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Paul Kuehnel / Associated Press Tina Margetas, co-owner of the Astoria Diner in West York, Pa., changes the menu board outside to show her American pride in the wake of terrorist attacks in New York, Washington, D.C., and Pennsylvania.

Unity
This week 'one nation' rings true
Americans everywhere touched by Tuesday's catastrophic attacks

By Jerry Schwartz / Associated Press

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   NEW YORK -- In a few shocking moments this week, Americans regained something that they lost long ago -- the sense that they were one nation, indivisible.
   At 8:46 a.m. Thursday, precisely two days after the first strike, the church bells of Athens, Ga., chimed. "Today, we are all New Yorkers," said the city's mayor, Doc Eldridge.
   No one stopped to wonder at hearing those words from a politician in the Deep South -- perhaps because it seemed to be true. Everyone, no matter how far from Ground Zero, seemed to know someone who knew someone among the dead or missing or survivors, or those who were lucky enough to switch a flight or a meeting, and thus they lived.
   This was certainly true in Washingtonville, N.Y., 60 miles north of New York City, home to many city police officers and firefighters. As soon as she heard what had happened, Donna Turner sent her family's funeral clothes out to the dry cleaners.
   "I know when the list of names comes out we're going to be attending a lot of funerals," she said. "I can't even begin to say how many people I know down there."
   But it was also true in the small town of Cheney, Wash. The Book Store on First Street closed Tuesday morning. "Waiting to hear status of NYC relatives (Bob's brother)," read the sign, hastily written in green marker.
   But even if you didn't know a victim -- even if you had little involvement with the outside world -- there was no escaping this catastrophe. In Mesopotamia, Ohio, some of the Amish went to neighbors' homes to watch the reports on television.
   As word of the disaster spread, so did its secondary effects, not all of them good.
   The backlash against Arabs and Muslims emerged, although not yet with real virulence. A man rammed his car into the Islamic Center of Evansville, Ind., early Friday; at the University of California at Berkeley, someone spat at members of Students for Justice in Palestine.
   Others were determined to stop the hatred. Two people sent flowers to the Islamic Center in Lawrence, Kan., with an apology "for narrow-minded people who might do bad things."
   Some irritability could be blamed on the security measures that were suddenly imposed on an American public used to unfettered freedom.
   The effects of terrorism were unpredictable and disparate.
   They could be seen in the heartache felt in Seattle, where Alton Folks works for Boeing -- maker of all four planes that were commandeered by the hijackers.
   "We build (these airplanes) to put families together and use it for good use, and somebody turns it around and uses it for a bomb, basically," said Folks, an engineer at the company's suburban Auburn offices. "It's a horrible thing."
   They could be seen in the conundrum of transit officials around New York, left with 1,000 cars parked in train station lots since Tuesday. Their owners may never return for them.
   And then there was Jeffery Eugene Tucker, who was supposed to die on Tuesday, but did not.
   Tucker was sentenced to death for the murder of Wilton Humphreys 13 years ago. Tucker says he's ready to die.
   But because of the disarray in the courts after the terrorists' onslaught, Texas Gov. Rick Perry said Tucker could not be assured all the appeals he was due. So he gave him a 30-day reprieve.
   Because thousands died, Jeffery Tucker lives.