Dear Friends, Family, Neighbors, and Those of You I Don’t Yet Know —
Most of the days of our lives drift past without anything in particular happening to make them stand out. Each of us have days we’ll always remember — a marriage or the birth of a child, say. But there are some days we recall collectively. Pearl Harbor is an example. So is September 11, 2001. When we speak about events that are significant for millions of people, we often begin by telling each other where we were and what we were doing at the time.
On the morning of 9/11/01, John and I were lying in bed listening to the radio as we woke up. It must have been about 6:00 a.m. The announcer had just gotten word that “a small plane” had crashed into one of the towers of the World Trade Center. He didn’t seem very concerned; in fact, he made a joke about the pilot. It was going to be a busy day for us. That afternoon, John would be flying to New York for a “Nine Provosts” meeting, and we had to get him packed and off to the San Francisco airport. He didn’t make it, of course. Within the next couple of hours, another plane hit the second tower, and a third plane hit the Pentagon, and none of them were “small.” All air traffic in the U.S. was grounded, and it remained that way for two days. The skies were completely silent, and boy, what an eerie feeling that was.
One of the planes that was hijacked that day was United flight 93, which took off from Newark, NJ, bound for SFO, and crashed in a field in rural Pennsylvania. If that plane had made it to San Francisco, John would have been aboard it on its return flight to Newark.
He had made reservations at a hotel in Manhattan for his trip. Later that day, we got a call from a clerk at the hotel. I answered the phone.
“Am I speaking to Mrs. Etchemendy?” asked a hesitant female voice on the other end.
“Yes,” I replied.
“I’m…uh…wondering if you know where your husband is. This is the hotel he had booked for tonight, and he hasn’t checked in yet.” Later, we pieced together the fact that New York City was a chaotic mess. Thousands of people were missing. Nobody knew where anyone was or how many people might have died.
“Oh my God,” I said. “He’s here. He’s fine. His flight was cancelled. I’m so sorry, but we couldn’t get through to tell you. The phone lines have been busy for hours.”
The clerk’s relief was so palpable it felt like a breeze on my skin. She asked if she could give John’s room to a firefighter. I said yes, please do. We exchanged quick words of gratitude, and she moved on to her next call. I’m sure she made many that night.
There is nothing quite like a mutual threat to one’s safety to put things into perspective. Petty political differences fell away. A powerful sense of connection soaked into even the most mundane activities. It didn’t last long, of course. But while it did, nobody was happy about anyone else’s misfortune. We were one. Hard to believe it was 22 years ago.
Without being quite conscious of the fact that this issue of Odd Company would be published on 9-11, I’ve spent the last couple of weeks reading and thinking about evil, cruelty, and the natural human tendency to celebrate the misfortunes of others, especially when we think they deserve it. There’s an actual term for this — schadenfreude. It’s one of those German compound words that totally nails an emotion. “Schaden” means harm or injury. “Freude” means joy or happiness.
There’s schadenfreude everywhere we look these days. We have national politicians and pundits talking shamelessly about “owning” people they disagree with; it’s become terrifyingly normal for people on social media to throw up a line of smiley faces when something bad happens to someone they don’t like. During the pandemic, schadenfreude was everywhere, as people picked sides and celebrated minor “victories” that usually involved someone getting sick. We live in a time when feelings of fear, powerlessness, and personal insecurity are so widespread that it would probably be weird if people weren’t expressing schadenfreude more-or-less constantly. The connection there might not be obvious. But taking pleasure in another’s pain usually comes out of our own envy and resentment. When I look at someone who seems to have everything going for them, it can be hard not to feel envious and lacking.
What does it say about us when we gloat over someone else’s pain? It’s a form of cruelty, after all, though it doesn’t always feel that way. Sometimes it feels like brilliant, righteous anger. Sometimes the shared celebration of someone else’s pain or humiliation makes us feel like we’re part of a band of brothers. But underneath that sense of connection there’s the darkness of knowing we ourselves could be the next one to get kicked while we’re down.
Luckily, there’s an emotion that is the opposite of schadenfreude, and is far more satisfying besides: freudenfreude. Okay, it’s a crazy-looking word, and it sounds a little silly. But it means feeling joyful about someone else’s good fortune. If we can find freudenfreude in our hearts, we can have the connection without the darkness, and we will always have good friends we can trust to celebrate with us.
My musical picks seem to be Odd Company’s end notes lately. Tonight I’ve chosen a video of a flashmob that perfectly illustrates freudenfreude. I love the whole idea of flashmobs — people coming together in a sort of public surprise party. Delight always seems to be the object of the flashmob game. This particular one took place May 19, 2012 in Sabadell, Catalonia, about an hour north of Barcelona, in the plaçe de Sant Roc. The performers are members of the Vallès Symphony Orchestra, the Lieder, Amics de l'Òpera and Coral Belles Arts choirs. The music is — what else? — Ludwig van Beethoven’s “Ode to Joy,” (Ode an die Freude) from the Ninth Symphony.
No poem tonight, sorry to say. I hope to have one next time. Till then, happy trails.
What a delightful antidote to the usual political posturing we are overwhelmed with these days. Thank you.