I’m an unabashed Anglophile; from Monty Python to Masterpiece Theater. As with most people, I’m appalled by what happened in Manchester, on Monday May 22nd, 2017.
I live in Tucson, Arizona, but grew up in Brooklyn, New York and lived through 9/11. Almost sixteen years later, and with many more internet advances, I remember people looking for the missing. In 2001, it was in Union Square Park in Manhattan. Today, with Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, YouTube, and Snapchat, (I’ve probably left some out). The images of the missing are everywhere. There were many more victims of 9/11, but one is one too many.
I remember the spirit of New York and another city close to my heart, Boston, Massachusetts, after the Boston Marathon bombing four years ago. (I lived in Boston and married a Bostonian). I remember the grit of the people, Boston Red Sox players visiting the injured on their sometimes long roads to recovery.
I won’t mention the name of the Manchester bomber. A ballroom dancer, who lost a leg in the Boston bombing put it best. “He didn’t bother to learn my name before he blew me up, so why should I bother to learn his.”
I admired the speakers outside Manchester City Hall, speaking to a grieving, but gritty city. Of course kudos to Paula Robinson, the Angel of Manchester. Why some people run from danger and some run towards it to save others.
Manchester, this Yank stands with you!