Sunday will be about more than the NFL

Freud, I suppose, would understand. Or maybe Denis Leary.

But I do not.

I can only guess as to why I remember what I remember about 9/11 and its aftermath, the incongruent memories and sentiments scattered and abstract.

Over the years I've thought a lot about Ace Bailey, the L.A. Kings' top pro scout who died when United Flight 175 from Boston to Los Angeles hit the South Tower of the World Trade Center.

It was the second plane to hit the towers and millions watched it live on TV, seeing hundreds vanish in an instant.

The plane went in at nearly 600 mph. Landing gear was found six blocks away. Those on the left side of the plane learned of their fate seconds ahead of time as the aircraft banked before impact.

I didn't know Ace well, but knew him enough through others to talk to him around the rink. Like most hockey people, he was quite affable.

I watched him die on TV at 8:03 a.m. (Chicago time) on Sept. 11, 2001, while sitting in my kitchen, wondering what to dunk in my coffee.

Another Kings scout, Mark Bavis, was also on the plane, and not long after the 9/11 attacks there were stories about other Kings personnel that could have easily been on that flight.

Years later, I found out Bruce Boudreau, now the coach in Washington, was one of those scheduled to be on Flight 175.

Some time back I asked Boudreau about it, and he said Kings head coach Andy Murray wanted Boudreau — then a minor-league coach — to arrive in L.A. a day earlier for meetings, so Boudreau and his assistant coach moved up their flights.

As simply as he could, Bruce Boudreau said Andy Murray saved his life.

And Ace Bailey could have gone with them. Boudreau encouraged him to tag along, but Bailey didn't need to be there early and didn't want the Kings to pay $700 to change his ticket, so he stayed behind while his friends traveled to the West Coast on Sept. 10.

Months later, it was reported that airphone records suggested Ace Bailey tried to call his wife four times before he perished.

And that's always the part of the story I remember most. The searing, debilitating, gut-punching pain.

On Sunday, we will remember one of the worst days in our country's history, but we tend to forget that for each one of the thousands who died, there are family members and friends who suffer the agony of 10 years ago as if it occurred yesterday.

On Flight 175, there were 56 passengers and nine crew members.

The captain was Victor Saracini, 51, a former Navy pilot who probably fought hard before the hijackers killed him. He left behind a wife and two children.

Among the passengers, Lisa Frost, 22, was moving to California for a new job. Frost graduated top of her class at Boston U. and was survived by her father, mother and 18-year-old brother.

Neil Mariani, 59, was on his way to his daughter's wedding in California. He bragged that he got a cheaper flight than his wife, who was scheduled to fly a day later.

Gerald Hardacre, 62, was traveling home to see his wife after visiting his daughter in Boston.

The Rev. Francis Grogan, 76, was not originally booked on this flight but had been bumped from another. It seems likely he brought comfort to his fellow victims in their final minutes.

The wife of Joe Lopez, 41, told a Pueblo, Colo., newspaper, “The world has lost a really good man, a good husband and father, and I know he died loving me and knowing he was loved.''

Lynn Goodchild, 25, was headed with boyfriend Shawn Nassaney, 25, to Hawaii for a dream vacation.

Ruth McCourt, 45, and 4-year old daughter Juliana drove to Boston's Logan Airport that morning with Ruth's best friend, Paige Farley-Hackel.

They were traveling together to L.A., but because they wanted to use frequent-flier awards, they chose different airlines with flights departing and arriving at the same time.

Paige took American Flight 11, which hit the North Tower at 7:46 a.m. She died 17 minutes before her friends, Ruth and Juliana, who were on Flight 175.

Ruth's brother Ron escaped the towers lobby because he was helping a woman to safety. She'd been standing outside at a bus stop and was soaked by burning jet fuel from the first crash.

Ron was outside with that woman — who died a few weeks later — when his sister's plane hit some 800 feet above him.

The youngest on board Flight 175 was 2-year-old Christine Hanson. Her parents Peter, 32, and Sue, 35, were also murdered when the jet hit the tower. I imagine them holding their baby girl tight to the very end.

Peter placed a call to his father in the final minutes, telling him not to worry and that if the hijackers crashed the plane, it would be over quickly.

I try to imagine Peter Hanson knowing the outcome. I think of him having to say goodbye to his wife, and kissing his daughter one last time, knowing his tiny child had been robbed of her chance to grow up and experience a full life.

I specifically remember hearing on the radio in the days after about a man who called his wife from one of the hijacked planes.

He told her he loved her. He told her to take good care of the children, and he said, “I hope you have a good life.''

Knowing he was dead, he wished her a good life.

For me, that's always been 9/11.

I do not know why I remember the things I remember about that day.

I suppose it's so I don't forget that so many lost so very much.

And to remember how much I have.

brozner@dailyherald.com

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