We telephoned the judge on the bench. We didn’t know if any of the jurors or attorneys might have family in New York and we needed to find out what was going on. The judge called a short recess. Everyone gathered in the tiny office of one of the court reporters. She kept a portable TV at her desk to watch the soaps during lunch. Everyone was huddled together– young prosecutors, semi-retired bailiffs, eccentric defense attorneys, down-to-earth secretaries – all with eyes fixed on the news reports emanating from this little black-and-white screen. We watched in silent disbelief as the second plane hit. Scenes of Pearl Harbor from old WWII movies flashed in my mind. We were at war. Under attack from some unknown foreign government, but which one? The Judge went back on the bench to calmly explain the situation as we knew it, and re-set the trial. There would be phone calls to make. Family and friends in New York and DC to check on. Plans to make. Loved ones to hug. Everything would be different.

That night, I was back in my apartment watching the TV news when my brother called to tell me about my grandfather. At 92-years-old, retired Treasury Auditor Norman Floyd Lemme was in the comfort and safety of his living room in the Midwest, in front of his own TV, when his heart failed him. I will never know if the questions of the day or the memories of wars past were too much for that dear man to endure. It grieves me to know he did not see the way we persevered in the weeks and years that followed, the way we came together, worked harder, went back to the airports, gave blood. Some of us (me at least) found a vocation: A new agency where I could combine the versatility of a law clerk with the expertise of an immigration lawyer into a career serving the public like my grandfather before me. I think it would make him proud. I really do.