What 9/11 Means To Me.

What 9/11 Means to Me

Living in Italy part of the year, I sometimes lose track of important American dates. Labor Day can pass without a cookout. The Fourth of July feels different when there are no fireworks, no flags lining the streets, and no long weekend at the lake.

But I can never forget September 11.

Partly because it is the birthday of our dear friend, JoAnn Burchuk. And partly because of where Stephanie and I were supposed to be on September 11, 2001.

We were on our way to Italy.

Our two young children were home with our nanny and a friend who was helping house-sit. Everything was arranged. Bags packed. Plans made. We were ready for a wonderful holiday.

And then…

Instead of flying to Italy, we found ourselves back home, desperately trying to reach friends and relatives in New York and attempting to understand something that seemed impossible to understand. Two of the planes that struck the World Trade Center had taken off from Boston—the same airport from which we were supposed to depart.

Our neighbors knew we were flying out that morning. When they saw all the cars in our driveway, they immediately became concerned. They came over to check on us and cried when they saw that we were safe.

My father, my father-in-law, and my brother were all traveling across the country. With air travel shut down, each had to figure out how to get home. Like millions of other families, ours suddenly felt scattered across a country that had become frighteningly large and uncertain.

That evening, we all sat down for dinner.

Our children were happy—but confused—to have everyone home. The nanny was there. The friend helping her was there. Stephanie and I were there. This was not how the day was supposed to end, but to the kids, it probably felt like an unexpected gathering.

They didn’t understand what had happened. They only knew that their teachers had been afraid. School pickup had been chaotic. Adults were whispering. The television was showing the same terrible images again and again.

Outside, the streets were too quiet.

Inside, the tension kept building.

Then, as we were eating, Stephanie asked the children a question:

“What was the best part of your day?”

I looked at her and thought, What the hell are you talking about?

This was a terrible day. One of the worst days any of us could remember. How could there possibly be a “best part”?

Then I caught her knowing look.

“Even on hard days,” she continued, “something good happened. What was it?”

It was brilliant.

She wasn’t pretending the day wasn’t awful. She wasn’t asking us to ignore the fear, the grief, or the uncertainty. She was reminding us that terror did not have to take every single thing from us. Even on the darkest day, we could still search for one moment of goodness.

So we went around the table and shared the best part of our day.

That simple question became a family tradition. It spread to friends and relatives, many of whom still ask it at their own dinner tables. I have carried it into my work. At the end of a gymnastics camp—especially after a difficult day—I still ask my athletes:

“What was the best part of your day?”

Twenty-five years later, that may be what September 11 means most personally to me.

I remember the lives lost. I remember the families who never again had everyone sitting around their dinner tables. I remember the fear, the confusion, the silent streets, and the desperate phone calls. I remember our neighbors crying with relief when they found us safely at home.

But I also remember my wife finding a small light in an impossibly dark moment.

When it was Stephanie’s turn to answer her own question, she said the best part of her day was knowing that it was our friend JoAnn’s birthday.

That is not denial. It is resilience.

The world can be frightening. Life can change between breakfast and dinner. Planes can be grounded, families separated, and everything we thought was certain can suddenly disappear.

But even on the hardest day, something good happened.

Sometimes we just need someone wise enough to ask us to look for it.

So, happy birthday, JoAnn. Even on that terrible day, your birthday gave us something good to hold on to.

And now I pass the question on to you:

What was the best part of your day?

Warning. Tony Retrosi is a lot.

For an upcoming business trip I had to write a bio so that they could introduce me. This always makes me uncomfortable. I never know what to say. I do not want to brag. But I also do not want to be overly modest.

I put some prompts into Chat GPT and asked it to come up with a bio for me.

This is what it sent back. Not sure how accurate it is. Let me know what you think!

Warning: Tony Retrosi is a lot.

He will tell you he’s “taking it easy” while simultaneously running a business, coaching gymnastics on another continent, dealing with city government, writing something that will probably piss somebody off, learning Italian, planning his next trip, and wondering why everyone else seems stressed.

He has opinions. Many opinions. And unfortunately, he has usually spent enough time thinking about them that you can’t just dismiss him with a casual “Yeah, but…” Unless you have about 45 minutes available.

