Suzanne Rice

Aug 12 2023

On An Ordinary Day – 9-11-2001

by Cindy Maxson

“Good morning. What’s on your agenda today?”

“You know, same old, same old, meetings, lunch with a group that’s in town. I want to get in early, so I have time to get some work done before everyone else shows up.”

“I’ll get your coffee started while you get ready.”

He was ready in no time, and I had his coffee and OJ on the counter for him to gulp and run. As I watched him leave, he tapped the brake lights as a way of saying goodbye again. The routine was comfortable and the same most mornings. After he left, I checked my calendar to see what was on my agenda. It was September 11, 2001. Nothing urgent so I made a cup of tea and put on Good Morning America to get my daily feed of news and current affairs. When the show was about to end the commentator looked shocked. She said they would be extending the broadcast because they just got word that a plane had hit the World Trade Center. Soon, an announcement that a second plane had also hit the towers. I thought, “Oh my God! Bonnie works there and so does Tony, and I think Mary is going for an interview there today.”

I called my husband and said to find a television “you won’t believe what’s happened.” He said, “We already have one on. Everyone is in my office watching.” As the morning progressed, the news just got worse – the plane over PA, the Pentagon………

How quickly the everyday routine dissolves when tragedy strikes. Suddenly, the lazy half daze of what is routine crystalizes into sharp focus and we begin to take stock of all that we cherish.

The country is being attacked. How can this be happening? Who would do this? Are my friends ok? Where is my family? Watching the towers crumble was horrifying. I sat silently as I thought of all those I knew who might be in peril and the city I had always loved so much

New York City had always been the ultimate treat in my life. I lived on the New Jersey side of the river from New York City in the town of Rahway. It was about twenty miles outside of NYC on the commuter line. My mother would take my sister and I to plays, museums, lunch at the Automat, Radio City Music Hall, the Statue of Liberty and occasionally dinner at Mamma Leone’s. It was always a dress up occasion. We would walk the city streets in our dress shoes until we could no longer feel our feet, but it was worth it just to be there.

**New York Automat** (historyassociates)

**Mamma Leone’s Ristorante** (mnhallblog)

**Radio City Music Hall** (worldstrides)

New York had a rhythm that was best described by the music Leonard Bernstein composed for the song “New York, New York, It’s a Wonderful Town”. As you watch people walk the streets, you can almost see the up and down tempo.

Like so many other families, my ancestors had a history in New York City. They had immigrated there for what they hoped would be a better life. They came through Ellis Island to what was the ever changing ethnic and geographic landscape that was Manhattan.

**Ellis Island in 1907** (statueofliberty.org)

They made a life there. One grandfather was a baker, the other a trainman on the New York to Washington route. One grandmother was a hotel maid and the other a hat designer.

Part of what makes New York City so culturally rich is its ethnic diversity. It is thought to be the most linguistically diverse in the world with over 800 languages and dialects spoken (Wikipedia). Yet on the days leading up to 9/11, there was no common language found to divert the devastation that was that day.

Often, we live in blissful ignorance of the world around us. I could not have easily found Afghanistan on a map prior to 9/11. I had no idea what philosophy could manifest such hate. I’m sure many of the nearly 3000 people who were targets in the multiple locations might have said the same. Some of the people affected that day were friends and acquaintances.

I met Bonnie my first year at school in New York. Our school was located on East 53rd street just off 5th Avenue. She opted not to come back to school the second year. Instead, she went to work for a bank located in the World Trade Center. By the greatest of luck, she was not at work that day.

Mary was my first friend in the neighborhood. We met when we were four years old. We have shared a lifetime of experiences together. She was headed for an interview on the morning of 9/11 at the World Trade Center. She stopped at her recruiter’s office first, not far from her intended destination. While in his office they heard what sounded like an explosion. That sound was the first plane hitting the first tower. When she left the recruiter’s office, she heard the police trying to calm people. They said that there had been an accident and a plane had clipped one of the buildings. By the time the second building was hit, it was obvious it was no accident. She stood on the street watching as the buildings began to crumble. She began to fear she was in a war zone. That day would impact her life for many years to come.

