need to expand the availability of the life rings, they are not a panacea to common sense and being smart about how you engage with bodies of water. … People do swim in the river. But there are unknown challenges and risks underneath those waters. The same with the lake.”

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A pair of Downstate men pleaded guilty Friday to charges stemming from the breach of the U.S. Capitol, admitting they spent about 20 minutes inside the building on Jan. 6.

Federal authorities in May charged Douglas K. Wangler and Bruce J. Harrison, both of the Danville area, for their role in the Capitol breach. They are the second and third known Illinoisans to plead guilty in connection with the event.

Wangler and Harrison each pleaded guilty to parading, demonstrating or picketing in a Capitol building, a Class B misdemeanor, and face no more than six months behind bars. Their sentencing has been set for Dec. 16.

At least 14 Illinoisans have faced charges so far in connection with the breach.

Documents alleged that Wangler could be seen in an 11-second video standing in the Capitol Crypt on Jan. 6, pumping his right fist in the air and chanting, “U.S.A.”

An FBI agent who viewed surveillance footage from the Capitol said he spotted Wangler with Harrison, who later told authorities he wore a New England Patriots jacket on Jan. 6 because of its patriotic colors.

Federal authorities say this image depicts Bruce J. Harrison inside the U.S. Capitol on Jan. 6, 2021.U.S. District Court records

“If walking around and singing some patriotic songs is a crime, then I guess I am guilty,” Wangler allegedly told someone later.

The videos allegedly showed Wangler and Harrison entering and exiting the Capitol, but the agent wrote that “none of the videos I reviewed depict Wangler or Harrison damaging property or participating in other violent acts.”

Wangler appears to have a connection to an obscure Star Wars character named Quinlan Vos. Posts previously viewed by the Chicago Sun-Times on Wangler’s Facebook page — which is no longer available — made reference to the character, who bears a resemblance to Wangler.

Wangler’s defense attorney has said Wangler had a “paid gig” working for Disney as a model.

Disney officials have not responded to requests for comment.

The defense attorney also told the Sun-Times in May that Wangler and Harrison “feel extreme remorse” about their role in the breach.

“If they could do it all over again, they would not have gone,” he said. “It wasn’t what they thought it was going to be.”

Bradley Rukstales, a former CEO from Inverness, late last month became the first known Illinoisan to plead guilty in the Capitol breach, which prosecutors say has led to what will likely be the largest criminal investigation in U.S. history.

Rukstales admitted he tossed a chair toward U.S. Capitol police officers who were “dozens of feet away,” and he had to be dragged behind a police line to be arrested. He faces up to six months behind bars, and his sentencing hearing is set for Nov. 12.

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The Big 12 extended membership invitations Friday for BYU, UCF, Cincinnati and Houston to join the Power Five conference that will be losing Oklahoma and Texas to the Southeastern Conference.

The eight continuing members of the Big 12 unanimously approved the applications of the four schools.

The moves come six weeks after the SEC invited Texas and Oklahoma to join its league in time for the 2025-26 season. There remains the possibility that could happen sooner, but the Big 12 is focused on its additions for now.

After identifying its primary expansion targets last week, the Big 12 moved quickly to make it happen. The four schools had previously been vetted and interviewed by the league in 2016 when it considered expansion before staying at 10 teams.

BYU said all its sports will begin Big 12 schedules in the 2023-24 athletic season. BYU is an independent in football, but competes in the West Coast Conference for basketball and its Olympic sports.

UCF, Houston and Cincinnati are in the American Athletic Conference, which requires members to give 27 months’ notice if they plan to leave the league, though there could be negotiations between the schools and that league to reduce the time before beginning Big 12 play.

“Today’s news confirms what we have said all along regarding our status as a power conference,” AAC Commissioner Mike Aresco said. “The irony that three of our schools are being asked to take the place of the two marquee schools which are leaving the Big 12 is not lost on us. Our conference was targeted for exceeding expectations in a system that wasn’t designed to accommodate our success.”

