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| 9/11 Memorial at Pepperdine University |
(Wanted to re-publish in honor of Berry.)
On September 11, 2001 I woke up to the sound of Susan, my girlfriend at the time, yelling in to my answering machine.
"You gotta wake up. A second plane just hit the World Trade Center!"
Clearly our country was under attack. And I called my dad. He was
wondering who did it. I knew it was Al Qaeda because my brother had told
me years before about the 1998
Nightline interview with Osama Bin Laden.
That they had declared war on all citizens of the United States. They
had already attacked the WTC in 1991 and US embassies in East Africa.
My
step-dad, Michael, had a court case that afternoon in NY. So he took
the red-eye in from Los Angeles. My mom and I didn't know if he was on
one of the planes that hit the buildings or if he was on one of the
other ones still flying around. Or if he was in one of the buildings as
his case was to be tried in World Trade Center 7 that afternoon. It was
total chaos. And for hours cell
phones didn't work because the emergency overloaded the system.
Finally, my mom gets an email from my step-dad's Blackberry. "I am ok."
We rejoiced. He had gone straight to his hotel room and gone to sleep
oblivious. He landed safely in NY within minutes of the 1st plane
hitting the tower.
I went back upstairs and as I watched the gigantic masses of steel that
were the World Trade Center tumble to the ground looking like so many
toys, I called some friends that I knew didn't have TV, were probably
still asleep and wouldn't have a clue what was going on.
I remember describing what was happening to my friend Jeff, who didn't have a TV and was just listening on the radio. I
actually said to Jeff that it's got to be only a matter of time before
we hear about someone we know that was on one of the 4 planes or working
in the towers.
A couple minutes later I get a call from my friend Brent. He is very
distraught. He says, "We think Elvis's mom was on one of the planes."
She was near Boston at their house on Cape Cod. I had hooked Elvis up
with his first ever solo show for that night. It was to be at the
Rainbow Bar & Grill.
Being the ebullient, ever-loving soul that she was, Elvis's mom
conspired with some of her close friends in LA to surprise him and come
see his first show. Knowing her it made complete sense. She loved her
boys Oz and El. She wouldn't have missed it for the world.
On all the channels they had the hot line to call to find out if your
friend or loved one might be on one of the planes. I called it.
"Was Berry Perkins on any of the flight manifests?" The response after
15 seconds was a bit of a relieved, "no" from the American Airlines
employee on the other end of the line.
Then I ask, "What about Berry Berenson?" The reply, "Are you a family
member?" I say "No." She says, "I can't reveal that information unless
you are a family member. Please hold." I just hung up.
Her flight was American Airlines Flight 11. The first plane to hit the towers.
The next amount of time is all a blur, but I called Elvis. And some other friends and lost it with my mom.
We went from the elation of knowing that Michael was safe and sound
asleep in his hotel room to the out of control despair of losing Elvis's
mom in a matter of minutes.
Next call we get is from my step-mom. My dad has gone in to emergency
surgery. Cardiac ablation. They sort of vaporize little pieces of the
heart muscle that are beating erratically to tune it up.
A few days earlier my dad's heart had stopped for 3 or 4 seconds.
He was walking through the hospital doing rounds on a Sunday. He fell
backwards on to the concrete floor and hit his head. His colleagues took
care of him immediately. On Monday September 10th, he missed one of the
small handful of work days he ever missed in his mighty career that
continues to this day. Doctor's orders.
But on this morning when I called him to talk about the terrorist
attacks, he had already been awake and at a meeting for several hours.
So
an hour after finding out Michael was alive and Berry was gone, my dad
was in emergency surgery that was to last for several hours.
The only thing we could do was gather the troops and head to Elvis's
house. The airline couldn't completely confirm if his mom was on the
plane or not. We still had a little hope that maybe she missed the
flight.
I remember standing out on his deck on Seattle
Drive off Woodrow Wilson in the middle of the Hollywood Hills and
hearing the eerie silence of no planes in the air.
I
remember not knowing what to do, but just hugging Elvis when hours later
the airline finally called to confirm that his mom boarded the plane.
I remember when we all held hands in a circle out on the deck and Pat
Ast sang the Lord's Prayer and a little bumble bee kept landing on our
hands forcing us to break the circle and laugh right in the middle of all
that pain. Elvis had written the song "While You Were Sleeping" a
couple years before for his mom, and in that song he calls her, "My Honey B."
He played that song at her memorial a few days later.
I remember when my mom called on my old StarTac cell phone that barely worked to let me know that my dad was alright. It
was while we were in that circle with the bee landing on my hand and
after the 5 hour operation they performed on him that day was done.
I remember going home and my mom cooking dinner. Our eyes glazed over and dazed from the day's events.
I
spent the better part of the next year going to Elvis's house helping
out or trying to at least in any way. Cleaning up, being quiet, being
loud, and playing music, listening, joking around. Pretending to be
normal. Or not. Being a friend. It's what we do.
I
remember stopping at the florist in my suit on the way to Berry's
memorial. And the florist inquired, "What's the occasion?" And I told
him. And he started rummaging around helping me choose and gave me that
whole huge beautiful bouquet of flowers for free.
Berry
was trusting and kind to a fault. She helped teach me that not only
what you create in some defined artistic medium is art. Whether it be
music or painting or some other academically restrained model. But
instead that
all of life itself is an art. Loving, eating, laughing, having an open heart. Going to the grocery store. Smiling. Everything.
It's
such a lofty goal to even try to strive to be as free and caring as
her. And I'm not so good at it all the time. But I learned a lot from
her. And she helped open my eyes to the greatness within other people
who embrace life so fully. With so much forgiveness and love. Like my
mom and dad. And so many others that I am so lucky to know.
And
I remember thinking whoever that was sitting next to her on that plane
was so lucky. Because she would have made them feel so comfortable and
important in those few moments of meeting them. Like she made me feel.
And every one else that met her.
Elvis wrote the song
"While You Were Sleeping" about his mom probably in the late 90's in
their house on Cape Cod while she was literally taking a nap. Here he is
playing it on the Late Show with David Letterman all those years later
on June 13, 2007. And here we are on the cusp of another anniversary
of 9/11/01.
While You Were Sleeping
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