Tony was my husband’s business associate. He worked for a firm in the World Trade Center that had a long history with my husband’s company He came to our city more often than my husband went to New York so on occasion my husband would bring him home for dinner. Tony knew that I had a connection to New York and suggested that I accompany my husband the next time there was business there. I had not been back in many years. He invited us to his beautiful home, a brownstone, before going to dinner with him and his wife. One of my last memories of Tony was in my own kitchen. He was talking to my husband while I cooked. He said, “I just turned 50. My twin boys are 8. I worry that I can’t keep up with them.” Who could have ever imagined that this man with so much to live for would have gone to work one day and never come home again.

How do you talk about the unspeakable? I learned a long time ago that my husband never did. As close as we were, some things were just too painful to share. This would be another one of those times.

My husband never met a stranger. If he saw the cafeteria lady, the elevator operator, or the receptionist at a company he did business with, the next time he saw them he would remember their faces and know their names. How much more difficult it must have been for him that day because not only did he lose a work friend, Tony, but he would remember the faces of all those lost who he had been in meetings with and those who kept the day-to-day running of the companies. He would be able to picture the offices and imagine the chaos.

Until I started writing this, I don’t think I ever gave myself permission to put into words how I felt about that day. After all, I was still standing. I wasn’t in the city that day. It didn’t affect me directly. Did it? It’s amazing how much we can suppress. In all these years, I have never been back to New York. September 11, 2001 became for me, as Don McLean wrote in the lyrics for the song “American Pie” “the day the music died.”

On what started out as an ordinary day, the world, ours included, had changed forever.

Remembering Tub

July 17, 2023

Aug 02 2023

Honor – The Harder Right – 2001

“Get yourself a good lawyer,” was the advice I kept hearing. I had just been selected to run a large water agency in Florida, and although people seemed genuinely glad for me, they all commented how “political” the job was. No problem. On active duty with the Army Corps of Engineers I had held several high-vis, high pressure jobs that required finesse and a cool head, and I survived them. I was confident that I could handle a tough, demanding job, but I decided getting an advocate to help me negotiate my employment arrangements made a lot of sense.

At a complete loss where to start, I called Bob Kimmitt, who, I knew, would have a couple of classmates’ names to recommend. Bob suggested Ralph Artigliere – an old friend I was happy to call. Ralph had a partner, Jon Anderson (another 69er), who was well-versed in employment law. I didn’t know Jon, but having a classmate at my side was exactly the honest broker I needed.

Jon and I quickly developed a good friendship and effective working relationship. He asked tough questions, interviewed a number of key officials, and reviewed pertinent law. His bottom line to me was to turn down the offer. No real protections for me, no guarantees, and lots of risks. We talked about it at length, but I had the “fever”……I wanted the job and the risks. We shook hands, and Jon left town. I would never see Jon again; this outstanding man would perish in a plane crash in 2003.

Fast forward 18 months or so. By then, I had established myself as a solid leader of the water agency. I had handled staff shakeups, emergency operations during hurricanes and flooding, intense press coverage, a contentious Governing Board, and a strong-willed Chairman.

**Briefing Gov. Jeb Bush at an Emergency Operations Meeting**

I frequently briefed the governor, as we were the lead agency with the Corps of Engineers on the massive Everglades Restoration Program.

**Historical Look at the Everglades Project**

Some of my friends told me I was on a fast-track to move to the “big time.” After all, the governor’s brother was the president! I thought I was riding pretty high.

**President Bush Visits the Everglades in 2000**

About then I came to my “harder right” moment. From left field, I started getting pressure to fire a key deputy (for reasons that seemed pretty thin.) I resisted, but the pressure kept ratcheting higher. Governing Board members (my bosses) called me at home with advice. Most of it was along the lines: “go along to get along. Don’t ruin your own bright future to save a guy who’s already damaged goods.”

Problem was that this man was being railroaded for reasons that were completely fabricated; they just wanted him gone. He was my chief negotiator for huge land purchases for the state – a job handling millions of dollars, acres, and egos. And he was considered totally impartial, highly competent, and incorruptible. Just the kind of person I needed in that key position. I could only conclude that the “powers that be” wanted their own person in that role – someone who could be controlled.

Since I never became EPA Administrator, you probably guessed that I didn’t fire that individual. But I was no longer the fair-haired boy. Clearly, I couldn’t be trusted to be on “The Team.” Some key relationships were severed. Within the year, I submitted my resignation. A very tough chapter of my life had concluded. But by choosing the harder right over the easier wrong, I had earned a tremendous amount of support and respect. I received an unbelievable wave of public support and important validation from industry and government contacts. Ironically, it was a significant reputation-building experience. I became highly sought after by numerous organizations and business leaders, including my next employer. People closest to the action understood and appreciated the decisions I had made.

