Morning Coffee*2 – Today We Had To Have A Second Cup of Coffee –

September 11, 2026September 11, 2026BenjaminLeave a comment

September 11th, 2001 How The Day’s Events Unfolded

September 11, 2026

_{^{We Will Never Forget September 11, 2001}}

The Morning Everything Changed

For me, September 11, 2001, began as an average day.

There was nothing about that morning that suggested history was about to interrupt ordinary life.

It was just before 9:00 a.m. I had stopped at the Mayor’s Office in Wichita, Kansas, to drop off schedules and some other papers. After finishing there, I stepped into the elevator to head down toward the Chief of Police’s Office.

Several other people were riding with me.

Then my phone rang.

city skyline during night time — ^{_{Photo by Philip Warp on Pexels.com}}

At that time, it still wasn’t especially common for everyone to be carrying a cell phone the way we do today. I looked at the incoming number and knew immediately that I probably needed to answer it.

I barely had time to offer a greeting.

I was told to stop what I was doing and get over to the Wichita Eagle as quickly as possible to monitor what I could from the wire.

There had been an attack on the World Trade Center.

That was all I knew.

I made my way toward my vehicle, still trying to understand what I had just been told.

Then another call came.

A second airplane had struck the other tower.

I remember saying aloud, almost in disbelief:

“What? An airplane just hit the towers? Two of them?”

The people standing nearby looked at me in shock.

They wanted to know what was happening.

I told them the only thing I could tell them with any certainty:

Get to a television or a radio.

It appeared our nation was under attack.

By the time I arrived at the Wichita Eagle, the newsroom—or bullpen, as we called it—was unusually quiet.

It was full of reporters, but there was none of the ordinary newsroom chatter.

I stood just outside the room on the landing, watching television monitors and listening as the Associated Press wire sounded with update after update.

Someone would grab the latest report and read it aloud.

New York.

Then Pennsylvania.

Then Virginia and the District of Columbia.

Each update seemed worse than the one before it.

You could feel the realization spreading through the room that this was not going to be a normal news day.

It was going to be a very long day.

None of us standing there could have known just how long its shadow would become.

September 11 would destroy thousands of lives in a matter of hours. It would leave families grieving, reshape national security, change the way Americans traveled, and alter the direction of the country.

But history also has a strange way of reaching into individual lives in ways we cannot immediately see.

That day ultimately became part of the chain of events that changed my own life.

The economic and employment changes that followed would eventually lead Steve and me away from Kansas and the lower Great Plains and toward Arizona.

We went from winters of ice, snow, and cold prairie winds to the Sonoran Desert and summers measured in heat waves.

airplane over american flags near washington monument — _{^{Photo by Ramaz Bluashvili on Pexels.com}}

Years earlier, I had made Steve a promise that someday we would live in Phoenix.

I simply believed that “someday” was still twenty years away.

Life had other plans.

There is something almost impossible to reconcile about that.

A national tragedy that brought unimaginable grief to so many families also became one of the forces that redirected countless other lives.

Mine was one of them.

That does not lessen the tragedy.

If anything, it reminds me how far the consequences of a single day can travel.

A person can wake up believing they know exactly what tomorrow will look like.

Then the telephone rings.

A television screen changes.

A headline appears.

And suddenly the future takes a road no one had planned to travel.

That is what I remember most about September 11.

Not only the towers.

Not only the newsroom.

Not only the sound of the wire delivering one terrible update after another.

I remember how completely ordinary the morning had been just moments before.

And perhaps that is the lasting lesson.

We never really know which ordinary morning will become the dividing line between before and after.

So love the people around you.

Say what needs to be said.

Keep the promises that matter.

And never assume that because today began ordinarily, tomorrow is guaranteed to look the same.

Some mornings quietly become history.

Morning Coffee — For many some, dates pass quietly on the calendar this day may not do so.

September 11, 2026September 7, 2026BenjaminLeave a comment

September 11, 2026

us flag on gray surface — _{^{Photo by Matthis Volquardsen on Pexels.com}}

September 11 does not.