Aresco said the AAC expected Houston, Cincinnati and UCF to “abide by the conference bylaws to ensure an amicable and orderly transition” as the league considers its options.

The Longhorns and Sooners have said they will honor their current contracts with the Big 12 and do not plan to join the SEC until 2025, when the conference’s current television rights contracts with ESPN and Fox run out. If they did stay, the Big 12 could have up to 14 members for at least a season or two.

With the additions, the Big 12 will be spread across eight states and three time zones. There are more than 2,300 miles between the UCF campus in Orlando and BYU in Provo, Utah. Once settled in the Big 12, the Knights and Cougars will both face average trips of around 1,300 miles each way when traveling for conference games.

West Virginia still will average about 1,100 miles each way on the road, but the Mountaineers at least picked up a relatively short trip with Cincinnati just more than 300 miles from Morgantown. Houston faces much shorter trips for its Texas-based foes.

“Joining the Big 12 Conference is a historic step in our institutional journey and signifies the tremendous growth and success attained academically and athletically over the last decade,” Houston chancellor Renu Kahtor said.

Half of the league’s 12 charter members will remain when Texas and Oklahoma are gone.

The Big 12 began play in 1996, when all the Big Eight Conference teams (Colorado, Iowa State, Kansas, Kansas State, Missouri, Nebraska, Oklahoma and Oklahoma State) joined four Texas schools from the old Southwest Conference (Baylor, Texas, Texas A&M and Texas Tech) to form a new league split into six-team divisions.

Arkansas had left the SWC a few years earlier to join an expanded 12-team SEC, starting play there with South Carolina in the 1992 season. The SEC is now set to grow to 16 teams, with its last four additions all coming from the Big 12.

The Big 12 has been a 10-team league since the last significant round of conference realignment a decade ago that started with Nebraska going to the Big Ten and Colorado to the Pac-12, before Texas A&M and Missouri left for the SEC. TCU and West Virginia, the two teams added then, are both now in their 10th Big 12 season.

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In the first act of Theater Wit’s eerily timely, superficially ridiculous staging of “Mr. Burns, a post-electric play,” the musical’s mood whiplashes between mounting dread and inexorable silliness. At lights up (barely up, per the world the title evokes) we’re in the “very near future,” witnessing a campfire tended by bedraggled LARP enthusiasts specializing in reenactments of episodes of “The Simpsons.”

Actually, “enthusiasts” isn’t right. The crew in Anne Washburn’s post-apocalyptic tale (music by Michael Friedman, lyrics by Washburn) are obsessives, clinging to the world of Homer Simpson and Co. like Odysseus clinging to the mast.

Now in an open run directed by Jeremy Wechsler (a revival of the company’s 2015 production), the adventures of the cartoon Simpsons — parents Homer and Marge, their children Bart, Lisa and their arch-enemy Mr. Burns — morph into lore in Washburn’s post-electric world. As years pass, the Simpsons’ adventures become origin stories of a recreated world and cautionary tales of the one that’s been destroyed. It’s as sublime as it is absurd.

Filtered through the Simpsons, shards of dialogue explain what drove the group into the woods: The grid went down. The reactors melted. The cities emptied out, except for the dead left to rot where they fell.

Will Wilhelm (front) and Andrew Jessop star in Theater Wit’s “Mr. Burns, a post-electric play.”Charles Osgood

After the first act’s “Mikado”-inspired inspired finale (featuring Jonah D. Winston in a memorable rendition of “Three Little Maids”), the second act picks up seven years later. The campfire collective has pivoted to an embryonic form of capitalism. Survival alone might be insufficient to sustain the soul.

The final act takes place 75 years after the second. Primitive wigs and costumes have been upgraded. A painted backdrop evokes the Simpsons’ adventures as an elaborate cave painting. The battle against evil Mr. Burns starts to resemble something by Sophocles, complete with a chorus of angels delivering chant-like dirges through a blood-drenched denouement.

Under Wechsler’s careful direction, “Mr. Burns” needs to lose a solid 20 minutes, an easy fix given the repetitiveness of some scenes and the obsessively detailed Simpsons’ minutia.

