When late summer arrives each year I inevitably think of Cheryl and Joe.
Many years ago coincidence plunked Cheryl down in a seat next to mine at an informal end-of-semester get-together of a dozen or so University of Connecticut resident assistants at a local Chinese restaurant. Although we hadn’t met previously, as a typical (shallow, immature, and utterly self-absorbed) 22-year- old male, the first thing I noticed was her eye-catching good looks. But it quickly became evident there was more to Cheryl than just an attractive outer shell. Her thoughtful and thought-provoking contributions to the ongoing conversation(s) made it clear she was a good listener with a sly sense of humor. More tellingly though, was her understated genuineness. Anyone can grin by turning up both sides of their mouth, but Cheryl could smile with just her eyes.
I later learned she had been valedictorian of her high school class, though she herself never mentioned it. Truly quality people rarely talk about their accomplishments, regardless of how impressive or numerous they may be. The best way to learn about extraordinary individuals is to hear others sing their praises, or better yet, interact with them.
Nearly everyone who attended that evening’s affair graduated a week later, but I didn’t. I was still at UConn two years later when I met Joe through a mutual friend who was also named Joe, a bit of serendipity which made it easier to remember both their names.
My initial reaction to the new (to me) Joe was the same as everyone else’s was the first time they met him: I instantly liked the guy. He was quick-witted, imaginative, outgoing and generous, but most of all he was fun! Joe was one of those rare individuals who could light up a room just by showing up. But unlike many other natural extroverts, Joe radiated an inclusiveness that I later figured out was part of his DNA. Even though he could have been the center of attention in just about any situation, it never took him long to shift the flattering spotlight onto someone else who was nearby. Joe not only helped others enjoy themselves and their surroundings, he had the knack of making people realize that they mattered, and who doesn’t appreciate having that acknowledged every so often?
I graduated before Joe, which wasn’t overly impressive, given that my college career had begun was he was a ninth-grader. Decades flew by, but I never stopped looking forward to someday renewing acquaintances with Cheryl and/or Joe. I knew for certain each was going to be a huge impact-maker. In the interim both remained frozen in my mind looking like they did when I’d last seen them: as always-smiling, upbeat, super-energetic 21-year-old spreaders of goodness.
But on the second Tuesday in September twenty-five years ago, Cheryl Monyak and Joe Lenihan each reported as usual to work at New York City’s World Trade Center.
Neither one ever came home.
A full quarter-century after the terrible events of September 11, 2001, I’m still struggling to understand the rationale behind concluding the lives of Cheryl, Joe, and far too many others that day. I suppose it would be nice to be forever remembered as gracious, humble, energetic, kind, attractive and intelligent, but would anyone willingly trade another potential 40 or so additional years of life on Earth just to attain that eternally lofty status?
But beyond that, I still cannot fathom how a person of any religion, race or creed could even for a moment think slaughtering thousands of random innocents on a sunny September Tuesday would ever improve anyone’s lot in life.
Andy YoungReturn to main page
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