Do not casually ask him about gymnastics unless you genuinely want to know. You will accidentally unlock a 32-year lecture involving coaching philosophy, psychology, education, leadership, Italy, three former athletes, and a story from a training camp in 1997.

Likewise, never say, “Government should just run more like a business.” You have no idea what you’ve just started.

He travels at a pace normally associated with international fugitives. New Hampshire. Italy. Puerto Rico. Mexico. Iceland. Canada. Back to Italy. He will describe this as “a busy couple of weeks.”

He is fiercely loyal. This sounds wonderful—and mostly it is. But once Tony decides you are one of his people, good luck getting rid of him. Former gymnast? Friend? Family? Coach he met 20 years ago? You are now apparently enrolled in a lifetime support program you never applied for.

He will check on you. He will encourage you. He will give you advice you did not request. He will tell you when you’re full of shit. He will probably feed you. And if necessary, he will metaphorically—or perhaps literally—give you the promised kick in the ass.

He is sentimental but would prefer that nobody notice. He will make a joke precisely when things are getting emotional, because God forbid we all just sit there having feelings like normal people.

He believes friendship is a long-term contract. Geography is apparently irrelevant.

He also has an alarming tendency to collect homes, communities, gymnasts, friends and surrogate family members wherever he goes. Spend enough time with him and you may suddenly discover you have a place to stay in New Hampshire or Italy and several people you’ve never met have already heard about you.

He loves a good argument, but don’t confuse arguing with anger. He can disagree with you enthusiastically and still pour you a glass of wine five minutes later.

There is also a significant danger that he will convince you to do something. Travel somewhere. Coach differently. Speak up. Take a chance. Come to dinner. Get involved. Stop feeling sorry for yourself.

His fundamental problem is that he actually gives a shit.

About his athletes.
About his friends.
About his family.
About his community.
About whether he’s leaving things a little better than he found them.

Which means he can occasionally be exhausting.

So consider yourself warned:

If you meet Tony Retrosi, keep your opinions defensible, your passport current, your wine glass nearby, and don’t casually tell him about a problem unless you’re prepared for him to actually try to help you solve it.

And whatever you do, do not tell him, “That’s just the way it’s always been done.”

You could lose the rest of your afternoon.

Podcast Episode: America at 250

Pip: Tony Retrosi is writing from Iceland, which feels about right for the vantage point this episode requires.

Mara: He's looking back at two hundred and fifty years of American history — what the country built, what it chose, and what it put on the White House lawn to mark the occasion. Let's start with the anniversary itself.

America at 250

Pip: The premise here is simple and brutal: a quarter-millennium of unmatched power and resources, and the question is what we actually have to show for it.

Mara: The post opens with a quote from Oliver Kornetzke that sets the frame, and then the piece itself extends that frame into a list. Here it is: "250 years. Two hundred and fifty fucking years of the most powerful, most resourced, most theoretically capable nation in the history of human civilization and here is what we have to show for it."

Pip: And what follows is the accounting — forty million on food stamps, thirty million without health insurance, the highest incarceration rate on earth, an opioid crisis past half a million dead, infrastructure collapsing, life expectancy going backward.

Mara: The list runs long deliberately. The point is accumulation — that no single failure is an accident when they all arrive together, sustained across decades, across administrations, across every available opportunity to choose differently.

Pip: And then the anniversary gift itself arrives: a wrestling arena on the White House lawn. Not a hospital. Not a school. A wrestling arena with cranes and pyrotechnics.

Mara: The post is direct about what that means. "Truthfully, this is not a departure from American values. This is the fullest possible expression of them. Because this is what we chose. Every single time the choice was presented."

Pip: That's the turn the whole piece hinges on — not outrage at a single bad decision, but the argument that the decision is consistent. The football coach making forty times what the physics professor makes. The Nobel laureate's school getting a budget cut while the state championship school gets a parade.

Mara: The military spending section makes the same case in harder numbers: more spent on defense than the next ten countries combined, while veterans sleep on the streets of the cities they returned to.

Pip: Rome had bread and circuses. The post's version lands a little differently.

Mara: "Rome had bread and circuses. We Americans have food stamps and a wrestling ring outside the Oval Office." That's the closing image, and it earns its place.


