There are a few things in this world that make me tear up every time I see them, hear them, and so on. One is the Miracle on Ice. Another is the crescendo of Nessun Dorma. And then there's this: U2's breathtaking performance at the Super Bowl halftime show just four months after the attacks of 9/11.
I had worked and worked and worked, nonstop, day after day after day, covering the initial attack and then the aftermath in New York City for MSNBC. I lived out of a hotel. It was exhausting, exhilarating, and excruciating -- all of these things at the same time. I cried a lot. And by January of 2002 I figured I was past the emotional impact of what had happened, that I had just come to accept and compartmentalize all that I'd seen and heard and felt.
Then U2 stepped onstage, the names of the dead began to scroll on a massive white background that seemed itself to reach to heaven, and the first notes of the elegiac MLK began to play -- and I completely lost it. Still kind of do.
Here's MLK and Where the Streets Have No Name.