I am convinced that the emphasis West Point put on character, integrity, and doing the right thing carried me over the roughest times. I was definitely being pressured to take the “easier wrong,” but I knew I couldn’t live with that decision. I’m proud of the path I chose, and I hope it gave others some inspiration to choose the harder right.

Excerpts from the West Point Cadet Prayer

Strengthen and increase our admiration for honest dealing and clean thinking, and suffer not our hatred of hypocrisy and pretense ever to diminish. Encourage us in our endeavor to live above the common level of life. Make us to choose the harder right instead of the easier wrong, and never to be content with a half-truth when the whole can be won.

Endow us with courage that is born of loyalty to all that is noble and worthy, that scorns to compromise with vice and injustice and knows no fear when truth and right are in jeopardy.

Jun 24 2023

Probability Baseball at MS 399, part 2 – 2000

I had a few things going for me on the baseball game we developed. The kids (even girls) were interested in the sport, and all had their favorite professional players. Both the Mets and the Yankees were good and popular teams at the time. I believe the Mets had just acquired Mike Piazza from LA, and of course the Yankees had Derek Jeter. Our school was only 10 blocks from Yankee Stadium. As teachers we could take our kids for free on the Subway. We took a couple of trips to Yankee stadium, and although we couldn’t get in, there was a playground we used right across the street. The playground at our school was off limits, taken over by drugs and drug lords.

**Macombs Dam Park at Yankee Stadium** (the Kermit project)

When you think about baseball, there is a lot of math involved: from the geometry of the infield diamond, to player batting averages, velocity and distance, design of the fields, and Yes, probability. A left-hand hitter has a better chance of getting a hit against a right-hand pitcher than a right-hand hitter. The lefty will see more of the ball leaving the right-hand pitcher’s hand than the right-hand hitter. I used a lot of these factors in the design of the game.

We started by having each student design their own ballpark. I gave them distances they had to use for left and right field foul lines, dead center field, 90 feet between bases and 60 feet from pitcher’s mound to home plate. By this time in the school year, most kids were used to drawing to scale. For this project we used one inch to 10 feet. We had plenty of construction paper so they could work in different colors for bleachers, score boards and foul territory. Our infield diamonds came out as squares as opposed to a real infield which is more like a diamond. Kids came up with some very clever names for their ballparks.

After the fields were made, we started on the spinners (see photo). These were made on file folders and had to have 12 almost perfect 30-degree wedges measured with protractors. I gave them the different hits they could use, but they could place these hits wherever they wanted on their spinner. After the spinners and arrows were made and tested, we moved onto the lineups.

I gave them the averages they could use. The pitchers had averages of .100 (one hit out of 10 at bats). Every team had one .350 hitter which would be the best in their lineup (3.5 hits out of 10 at bats). The kids would name their players when they were ready to play and put them in the lineup – one thru nine – wherever they wanted.

To actually play the game, several things had to fall in place. The fields had to be mathematically correct, the spinners had to be accurate and tested, and we needed at least two students in this position. When this happened, I assigned another student as umpire to try and keep the game fair. This proved to be a difficult hurdle in almost every game we played. These kids would do anything to win.

The game started with the visiting team’s first player coming to bat. We used a bucket with 20 marbles for every hitter in the lineup. For example, if a player at bat had a .250 batting average (2.5 hits out of 10), we put 5 yellow marbles and 15 red marbles in the bucket. The student whose team was at bat would hold the bucket behind their back. If they pulled a yellow marble, it was a hit. If they pulled a red marble, it would be an out. If the outcome for that batter was hit, they would move to their spinner, and spin the arrow to see what hit that batter would get. If he or she pulled a red marble, it was an out and they would go to their next batter in their lineup. After pulling three red marbles, their team was out, and the home team would be at bat. When we first started playing these games in the classroom, I used checkers rather than marbles for the bucket. These proved too easy to doctor. They could put nicks and gouges in the checkers so they could get a hit every time. We moved to marbles because they were a little harder to disfigure. Every umpire had their hands full keeping these games fair. It was always a challenge.