Pip: Two hundred and fifty years is a long time to confuse the noise you make with the work you never did.

Mara: The question the post leaves open is whether naming it clearly is the first step toward something else. We'll see what comes next.

A Heartfelt Goodbye: Honoring My Best Friend Rob

I’m trying to find the right words to honor my best friend, Rob. And honestly… I’m not sure words were ever big enough for him. We had the kind of friendship that was built on laughing way too hard at things no one else understood, finishing each other’s sentences, and driving our wives absolutely insane. Which — let’s be honest — was one of our greatest joys. It was messy, hilarious, loyal to the core, and built on the rule that no idea was ever too ridiculous for him to say, “What the hell, let’s give it a try.”

Two men dressed in vintage-style suits with hats, posing playfully in a kitchen decorated with wine bottles in the background.

And I tested that rule. Often.

Rob grew up in New Jersey, I grew up in New York, and somehow we didn’t meet until we were two grown men living in New Hampshire. Maybe it’s for the best — if we had met any earlier, half the Tri-State Area might’ve issued restraining orders. But from the moment we did meet, something clicked. He was the friend I didn’t even know I needed — the brother I got to choose.

He was also a big guy. Over six feet. Built like a former linebacker. And I’m… well… I’m 5’7” if I stand up straight and think confident thoughts.

Whenever I picked him up, I would very deliberately move the passenger seat all the way forward and crank it up as high as it would go so his head would stick halfway out the sunroof. Every single time, he’d shake his head, fold himself in half like a travel-size giant, and say, “Let’s go.” No annoyance. No complaint. Just Rob being Rob — rolling with the nonsense because that’s what friends do.

Two men sitting at a table in a restaurant, raising their glasses in a toast. One man is wearing a captain's hat, while the other is in a white hat. The setting has a cozy ambiance with mirrors and illuminated decor.

And that was our whole friendship: he’d sigh, shake his head… and then get in the car anyway.

Like the time I may have forgotten that my son needed to move back into his dorm in New Hampshire while I was in California. Who did I call? Rob. And because he was the best, he just said, “Yeah, sure,” as if people called him every day to move their children into their college dorm.

Or the time at dinner after his own vow renewal when someone congratulated us on being a “cute couple.” Rob just shrugged reached across and took my hand and said, “Well, it’s not the worst thing we’ve been accused of.”

A group of people smiling and chatting in a cozy indoor setting, with wooden interiors and festive decorations visible in the background.

Then there were the costumes.

One night, he and Becky came to pick us up for dinner and I was standing in the yard dressed as a T-Rex. Full costume. No explanation. Rob jumped out of the car and chased me around the yard. two 50+ year old men running around the front yard laughing. Becky, his wife, said, “Ok boys. time to go. What are you, 8?” Rob just rolled with it and said, “You riding like that, or are you changing?”

Another time they got home from vacation and found me in their front yard dressed as a lawn jockey. He didn’t even ask why. He just muttered, “I really need new friends,” and then laughed until he couldn’t breathe.

I have enough stories to fill a book — but maybe the mystery is better. Maybe the best way to honor him is knowing that everyone has their own version of Rob… and every version is warm, loyal, and filled with laughter.

He taught me how to fly fish. And I will never forgive him for that. He taught me how to relax and laugh at the world. And for that- I’ll always love him.

Last Saturday was his birthday. Our final texts say everything:
Me: “HAPPY BIRTHDAY! YOU ARE THE MOST AMAZING PERSON I KNOW.”
Rob: “Thanks! You must know a lot of dorks!”
Me: “Yeah — but you’re still the best of them.”
Rob: “Thanks? I love you.”
Me: “We deserve each other. Love you too”
Rob: “We must have been evil in a past life.”

That was us. Silly, loving, ridiculous in all the right ways.

Saying goodbye to him at the hospital was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. We had plans. So many plans. And losing him has left a hole I don’t know how to fill.

I will miss him more than words can describe. I will never laugh as hard as I laughed with him — and honestly, I don’t want to. That kind of laughter belongs to Rob.

A blue monster character embraces a green frog character, both wearing costumes. The setting appears cozy, with wooden backgrounds.