But once the cast production finds its rhythm in the second act, “Mr. Burns” sweeps you into its weirdly funny, dystopian world.

Leslie Ann Sheppard stars as Quincy/Bart in Theater Wit’s eerily timely staging of “Mr. Burns, a post-electric play.”Charles Osgood

Wechsler’s ensemble maintains energy throughout the show’s wild ride. Everyone is double- or triple-cast, charged with playing both a Simpsons character (or two) and a survivor. As Quincy/Bart, Leslie Ann Sheppard brings the gravity of Odysseus into the petulant bombast of the yellow-haired cartoon child. Bart’s an unlikely charismatic leader, but Sheppard makes him heroic, somehow without dimming his obnoxiousness.

As Sam/Mr. Burns, Andrew Jessop leans into the latter with the ferocity of a chainsaw on blast. He chews the scenery to sawdust. Then, he eats the sawdust. That’s not a read: The more preposterously monstrous Mr. Burns becomes, the more he sucks you into his wickedly charismatic orbit.

And keep an eye on Wil Wilhelm as Jenny/Marge/Mrs. Krabapel. Costumed like a battered, underwater Statue of Liberty, they are the humming coil that runs the length of the third act, sending out vocals that prove “falsetto belt” is not an necessarily an oxymoron.

Costume designers Mara Blumenfeld and Mieka Van der Ploeg’s elaborate, DIY-aesthetic garb is filled with marvels: Laundry baskets serving as petticoats, garbage bags as fit-and-flare skirts, wigs made of buckets, soccer balls and rubber gloves, wings crafted from plastic cutlery.

In the end, “Mr. Burns” is both a story of creation and destruction. Love may win, as the angel chorus tells us, but hate leaves scars. It’s a brutal, compelling message.

NOTE: Proof of vaccination or a negative COVID-19 test from the past 48 hours is required for all audience members per the theater’s safety protocols at theaterwit.org.

Catey Sullivan is a freelance writer.

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A decade ago, I looked back at Sept. 11, 2001 on its 10th anniversary, recalled its “crashing planes, burning buildings, tumbling bodies” and noted, “it hardly needs to be recounted now.”

Of course not. Because the wounds of the attacks on the World Trade Center, the Pentagon, and the hijacked flight that went down in Shanksville, Pennsylvania, were too fresh to require much description, but too raw to overlook.

Remembering was a duty. The lives lost that day — almost 3.000 — demanded attention. Demanded to be put into context, to understand how enormous a loss it really was.

“More Americans died on 9/11 than in the War of 1812,” I wrote. “It was the bloodiest morning on American soil since the Civil War.”

Things have changed. In 2021, we don’t need to reach into the 19th century in search of perspective. We can look back to a week ago Thursday — 9/2 — a date which will live in obscurity, when 2,937 Americans were killed by the current foe attacking our country, COVID-19.

Or Feb. 10, when 3,254 died. Or Jan. 21: 4,135. Or hundreds of other days. About 650,000 Americans slain, out of sight, the nation hardly noticing, never mind honoring its loss. Yet killed all the same by a far more lethal foreign assailant.

It’s impossible to weigh 9/11 without looking around at today.

Okay, it is possible. Lots of Americans do it. Post the black velvet painting of an eagle shedding a tear, crank up “Wind Beneath My Wings.”

Too many Americans wallow in that kind of thing, indulging their infinite capacity to portray themselves as victims, continually attacked, suborned, betrayed, their recent election victory snatched away by forces they can’t identify, in a fashion they can’t explain, never mind prove.

To them, 9/11 is a gift, the gift of being wronged, which gives them carte blanche to unleash their inner demons. A convenient moment to take out the syringe of self-pity and shoot up. A godsend, a chance to hate the people they already hated, to lash out at immigrants, the dark-skinned, people of a different religion.

Could there be a greater disrespect? To turn 9/11 into an excuse.