For millions of Americans, and for people around the world, this date carries a scar that time has never completely erased. It reminds us where we were, what we saw, what we felt, and how quickly an ordinary morning became something unimaginable.

But beneath the history, the headlines, the smoke, the sirens, and the sorrow is another lesson that reaches into every home.

There are no guarantees when we say goodbye.

On the morning of September 11, 2001, thousands of people did what they had done countless mornings before.

They kissed a spouse goodbye.

They hugged a child.

They waved from a doorway.

They grabbed their coffee, headed for work, boarded an airplane, stepped into an office, answered an alarm, or began an ordinary shift.

Most of them had every reason to believe they would be home again that evening.

Some never were.

That may be one of the hardest truths September 11 leaves with us.

We often live as though there will always be another opportunity.

Another phone call.

Another dinner.

Another visit.

Another chance to say, “I love you.”

Another chance to apologize.

Another chance to linger at the door for just a few more seconds.

But life has never promised us that.

A person can leave our presence in the morning and, through circumstances completely beyond anyone’s control, be gone before nightfall.

September 11 reminds us not to take the people in our lives for granted.

It reminds us that the hurried goodbye deserves a little more care.

That the person sitting across from us at breakfast deserves our attention.

That the phone call from someone we love might be worth answering.

That anger sometimes deserves to be put aside before we walk out the door.

And that “I love you” is rarely something we should save for later.

This day also reminds us of those who ran toward danger while others were trying desperately to escape it.

Firefighters.

Police officers.

Paramedics.

Emergency workers.

Ordinary people who became extraordinary simply because someone else needed help.

Many knew the danger.

They went anyway.

Their courage remains part of the living legacy of September 11, along with the memories of every innocent life taken that morning.

So perhaps today’s coffee should be a little slower.

Perhaps we should sit with the people we love a little longer.

Make the call we have been putting off.

Forgive something that no longer deserves the space it occupies in our hearts.

And when someone we love walks out the door today, let our final words be words we would be at peace remembering.

Because none of us knows which goodbye will be the last.

September 11 taught us that lesson in the most painful way imaginable.

May we honor those who were lost not only by remembering how they died, but by remembering how important it is to cherish those who are still here.

This morning, hold your coffee close.

Hold your memories closer.

And hold the people you love closest of all.

We remember. We honor. And we never forget.

— Morning Coffee
benandsteve.com

Santa Claus And The Tree In Apartment 828B

December 10, 2025December 3, 2025BenjaminLeave a comment

This story is pulled from the archives as a celebration for the season edition.

3–5 minutes

An apartment in a towering complex held a remarkable secret. It was located in the heart of a sprawling New York where high-rise buildings scraped the skies. Neon lights flickered day and night. Apartment 828B on Floor 39 was home to a Christmas tree unlike any other. The tree had glistening emerald branches. Its ornaments seemed to hum with a soft, otherworldly glow. This tree had the power to light up the entire city. It illuminated not just with light but with warmth, hope, and joy.

The tree belonged to an elderly widow named Mrs. Clarabelle, a retired teacher with a kind smile and a knack for storytelling. She had decorated the tree for decades. Her collection of ornaments included a porcelain angel from her childhood. She also had a wooden sled carved by her late husband. Former students gifted her glittering baubles. Each ornament carried a story. When the tree had its lights on, it radiated a magic that reached far beyond her tiny apartment.

The tree’s light flickered to life as Christmas Eve descended upon the city. Golden beams streamed through the apartment’s windows, spilling onto the streets below. Strangers paused to gaze upward. Their hurried steps slowed. The tree’s glow softened the sharp edges of their busy lives. For one night, the relentless hum of the city seemed to quiet.

Late that night, a figure appeared on Mrs. Clarabelle’s balcony as snowflakes began to fall. Santa Claus was dressed in red. A twinkle was in his eye. He had a heavy sack slung over his shoulder. He stepped into the cozy living room. The tree’s magic had drawn him there, as it had every Christmas Eve for years.

“Ah, my old friend,”

Santa said, touching the tree’s sturdy trunk.

“How bright you shine, even in a world that’s grown so dim.”