I love you, buddy. Thank you for being the friend I didn’t know I needed, the one who said “yes” to everything, the one who never hesitated to climb into a too-small car seat with his head sticking out the sunroof.

We must have been evil in a past life — because this life, with you in it, was pretty damn wonderful.

Op-Ed: Rebuttal to Gov. Ayotte: Billboards Don’t Fix Schools, Grow an Economy, or Build a Future

Gov. Kelly Ayotte’s press release about running ads in NYC inviting businesses to move to New Hampshire is posted at the end of this op-ed.

By Rep. DAVID PREECE, D-Manchester

Governor Kelly Ayotte wants the country to believe New Hampshire is thriving under her watch. But no billboard truck rolling through Manhattan—or Manchester, for that matter—can hide the simple truth: Ayotte has spent her term defunding the very foundations that make a state worth moving to in the first place.

Ayotte touts “economic opportunity,” yet she cut state support for public schools, forcing local property taxpayers to shoulder even more of the burden. New Hampshire homeowners—especially in cities like Manchester, Nashua, and Rochester—are already paying some of the highest property taxes in the nation. Under Ayotte’s budgets, that pressure only worsens. A state that refuses to adequately fund its own children’s education doesn’t become a magnet for innovation; it becomes a cautionary tale.

She boasts about “freedom” while presiding over some of the lowest investments in culture and the arts in the country—slashing grants that drive tourism, downtown revitalization, and the creative industries that power modern economies. Arts and culture are not luxuries; they are economic engines. Ayotte cut them anyway.

As for economic development, New Hampshire has fallen behind its neighbors because Ayotte dismantled programs that help small businesses expand, attract workforce talent, and modernize infrastructure. Instead, she pours her energy into political theater—billboard stunts that insult entire cities but do nothing to address New Hampshire’s real challenges: sky-high housing costs, a shrinking workforce, unaffordable child care, and gridlocked transportation systems.

Calling New York City “communist” from the comfort of a billboard is easy. Fixing New Hampshire’s housing crisis is hard.
Mocking another state’s mayor is easy. Building a 21st-century economy takes work.

Ayotte chooses the former every time.

While she rents flashy trucks in Manhattan, Granite Staters struggle with rising energy costs that are among the highest in the country. Families brace for another year of inadequate school funding—despite court rulings declaring our current system unconstitutional. Workers leave the state because child care is either unavailable or unaffordable. Businesses can’t expand because employees have nowhere to live.

If Ayotte actually cared about economic opportunity, she would stop strangling public services and start investing in them. She’d fund the arts instead of gutting them. She’d strengthen public education instead of undermining it. She’d support small businesses by backing real, structural economic development—not gimmicks designed to score Fox News airtime.

And if she really cared about Granite Staters, she would stand up to the reckless tariffs imposed by her ally Donald Trump—tariffs that are actively driving up costs for New Hampshire manufacturers, farmers, and small businesses.

But she won’t. Because Ayotte’s politics are performative, not productive.
She governs by spectacle, not substance.

New Hampshire doesn’t need a governor obsessed with billboards.
We need a leader willing to fund our schools, invest in our communities, and build long-term prosperity—not tear it down for national political points.

Kelly Ayotte may think New Hampshire is her prop.
But Granite Staters deserve more than a prop governor.

Rep. David Preece

Below is Gov. Kelly Ayotte’s press release


Announcing the campaign, Governor Ayotte said, “My message to business owners in New York City is this: Come to New Hampshire. We’ll help your business make the switch, and you’ll keep more of your hard-earned money!”
Ayotte campaign spokesman John Corbett added, “New York can experiment with socialism — New Hampshire will stick with lower taxes and more freedom with Governor Ayotte in the corner office. Anyone seeking freedom from Mamdani’s disastrous policies is welcome to join us in the Granite State.”
Under Governor Ayotte’s leadership, New Hampshire is the #1 state in the nation for economic opportunity, taxpayer return on investment, child wellbeing, and public safety, and has been recognized as the most competitive tax structure in the Northeast.
The following ads are running in New York City today:

Democracy Functions as Intended. MAGA National Devastated.

🗳️ Breaking: Democracy Functions as Intended. MAGA Nation Devastated.

Democracy Is Working — Please Remain Calm

Apparently democracy worked this week, and MAGA Nation is furious about it.