Sept. 11 hurt our nation, and caused unfathomable suffering to the innocent. But those precious lives lost were only the start, the initial hurt, the center of an expanding shock wave of damage that followed. The wars in countries that had scant connection to the attack: Iraq, Afghanistan. Installing a ridiculous security theater that has billions shuffling shoeless through airport checkpoints, losing lifetimes in a different way. Creating a sadistic mockery of our legal system at Guantanamo Bay. Failing to care for those first responders who rushed to help, who worked the pile, and came down with diseases from the airborne debris. Easy to venerate a photo of three firefighters raising a flag on the rubble. Much harder to treat them for leukemia.

Sept. 11 made many Americans afraid, and a frightened population will follow a supposed strong man peddling the addictive drug of perceived safety, a fraud who promises to keep all the enemies at bay, then tries to wish away the ones he can’t, like a rapidly spreading disease.

Sept. 11 led to 20 years of American policy failure. Yet how can the response to 9/11 be criticized when COVID-19 represents failure on a grander scale? From the botched early reaction, when the disease was ignored and minimized, to now, when the intellectual heirs of that initial shameful surrender are seen across the country, unashamed, vigorously causing new deaths through vaccine refusal and an almost insane bias against masks and social distancing. How can we even pretend to solemnly mark a disaster of 20 years ago in the midst of such a widespread, ongoing calamity? It’s like holding a little candle ceremony in the chapel of the airport, joining hands and singing “Amazing Grace,” while an army of terrorists slip box cutters into their carry-ons and set out on today’s attack through unguarded gates.

How can you pretend to honor first responders of 20 years ago while mocking the nurses and doctors battling on the front lines right now? You can’t. Or at least, you shouldn’t. We suffer a Sept. 11 of loss every day. Sept. 11 was an outside attack, committed by enemies. COVID-19 is an outside attack magnified by our own ignorance, malice, fear, disunion and distrust.

Remember that on Saturday.

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Simeon coach Robert Smith is the only active coach in the state with six state championships.

He’s also the only coach in the state with four active NBA players and a fifth battling for a roster spot.

“I have the NBA League Pass just for that reason,” said Smith with a proud laugh.

This has been an extremely busy — and for some a very lucrative — offseason for a bunch of former Illinois prep basketball products, especially for a trio of Simeon grads.

During the first week of August when NBA free agency opened, Simeon greats Derrick Rose (Class of 2007), Kendrick Nunn (Class of 2013) and Talen Horton-Tucker (Class of 2018) all signed multi-year contracts.

After rejuvenating his career, Rose is headed back to the Knicks with a three-year deal worth $43 million. The former NBA MVP with the Bulls in 2011 will have made just under $200 million when this current contract expires in 2024 at the age of 35.

Both Horton-Tucker and Nunn signed with the Lakers, teaming up with Lebron James and another former Chicago high school star, Anthony Davis.

Horton-Tucker signed a three-year contract that will pay him $32 million, while Nunn signed a two-year deal worth $10 million. Considering Nunn averaged 15.3 points a game two years ago when he was the NBA Rookie of the Year runner-up and put up 14.6 points a game this past season, the Lakers signing the lefty guard appears to be a free agent steal.

The second year on Nunn’s contract is a player option, so Nunn could test the free agency market again next offseason.

“I think it’s a luxury that those two will be playing together,” said Smith.

When you add what’s left on Jabari Parker’s contract with the Celtics, the four Simeon players will have just over $87 million owed to them over the next several years.

Zach Norvell (Simeon Class of 2017) continues to fight for a NBA roster spot. The 6-5 guard who starred collegiately at Gonzaga has played in five career NBA games — all during the 2019-20 season with the Lakers and Warriors.

Norvell played last month for the San Antonio Spurs summer league team and will continue to try and hook on with a team this fall.

These handful of Simeon players join a list that includes past Wolverines Nick Anderson and Bobby Simmons as NBA players.

