Ed Felt, a colleague at BEA (bought by Oracle in 2008), died on flight 93. Commuting between the NJ office and headquarters in San Jose via UA 93 was common. It was devastating when the news hit the office, and fears that "one of us" was onboard were confirmed.
Ed was the technology director. A brilliant software engineer who exuded warmth and authenticity. He was one of the people who interviewed me when I went from being a contractor to an employee. Throughout the year before his death, I was often amazed at how generous he was with his time when our folks (technical writing) needed information.
Ed learned to play piano to help his daughter when she began taking lessons. Linus and Lucy became a family favorite. Another colleague played at our office memorial service. I still tear up when I hear that tune.
I know it is available online, but I've never had the heart to listen to the call he made to 911. I know it was only 70 seconds long, but provided crucial information about the situation. And through their calls, he and other passengers learned about the WTC and Pentagon attacks -- knowledge that inspired them to act.
At the time, I lived in Westfield, NJ. That town lost four people in the WTC attack, and many, many more in town lost people they knew.
What is strongest in my memory is the immediate aftermath. The coming together. The mourning. The sharing of such deeply connecting emotions with so many. It made the ugliness that followed somehow even more awful to witness. It was as if the "coming together" was being erased in the name of "homeland security." Heartbreaking.
Ed Felt, a colleague at BEA (bought by Oracle in 2008), died on flight 93. Commuting between the NJ office and headquarters in San Jose via UA 93 was common. It was devastating when the news hit the office, and fears that "one of us" was onboard were confirmed.
Ed was the technology director. A brilliant software engineer who exuded warmth and authenticity. He was one of the people who interviewed me when I went from being a contractor to an employee. Throughout the year before his death, I was often amazed at how generous he was with his time when our folks (technical writing) needed information.
Ed learned to play piano to help his daughter when she began taking lessons. Linus and Lucy became a family favorite. Another colleague played at our office memorial service. I still tear up when I hear that tune.
I know it is available online, but I've never had the heart to listen to the call he made to 911. I know it was only 70 seconds long, but provided crucial information about the situation. And through their calls, he and other passengers learned about the WTC and Pentagon attacks -- knowledge that inspired them to act.
At the time, I lived in Westfield, NJ. That town lost four people in the WTC attack, and many, many more in town lost people they knew.
What is strongest in my memory is the immediate aftermath. The coming together. The mourning. The sharing of such deeply connecting emotions with so many. It made the ugliness that followed somehow even more awful to witness. It was as if the "coming together" was being erased in the name of "homeland security." Heartbreaking.
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In case you are unaware, Brad Schneider is Jewish. Just like us.
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