The tree’s ornaments twinkled, and its branches swayed gently as if responding to Santa’s words. The tree couldn’t speak like humans. Its magic allowed it to communicate with Santa. He understood its every rustle and shimmer.

“Yes, I know,”

Santa said, settling into Mrs. Clarabelle’s armchair.

“People have forgotten the spirit of Christmas. Fewer homes are decorated, and fewer hearts are open. It’s as if they’ve lost their way.”

The tree’s lights dimmed momentarily, mirroring Santa’s sadness.

“Do you remember,”

Santa continued,

“When was every street filled with twinkling lights? When children left milk and cookies by the fireplace, and families gathered to sing carols by the fire?”

He sighed, his shoulders drooping.

“Now, so many homes are dark. It’s harder to find my way. And harder still to find the joy I once felt.”

The tree’s glow brightened as if to comfort him. Its magic reached out, filling the room with warmth. It reminded Santa of the countless small acts of kindness that still existed. A child shared their toys with a friend. A neighbor shoveled snow for an elderly couple. A stranger paid for someone’s coffee. Though the world seemed dim, the light of Christmas still flickered in the hearts of many.

Santa smiled, his spirits lifting.

“You’re right,”

He said, his voice steady.

“The spirit of Christmas isn’t gone. It’s just harder to see. But it’s there, in the small, quiet moments of love and generosity.”

He stood, his boots crunching softly on the rug.

“Thank you, old friend. Your light reminds me of why I do this, year after year.”

The tree’s lights shimmered, a silent acknowledgment of Santa’s words.

Before leaving, Santa placed a small, wrapped package beneath the tree. It glowed faintly, infused with his magic.

“For Mrs. Clarabelle,”

He said.

“A thank-you for keeping the spirit of Christmas alive.”

With a final nod to the tree, Santa stepped onto the balcony, his sleigh waiting above. The tree’s golden light followed him, illuminating the city as he soared into the night sky. For a brief moment, every window glowed with its reflection. The people below felt a spark of warmth they couldn’t quite explain.

In Apartment 828B on Floor 39, the tree’s light continued to shine. It served as a beacon of hope in New York City. The city needed it more than ever. And in the hearts of those who paused to look up, the spirit of Christmas found a home once again.

Harrison J. Goldin, Longtime New York City Comptroller, Former New York State Senator, Dies at 90

September 18, 2024BenjaminLeave a comment

Harrison J. Goldin, Longtime New York City Comptroller, Dies at 90

Harrison J. Goldin, who served as New York City’s comptroller for 16 years and was pivotal in steering the city through its near-bankruptcy in the 1970s, his death was reported on September 16th, 2024. He was 90.

A Harvard Law School graduate, Goldin was a driving force in New York politics from the late 1960s through the 1980s. Goldin, who won the election to become New York City’s comptroller in 1973, and his tenure coincided with one of the city’s most challenging financial crises. Goldin, then-Mayor Abraham Beame, and others worked tirelessly to restructure the city’s finances, helping to avert fiscal collapse. He was instrumental in negotiating critical deals with creditors and introducing reforms that put the city on a path toward financial recovery.

Goldin’s unwavering commitment to public finance and his no-nonsense approach earned him a reputation as a watchdog for the public purse. He initiated audits of city agencies and pushed for greater transparency and efficiency in government spending, leaving an indelible mark on the comptroller’s office. Even amid New York’s darkest financial days, Goldin remained steady, advocating for long-term solutions over short-term fixes, inspiring all with his steadfast commitment.

Before his time as comptroller, Goldin was a New York State Senator, championing civil rights, education reform, and fair housing policies. His political career reflected his deep commitment to social justice, a value he carried throughout his public service and one that we can all appreciate.

Following his departure from public office in 1989, Goldin transitioned to private law practice, consulting on financial matters and representing high-profile clients. He remained a respected voice in financial and legal circles despite stepping back from the political spotlight.

Goldin leaves behind many family and friends who remember him as a dedicated public servant, a passionate advocate for New Yorkers, and a loving father and grandfather.

His contributions to the city’s financial recovery will long stand, as New York owes much of its financial resilience to the groundwork he helped lay during its most difficult times. We are grateful for his service and dedication.