“I feel so proud of them,” said Smith of his former players. “Watching them all grow up as kids, seeing the hard work they have put in and to reach their dreams? It’s pretty amazing. And not taking anything away from Derrick and Jabari, but they were phenoms, top five kids in the country. But with Talen, Kendrick and Zach, those are three who other people never game a chance to make the NBA.”

Smith plans on being in Los Angeles for opening night to catch Nunn and Horton-Tucker when the Lakers face the Warriors next month. He also lucked out with Simeon playing in Boston in the afternoon on Jan. 15. The Celtics and Parker will play that night at home.

“This isn’t just big for Simeon, it’s big for the city of Chicago,” said Smith. “These are kids from a basketball program at a public school on the South Side of Chicago.”

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This account from Howie Rumberg, now deputy sports editor for The Associated Press, is excerpted from the book “September 11: The 9/11 Story, Aftermath and Legacy.” Rumberg came out of a lower Manhattan subway the morning of Sept. 11, 2001, and found himself in the midst of chaos.

Seventeen minutes. Twenty years later, unraveling the morning of Sept. 11, it feels like an eternity.

About 17 minutes passed between the time I stepped out of the subway station at Canal Street to rush-hour shouts of disbelief and horror seconds after American Airlines flight 11 struck the north tower, and the shocking boom of United Airlines flight 175 crashing into the south tower as I stood one block north of the World Trade Center complex.

Just off an overnight shift in the AP sports department, a night that began by catching a glimpse of Michael Jackson emerging from Madison Square Garden into a shower of flashing strobe lights from fans and photographers, all I could think of was sleep — until I saw the jagged, burning hole in Tower One.

The explanation seemed implausible: A plane had flown right into the building. It had just happened. I didn’t even hear sirens yet, just the chorus of “Oh, my God!” from people instantly halted in their morning hustle.

I sprinted the 100 yards or so home, woke my girlfriend and breathlessly told her to look out the window. I then took her cell phone — I didn’t even have one then — and called the office. Did they need help?

“Yes. Go!” I was told by a voice I didn’t know.

I sprinted down Hudson Street, shouting at stunned people looking up at the building that we took for granted each day as it loomed over our neighborhood, “Did anyone see what happened?” A construction worker tried to describe the white bottom of a low-flying plane, but he was too shaken to focus.

The closer I got to the scene, the more intense the emotion got. Groups of gawkers formed on corners. Others raced away at the urging of just-arriving police. People on phones trying to explain where they were and what was happening.

People run from the collapse of World Trade Center Tower on Sept. 11, 2001.Suzanne Plunkett / AP file

As I approached the World Trade Center, it became apparent that it wasn’t debris falling from the higher floors but people overcome by the smoke and heat. It was shattering. But I focused on what I felt I needed to do.

Remembering the pictures from the first attacks on the World Trade Center in 1993, I ran for West Street, the western edge of the Trade Center and a large thoroughfare where many emergency vehicles gathered during those attacks. And there it was: a growing hive of flashing lights a few blocks south. I didn’t think it was a smart place to be if I wanted to remain close by, with all the police around, so I turned to walk back toward a more pedestrian-focused area.

Then an explosion jerked my attention back up to the sky. The building was not in view, but you could see the flames, black cloud and debris bursting out from what was certainly the south tower.

In an instant, the tone changed.

The shock — a plane hit the World Trade Center! — turned to terror and chaos once that emphatic strike made it obvious that New York City was under attack. Commuters turned scared gawkers became sprinters. One woman ran right out of her shoes. A man in a suit and tie dropped his briefcase and took off. I thought, “Why’d he have to leave the briefcase?” The silver case sat on Greenwich Street as people scrambled for safety. I’m not sure anything felt safe in that moment, in a place most likely crushed not too much later by the debris of the collapsed north tower.

On a corner just two blocks north of the towers, a woman paused. Through sobs, she screamed: “What’s happening to my city?” Then she ran off.

Twenty years later, with almost an entire generation gone by, I’m still not sure whether I have her answer.

Smoke rises from the burning twin towers of the World Trade Center after hijacked planes crashed into the towers on Sept. 11, 2001.Richard Drew / AP file

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