The players moved around the bases as the games were in progress. We used chess set pawns to represent the players on base. If a team started with a double, we put a pawn on 2^nd base. If the next batter hit a single, there would be pawns on 1^st and 3^rd base. There were no errors in our games and no stretching out hits. Most of our games ended after 5 or 6 innings, especially if there was a large score difference.

I will end my story by saying I did not perform any miracle. Maybe these kids still couldn’t get a 3 or 4 on the state test. I think I did show them that math doesn’t have to be like learning a foreign language. Math can play a part in many activities we view as fun and entertainment.

I finished my school year at MS 399 without ever taking a sick day or vacation day because I somehow folded this into my challenge. I ended up teaching one more year of classroom math, but it was in Dobbs Ferry, NY, not in NYC. You won’t (or shouldn’t) find this game in any book or video. As far as I know, I retired it with MS 399 and didn’t use it again. I think many of us have been in situations, military or civilian, where we hit the wall and the finish line is nowhere in sight. My love for baseball, which I still have, helped me find another path.

Editors note: MS 399 in the Bronx, NY was closed in 2012 for bad academic performance according to News 12. It has earned a “D” on progress reports and had been placed on the State’s list of persistently dangerous schools.

Jun 24 2023

Adventures at MS 399, part 1 – 2000

Let me preface my story by saying I’m not trying to make anyone think I am some kind of math wiz or superstar teacher. This is a game I developed that just happened to fit the kids I was teaching, the school I was teaching at, and the location and time we were in. My intention is that I believe this story reinforces what West Point tried to teach all of us. The Mission comes first. You do what you must to complete the mission to the best of your ability. You may have a perfect Plan A, but Murphy’s Law is out there. Make a Plan B, C, and D even if you don’t use them.

My story starts when I was working at Lockheed Martin, and our factories in the Bronx and Yonkers NY were closing in January 2000. I had worked for Lockheed for almost 15 years, and because I was over 50 years old at the time, I was offered early retirement and a severance package. I used these finances to get a teaching degree at Mercy College in Dobbs Ferry, NY. It was never my intention to enter teaching as a second career. I was (and still am) more comfortable working with machines rather than people. It was my wife, who still teaches at local schools where we live, that encouraged me to do this. The people and professors I went to school with always gave me positive feedback. I never mentioned to my peers at school that I was a graduate of West Point and had served 6 and ½ years active duty and 2 years National Guard. I rationalized this teaching experience as another challenge in my life.

I wanted to teach at a tough school, to have almost the opposite experience as you would have at West Point. Although I never taught at West Point, I had many classmates that did. In my mind, these teachers had the perfect world: the brightest and most accomplished students you could find in America. Well-motivated and eager to learn and thrive. There was no such thing as a discipline problem – I have many hours on the Area to prove that!

I was offered a job in NY city schools well before I graduated with an MS in Teaching from Mercy College. In those days the city schools were desperate for teachers. You didn’t have to be certified, like you had to be in the suburbs where I lived. I accepted a job at MS399 in the Bronx to teach 7^th and 8^th grade math.

A couple of weeks before the start of school (August 2000), we started having meetings at the school. The school itself was extremely impressive. It was originally named the “Elizabeth Barrett Browning” school after the English poet from the 1800s. The building had hand carved gargoyles on the roof. It looked like it was built to withstand a military attack. I found out WHY shortly after!!

**Site of Elizabeth Barrett Browning Middle School**

I never really got along well with the principals we had and the administration. I believe they viewed me as an outsider, and my ideas as strange and unorthodox (my A4 classmates might agree)! When I was given the key to my classroom, what struck me was how barren everything was. There were no slogans or banners welcoming the kids to math or the school, nothing on the bulletin boards, almost nothing in the cabinets or lockers, and no books on the shelves. The principal, who was relieved before school started that year, told me “Just teach from the Book”. A fellow teacher told me I would have to find books in the basement.

MS 399 was a SURR school which I believe stands for a School Under Review or Replacement. Kids were tested in 4^th and 8^th grade in Reading and Math. Scores of 3 or 4 were grade level or better. Scores of 1 and 2 were below grade level. Our entire school, all grades, did not have even one student at 3 or 4.