In New York City, a democratic-socialist was elected — which sent a shockwave through conservative media. Judging by the online meltdown, you’d think Karl Marx had just been sworn in at City Hall. Spoiler alert: he wasn’t. But I’m fairly certain most of the people screaming about “socialism” couldn’t define it if you spotted them the first five letters.

Then, in Virginia and New Jersey, Democratic women won major elections — and that really seemed to push some folks right over the edge. Suddenly, democracy was “rigged,” “stolen,” or “a sign of the apocalypse.” Funny how that works.

When their candidate wins, it’s all:

“Sit down and take it!”

“Stop being a snowflake!”

But when their candidate loses, it’s:

“THE END IS NIGH! RELEASE THE KRAKEN! PUT UP THE GALLOWS!”

Tell me again how much you love democracy? I guess it’s easy to love when the person looks like you, talks like you, and stands up when they pee.

The lack of basic civic education in this country is honestly terrifying. So much so that the Kentucky Secretary of State had to send out a PSA reminding citizens of two very important facts:

Kentucky wasn’t voting yesterday. (Their elections are next year.) No, you cannot vote for the mayor of New York City.

That’s right. Somewhere in Kentucky, people were trying to figure out how to cast a ballot for an NYC race they have absolutely nothing to do with.

So maybe, before storming the Capitol again, it’s time we all took a deep breath, cracked open a civics textbook, and remembered what democracy actually is: people voting, candidates winning and losing, and government continuing to function — whether you like the results or not.

Democracy worked this week.

Please remain calm.

🗳️ Public Service Announcement

This has been a message from the Department of Elections for People Who Need to Chill Out.

Please consult your nearest high-school civics teacher before posting, tweeting, or constructing homemade gallows.

— Tony Retrosi

Dover, NH — November 2025

Thank You Voters.

Thank You, Dover

Election Day in Dover was cold, blustery, and classic New England — but that didn’t stop democracy from showing up in full force.

I want to thank everyone who ran for office, from School Board to City Council. It takes courage, time, and a deep sense of service to put your name on a ballot. Our city is better for the people willing to step up, listen, and lead.

A special thank you to the voters of Ward 3 for your confidence and support. It’s an honor to continue representing you. I don’t take that trust lightly, and I’ll keep showing up — prepared, practical, and ready to work.

And to the volunteers from both parties who stood outside in the cold and wind, holding signs, greeting neighbors, and helping educate voters — you are the heart of our civic spirit. You remind us that local politics can still be respectful, neighborly, and grounded in community.

There’s no rest after Election Day. At City Hall, we’re right back to work — with a workshop tonight to review the Capital Improvement Plan (CIP), and a Housing Summit tomorrow as we continue tackling one of Dover’s biggest challenges.

Our best years are ahead of us — and I’m grateful to walk into them with all of you.

— Tony Retrosi

City Councilor, Ward 3

Covered Bridge Trail

Earlier this week I wrote about the proposed warming station for Strafford County. Last night we had our public forum on the warming station at the Dover City Council Meeting.

More Than Just a Walk in the Woods

Wooden sign marking the entrance to Don Black Trail, surrounded by autumn foliage and fallen leaves.


Last night’s City Council meeting got pretty lively when the conversation turned to the Don Black Trail—better known around here as the Covered Bridge Trail at County Farm. Several residents stood up to describe it as a mess, overrun by people using drugs and littering.

This morning, I decided to see for myself. I grabbed some gloves and garbage bags, figuring I’d do a little cleanup along the way—if there was any “paraphernalia” to be found.

Well, I did find something unexpected.

Skeletons. Bats. Gravestones. Ghosts hanging from the trees.
But not the kind the council was worried about.

A scenic view of a dirt path leading through a wooded area during autumn, decorated for Halloween with carved pumpkins and a sign for a Haunted Trail.

It turns out the Riverside Rest Home has set up a full-blown Haunted Trail for their residents and for the daycare center next door. When I ran into one of the employees out decorating, she told me how much she enjoys walking the trail on her breaks and how they’ve been having a great time putting the spooky display together.

