The Czar finds it meaningful, at least in a self-indulgent way, that he never tires of hearing “where were you” stories about September 11, 2001. Unlike the Kennedy assassination for the Baby Boomers, who managed to turn that all about themselves—and let us face it, modern liberals would have despised Kennedy as a fiscal and military hawk who worshipped an on-your-own philosophy—the September 11th focus genuinely reveals the interconnectedness Americans felt to all the victims.

You really don’t talk about where you were that day; you talk about where you were in relation to the tragedy. You were in New York, you were in Washington, or you were in Pennsylvania. You knew some of the victims, or you know people who did. You had loved ones or friends who were there. Perhaps you were away on business or vacation and got stranded. Or maybe you didn’t, which is a story in itself. Whatever variation you can conceive, it happened to someone that day.

The Czar has that entire day etched into his brain, including much of what followed after the attack. Despite all of that, one memory keep returning. The Czar, driving from Kansas City to Chicago that night—the roads eerily empty. Suddenly a small Toyota races past on the left, hurtling over 90 miles per hour. Before it vanishes into the night, we see the New York license plates and know something unspeakably bad happened in their lives.

The Czar of Muscovy

Божію Поспѣшествующею Милостію Мы, Дима Грозный Императоръ и Самодержецъ Всероссiйскiй, цѣсарь Московскiй. The Czar was born in the steppes of Russia in 1267, and was cheated out of total control of all Russia upon the death of Boris Mikhailovich, who replaced Alexander Yaroslav Nevsky in 1263. However, in 1283, our Czar was passed over due to a clerical error and the rule of all Russia went to his second cousin Daniil (Даниил Александрович), whom Czar still resents. As a half-hearted apology, the Czar was awarded control over Muscovy, inconveniently located 5,000 miles away just outside Chicago. He now spends his time seething about this and writing about other stuff that bothers him.