When I met the kids for the first time, I knew Plan A “Teach from the Book, was not an option. These kids had been socially promoted to get to 7^th and 8^th grade. Many were 2 or 3 years older than you would find in an average 7^th or 8^th grade in America. I had a student arrested right in my classroom. The cops came in unannounced, threw the kid against the wall, hand cuffed him, and took him out to a waiting squad car. Not one word from the principal or anyone else in the school, just the kids told me rumors of what they heard on the street. The kid arrested never came back for the entire year.

Well, the situation I faced (teaching math), was going to have its challenges. These kids couldn’t find zero on a ruler and had no idea if ¼ of an inch was bigger or smaller the 4 inches. Most believed all they needed was a calculator. Again, this was the year 2000. No Google, no computers, no White Boards, and even no cell phones. We had a phone in the classroom which nobody used because nobody came!

My strategy from the beginning was to keep these kids busy. Have them build things, measure things, draw things. No quadratic equations or algebra from the textbook. I told my classes that measuring things accurately and having the ability to draw things to scale, could be important tools to learn. Whether furnishing your apartment, or buying materials for a project, this can save time and money. We started doing very simple tasks like having kids measure their classmate’s hands and height with string and markers. Then measure the distance in inches with rulers. From there we could make ratios and proportions: the smaller kid’s hand size over height vs. the larger kid’s hand size over height. These proportions always came out very close to their surprise.

One of the first big projects we did before the Probability Baseball game was the “Party Room” project. They had to draw our classroom to scale on graph paper. Draw in the windows and doors and make room for a DJ and his equipment and a Refreshment Space. I gave them 2 different size tables they could place in the room for the party goers. One table (round) that seats 2 kids, and another, a rectangular table, that seats 4 kids. It was on this project that I saw competition and the desire to win could be used as motivation. Room designs that met all the rules and had room for the most students would be recognized and highlighted on our bulletin boards.

Apr 22 2023

Duty, Honor, Country – Motto Lived – 1971

Author’s note: I shared this story about Barry McGee with my A-2 mates at a recent reunion. Several advocated that I should share this anecdote with the Class.

Most of our class know of the heralding accounts of Barry’s last moments at Firebase Mary Ann. Our classmate Tom Hayes later recounted to me that he, being a member of a sister company in Barry’s battalion, entered Firebase Mary Ann the morning after. Blood and mayhem everywhere. A survivor approached him: “Hey, aren’t you a West Pointer? Wasn’t Lt. McGee your classmate?”

‘Yes’.

“Well, your Class should be proud. Barry was the one bright spot in this grim debacle. It would have been a lot worse had it not been for Lt. McGee.”

Yet very few know my account of his unsettling premonition of the fate that awaited him in The Republic of Vietnam.

Barry and I were roommates first semester plebe year, along with Ron Wasilewski.

Most know Barry hailed from Detroit, street tough and smart. Golden Gloves boxer. Think of a Rocky Balboa from Detroit—smarter but with the same big heart. He eagerly shared his boxing prowess with me, and it was during one of his ‘lessons’ that he broke my nose. But I digress.

It was halfway through the semester through the toil of plebe math. Our desks abutted face to face. On this now fateful evening, Barry looked up from the calculus text, looked directly at me, clearly wanting to tell me something and then aloud stated, out of the cold clear blue: “I am going to die in Vietnam as an infantryman.” ‘What?’ I responded. He repeated, “I am going to die in Vietnam as an infantryman.” Of course, I had no response to that other than— ‘get outta here…’ Or something to that effect. And trying to change the mood perhaps, “hey I can’t do number 6—did you figure that one out?”

We never discussed it again, and I have no insight as to how he received that premonition. Later Barry joined the cadre to create D-2 and we interacted less. It was not until I heard of his death in March of ’71 that I recalled his statement to me that distant evening. The moment still haunts me. I regret that I did not realize then in 1965 that I was honored to share space and time with an American hero. I would have treasured our time more.

In our Class yearbook we admonished each other to ‘march to the sound of the guns’, which many of our Class obeyed many times over. Barry heard the drumbeat and responded early. Even knowing his ominous foreboding, he ‘marched’ nonetheless. Did he ‘march’ in response to Duty, ‘choosing the harder right instead than the easier wrong’? Or did he ‘march’ to uphold Honor, ‘to live above the common level of life’? Or did he ‘march’ in response to the call of Country, ‘no substitute for victory’? I suspect, knowing Barry, it was all three.

A Semi-final Resting Place, Part 1 – 2018