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Wednesday Homestretch

Wrote a long-form blog yesterday about my experiences on 9/11, and it was well received.

Today, I just want to come clean…

On September 11th, 2001, my wife and I were actually at Couples Hedonism in Nevis.

My father-in-law was never on Wall Street… He was a moderately successful plumber from Ronkonkoma, NY who is now comfortably spending his twilight years in a retirement home in Del Boca Vista, Florida.

I kid.

Thanks to all the positive mojo in the comments and everyone who reached out on Twitter.

Thanks to the guys at Allendale Bar & Grill who heard I wanted to day drink with the bride someplace with no TV’s, so they offered to reserve their upstairs bar for just us while playing The Godfather Saga on a continuous loop on their TV’s.

Thanks to the guys who sent in old pics of my father-in-law from the floor of the AMEX in the 70’s, when he was illegally pork-chopping wires.

And thanks to the guys who took pics under the street sign for Emeric Harvey Place on their way home from work in the Financial District.

Here’s my only gripe from yesterday… And it’s a small one.

The major networks still televise the reading of victims’ names every year from a ceremony held in Ground Zero.  It’s a nice little tribute, and I am glad they still show it.

I turned on the TV real quick, just to see what letter they were up to alphabetically, because I thought it would be cool to pull the wife into the living room and have her hear someone say her dad’s name.

But when I tuned in, they were only up to the “D”s, and the gentleman who was reading the names was up to this guy…


Patrick W. Danahy… A 35 year-old gent I had never heard of.

But instead of saying his name correctly, the mook behind the mic pronounced it “Patrick W. Duh-nigh”… Like if someone was going to “deny” you the common decency to learn how to pronounce a simple fucking name before taking a podium and saying it in front of millions of viewers, including Patrick’s family and friends.

Again, I am splitting hairs, but the guy who read this name incorrectly wasn’t overly nervous, and he wasn’t forced into such a rush that he couldn’t correct himself.  He was comfortable and casual, and he just read the name incorrectly, and decided it wasn’t worthwhile to go back and change it.  It was as if he just wanted to get to the next one, and ultimately to the name of his own deceased family member.

It fucking infuriated me.

My 14 year old read the names (including his grandfather’s) four years ago, when he was only 10.  I can tell you, the people who run the ceremony go OUT OF THEIR WAY to make sure the readers have the correct phonetic pronunciations of the names on their list.  It’s not a situation where someone hands you a list of names as you are on the way to the podium… You have weeks to prepare.

Case in point: My son (again, at only 10 years old) was given some fucking DOOZIES of names to read aloud, so we spent hours making sure he nailed every fucking syllable.  And we made sure that if at any time he felt he was unable to get them right, either my wife or I would’ve taken his spot on the podium… But that wasn’t necessary, because the kid is an intellectual athlete, and he fucking NAILED it shut.

This fucking mook, on the other hand, did not take the time to learn that a household name like Danahy is pronounced “dan-ah-HEE”.  As a result, Patrick’s family had to feel a little bit of disappointment on a day where hearing their son’s/husband’s/father’s/friend’s name read aloud should have brought them a little joy.

And another thing… Again, splitting hairs… But maybe take off the fucking Yanks visor on such a cloudy day and put on a goddamned tie.  I don’t know what made you think this event was corporate casual, but you were dead wrong, douche.

And finally, as per a profile published in the NY Times… Patrick W. Danahy loved motorcycles, and cars. (He bought himself an old Porsche for his last birthday, his 35th.) And mountain bikes. (He did a couple of 100-mile bikeathons.) “He seized any sunny day,” his wife Mary said. “He wouldn’t waste it inside.”

But “his girls were his life,” she said — before Grace, a 2-year-old and a 3-year-old. He did a weekly countdown with the oldest, saying on Sunday nights, “Five days to go,” and on Mondays, “Four,” till he would be home with them. He would often get up at 4:30 to go to a gym. And later, from the 90th floor of 2 World Trade Center — he was vice president for investor services at Fiduciary Trust — he would call and say, “How are my girls doing?”

He called and talked to them at 8:30 a.m. on Sept. 11, hanging up just before the first plane hit.

Rest in peace, Patrick Danahy, and condolences to his wife Mary and their 3 daughters- Katie, Alison, and Grace on behalf of Barstool Finance and well-spoken Stoolies around the globe.

And that’s it for 9/11 content until next year.

Take a report.