The Real Heroes Are Dead-Remembering Rick Rescorla, Who Saved Thousands on 9/11

By James B. Stewart

A

The jogger didn’t stop, or even turn around. “I need to know what it feels like to run without shoes,” he shouted, and explained that he was writing a play, and it was set in Africa. Then he was out of earshot. Even though Susan hadn’t glimpsed his face, something about his voice made an impression. She felt sure the same could not be said about her. She hadn’t bothered with any makeup that morning and was wearing old shorts and a T-shirt.

The next morning, she and the dog, Buddy, were again on their walk when a dark-green Lincoln Mark VIII pulled up, and a man inside said hello. She recognized the voice from the previous day. “Why not come to breakfast?” he asked.

Susan saw that the man had an open, friendly face and a direct gaze. “I can’t—I have the dog,” she said.

He seemed genuinely disappointed, so Susan proposed an alternative.

“Why don’t you come have coffee on the patio,” she said. She gave him the address of her town house, just around the corner.

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KY Stargazzer

Certified News Nut, Published Hobby Songwriter/Poet, Writer, & Citizen Journalist. From the Bluegrass State of Kentucky. Home of the Kentucky Derby and best bourbon in the world.  I enjoy anything astronomy, space program, into all sports, and all forms of music. I enjoy people, humor, and good conversation. And I support Donald Trump and make no excuses for it!  

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