We'll Just Be Together: A Special Thanksgiving

November 22, 2001 Thursday Five Star Lift Edition

"WE'LL JUST BE TOGETHER"; A SPECIAL THANKSGIVING - A TIME FOR FAMILY

Colleen Carroll Of The Post-Dispatch

As St. Louisans observe the first major holiday since Sept. 11, they are imitating the Pilgrims by celebrating faith, freedom and sheer survival. Many are thinking more deeply about life and liberty, gifts that seem more precious -- and fragile -- than ever.

For St. Louis area residents who saw the devastation up close -- while burying relatives or friends in New York or serving at ground zero -- this Thanksgiving is especially poignant, and in some cases, particularly painful.

For those who sighed in relief after Sept. 11 because they do not live in New York, or their family and friends escaped harm, this feast of gratitude is a time for reflection. And for those who have long since tuned out terrorism warnings, convinced that agonizing over imminent destruction makes for a miserable existence, Thanksgiving's promise of good-natured gluttony, football mania and reunions with quirky relatives is a welcome reprieve from updates on al-Qaida and anthrax outbreaks.

Life at ground zero

Diana Kraus, a volunteer with the Missouri Disaster Medical Assistance Team, spent 12 days in New York tending to attack victims who had suffered third-degree burns. The grieving families, the card-strewn hallways, the harrowing visits to ground zero -- all gave her occasion to count her blessings.

"For me, it's really put a lot of things in perspective," said Kraus, 38, a neo-natal and pediatric transport nurse at St. Louis Children's Hospital.

"All of us tend to take things for granted," said Kraus, who lives with her husband and two sons in Eureka. "My family, my husband, are very important to me. I want to make sure that they know that I love them."

She and her family plan to attend Mass on Thanksgiving Day, then cluste r in the kitchen to assemble their traditional feast.

"We could be eating sandwiches for all I care," Kraus said. "We'll just be together."

Gerry Armstrong, 38, expects to spend a somber Thanksgiving with his family in Piermont, N.Y. His only brother, Michael Armstrong, a 34-year-old vice president in bond sales for Cantor Fitzgerald who was planning to marry this fall, worked on the 104th floor of the World Trade Center tower that was struck first. Despite frantic cell phone calls, Armstrong's family does not know what, exactly, became of his brother.

"It's going to be tough and sad," said Armstrong, who lives in Ballwin with his wife and four children.

At Thanksgiving, Armstrong said, "You try to look at the big picture. But for my immediate family, it couldn't really be much worse."

A new normal

Even for Armstrong, the devastation of Sept. 11 feels less intense in St. Louis. Here, life has slowly slipped back to normal. Overflow church crowds, cable news vigils and gasoline runs have ebbed. Resolutions to stop quarreling with messy mates and start savoring every breath have faded. Life 950 miles from ground zero has, for the most part, resumed its rhythm.

Yet St. Louisans have felt the tectonic shift in American culture and priorities since the day the twin towers - and American illusions of invulnerability - collapsed. Talk of heroes and terrorists, of incomprehensible goodness and incarnate evil, now reigns in barber shops and around water coolers. Sentiments once reserved for parades and pulpits now show up on cars from Lemay to Ladue.

God is back. History is back. Patriotism is back.

In the days before Thanksgiving, American flags waved from nearly every house on some blocks of the St. Louis Hills neighborhood in the city, and one mammoth Old Glory hung down the center of Devonshire Avenue, suspended from a light pole on the left and a tree branch on the right. Farther east, the parking lot at the Shop 'n Save on Chippewa Street near South Kingshighway was congested as always with procrastinating chefs on Wednesday morning, but this year, many of their cars were adorned with plastic flags fastened to antenna rods. Near Blumeyer Village off North Grand Boulevard, a brick building with boarded-up windows hosted a single billboard that proclaimed, "God Bless America."

But there were grim reminders, too. At Lambert Field, stern-faced guards in camouflage and black berets peered into cars as they entered the parking lot, and families clustered in the baggage claim area because they could not meet travelers at the gates.

"What's freaking me out is when I pull up and see the guys in camouflage," said Judy Lair, 49, of Florissant. "The world will probably never be the same again."

Lair, who wore a stars-and-stripes jacket, a red turtleneck, and matching polish on her fingernails, was waiting for her daughter, son-in-law and 5-month-old grandson to arrive from Denver.

This Thanksgiving will be unique, Lair said, and not just because of travel anxieties and war talk. Her mother and husband both died this spring, within five weeks of each other. Lair thought of her husband, who died suddenly of a heart attack. A paramedic, he probably would have headed to New York to help on Sept. 11.

"Sometimes I look at the world, and I think they're in a better place than we are," she said.

As she glanced at the clock - her daughter was due in four minutes - Lair smiled.

"I have a lot to be thankful for. I have a new grandson."

Thinking of God

Around the corner, Kim Wells, 30, cooed to her 3-month-old daughter, Madison. Wells had traveled with her husband from Sacramento, Calif., and was waiting for their luggage to arrive before heading to Cape Girardeau, Mo., to see relatives.

Wells said that her church in Sacramento was more crowded since the attacks and that her nonreligious relatives now talked about God. When she saw the attacks, Wells, too, thought of God.

"I actually prayed and thought, 'Thank God I have my faith in the Lord.' That was actually the one thing that gave me some peace of mind."

As for Thanksgiving, Wells said, "Each day is a gift. That was just a harsh reminder of that."

Stroking the skin of her gurgling baby, Wells peered into Madison's eyes.

"I don't have any regrets about her being born at all. Hopefully, she can be raised to make the world a better place."

In the 94-year-old Wyoming Barber Shop on South Grand Boulevard, barber Marco Frisella, 42, lounged in a swivel chair on the eve of Thanksgiving and counted his blessings.

"Being Italian," Frisella said, "we always get together."

Frisella, whose grandfather immigrated to Brooklyn from Palermo, Sicily, said his large family gathers on The Hill in St. Louis for the feast. This year, he said, they are glad that they no longer live in New York. And they are grateful, as always, for the gift of family.

Frisella planned to board a plane to Miami, his winter home, after Thanksgiving. He refuses to cancel his travel plans.

"God has a time for everything," said Frisella, wearing the grin of a snowbird anticipating Florida sun. "It's all in God's hands. ... I can't do anything about it."

Not all are so fearless. Delores Lee, 60, usually spends Thanksgiving with her 33-year-old daughter, who lives in Dallas. This year, though, the two will be separated. Both are too afraid to fly.

"I'm going to miss going there," said Lee, who works as an executive secretary at the Annie Malone Children and Family Service Center in the Ville neighborhood of north St. Louis. She also is an associate pastor at Shalom City of Peace Baptist Church in Berkeley.

Lee said she was taking the inconvenience in stride, in light of recent events.

"It made you become more aware of how precious life is, and things you thought were important are not important."

This year, Lee said, she will spend Thanksgiving with six of her siblings, laughing, chatting and watching old videos. Like many who watched the disaster unfold from afar, she feels grief for America and gratitude for her loved ones.

Thanksgiving, she said, is "a day of praising and thanking God that none of us was taken."

* Still reeling from terrorist attacks and their aftermath, St. Louis area residents are approaching this year's Thanksgiving holiday with a mixture of gratitude and grief.