A little further down the path, I met another woman walking her dog, Elsie (a very good dog, though a little wary of the carved pumpkin near the bridge). She told me she walks the trail nearly every day and hadn’t noticed any problems either—just the usual peace and quiet that makes the Trail such a gem.
Interestingly enough, I also learned that Police Chief Terlemezian had been out that same morning, checking things over.

A spooky Halloween display featuring a skeleton under a black umbrella, a decorative sign for 'Riverside Haunted Trail', and a carved pumpkin, surrounded by autumn leaves in a wooded area.

So while there’s always room for community concern and vigilance, what I saw on the Trail wasn’t danger or decay—it was life. It was community. It was people caring about the same public spaces we all share.

And, at least for this week, it’s also a pretty good place to get a Halloween scare.

A wooden sign welcoming visitors to a Haunted Trail, adorned with a straw hat and a carved pumpkin, set amidst autumn foliage and grass.

We the People: A Call Against Tyranny and Loyalty

NO KINGS

Colorful graphic with the text 'NO KINGS' in bold letters, accompanied by decorative elements including a crown and stars.

For nearly 250 years, America has stood for one simple, powerful idea: we do not bow to kings.

The truth is in the name of the protest itself — NO KINGS.

It doesn’t matter if you’re Republican, Democrat, or Independent — this isn’t about party. It’s about principle.

A Nation Built on Limits — Not Loyalty

When our founders declared independence, they weren’t just rejecting a monarch; they were rejecting the very idea that one person should ever hold absolute power.

They understood that freedom depends on limits — limits on government, limits on leaders, limits on ego.

Today, that same fight continues.

There are those who would have us return to the rule of one man — not through lineage, but through blind loyalty.

We’ve seen leaders who demand fealty, who call anyone who disagrees traitors, who use the machinery of government to punish opponents and reward friends.

That is not democracy. That is monarchy in a new disguise.

To the Most Loyal Among Us

To the most MAGA among us: maybe you supported some of Trump’s policies. Maybe you believed he spoke for you.

But ask yourself — do you really want him, or anyone else, to rule as KING?

How long will it be before he comes after you for disagreeing?

How long before troops are ordered into your cities under the excuse of “maintaining order”?

We fought a revolution to prevent exactly that.

We swore allegiance not to a man, but to a Constitution.

And that Constitution begins with three words: We the People.

Liberty and Justice — For All

Every schoolchild knows how the pledge ends:

“…with liberty and justice for all.”

Not for some. Not for one man. For all.

That’s who holds the power — We the People.

Not kings. Not billionaires. Not bullies with golden crowns and fragile egos.

Stand Together

So when you see a NO KINGS protest — go.

Go not as a partisan, but as an American.

Stand beside your neighbors, your coworkers, your friends — left, right, and center — and say together what generations before us have said:

No. Not here. Not now. Not ever.

Flag featuring the phrase 'We the People' and 'NO KINGS IN AMERICA' in bold, colorful typography against a black background, displayed outside in a garden setting.

Let’s make sure NH stands for science, safety, and community

Let’s make sure NH stands for science, safety, and community

Sept. 8 − To the Editor:

Florida’s decision to end vaccine mandates is a terrible mistake − and it is one New Hampshire should never consider repeating.

For most of human history, the average life expectancy was only 30 to 35 years. People lived on organic food, breathed clean air, and consumed no artificial additives. And yet—they still died young. As Neil deGrasse Tyson has explained, lifespans only increased when science got involved. Vaccines, antibiotics, and public health measures changed everything.

By rejecting this progress, Florida risks a tragic return of diseases once thought eradicated and a rise in preventable deaths. That is not freedom—that is recklessness.

Here in New Hampshire, we pride ourselves on common sense and responsibility to our neighbors. Vaccines are not just a personal choice; they are a social compact that protects the most vulnerable among us—children, seniors, and those with health conditions.

There will also be a huge economic toll from plants and factories initially temporarily shutting down because of the spread of diseases (like during covid) to businesses moving to locations where this will not be an issue. In my work, I spend a great deal of time in Europe, and I already hear of families canceling vacations to Florida and even the U.S. because of health concerns. Do we want New Hampshire associated with that same reputation?

Public health should never be a partisan issue. It is about protecting lives. Let’s make sure New Hampshire stands for science, safety, and community—not politics that put us all at risk.

Tony Retrosi

Dover