OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# Remembering 9/11: ‘The True Heroes ... Did Not Go Home’

Wade Brown missed the last van of New York City police officers headed to the World Trade Center Towers the morning of Sept. 11, 2001.
The New York City policeman arrived at his precinct after monitoring an election site for the city’s mayoral primary at an elementary school. At the school, an elderly woman told him a plane crashed into one of the Trade Towers. “Everything will be fine,” Brown told her, thinking it an accident.
Then, Brown, a New Jersey National Guard first lieutenant, heard of another plane crashing into another tower. “Obviously, then I knew it was a terrorist attack,” said Brown, platoon leader for the Alpha Company, 2-102 Armor.
Brown jumped into a squad car, negotiating a sea of vehicles through downtown streets to his Bronx precinct. “The whole city went through a period of chaos,” Brown said.
After arriving on station, he realized the two vans officers to the crash site had already left. Brown asked if he could take the next van but a police sergeant said no, the election hadn’t been canceled. The police sergeant sent him back to the school. His station didn’t hear from the 16 officers in the vans for several hours.
Many of Brown’s colleagues just missed getting hit by falling debris. Some had broken bones and cuts. Others suffered from smoke and dust inhalation, but miraculously, all 16 from Brown’s precinct survived. However, 23 New York City police officers did not.
“I did nothing heroic that day,” Brown said. “The true heroes of 9/11 did not go home. Anybody who was there or involved in [the rescue effort] will tell you the best of us did not go home.”
With rumors of more bombings, officers scattered to provide security at Ground Zero, Yankee Stadium and government buildings.
After the cancellation of the election, Brown was sent to guard a hospital. The 29-year-old lieutenant did not step on Ground Zero that morning, but he participated in the hardest part: The search for survivors. Brown joined thousands of firefighters and police officers in “bucket brigades,” collecting debris in buckets. For 10 hours, the New Jersey native searched the rubble for any signs of human life. All police officers in the area, including those on leave made the trip to Ground Zero to assist the rescue efforts.
“The whole 10 hours I was there, there were no body parts, no bodies—nothing,” Brown said. “We asked ourselves, ‘Where is everybody?’ ”
Brown said his squad found little or no remains. He said the effects of 9/11 didn’t fully sink in until months after the tragedy.
“As you heard stories of the cops and firefighters that died down there, it hits you,” the four-year NYPD veteran said. “It was our generation’s Pearl Harbor.”
Three years later, Brown said the memories remain strong. He carries them with him as he supports the Joint Task Force mission and helps fight the terrorism that brought 9/11 to America.
“We’ve all shed enough tears for the fallen at Ground Zero,” Brown said. “The best thing we can do now is to live a better, more fulfilling life in their honor.”
# The Wire/Volume 5/Issue 11

the Wire
* Remembering 9-11: Why We're Here
* Remembering 9-11: Every Trooper Plays a Role
* Training: Medics' Prescription is Excellence
* Remembering 9-11: Trip May Have Saved Trooper's Life
* Remembering 9-11: 'The True Heroes … Did Not Go Home'
* Remembering 9-11: Tragedy is Trooper's Introduction to NYPD
* Remembering 9-11: Trooper Pays Tribute to Fallen 'Brother'
* What We're Fighting For
* Command Calls for Uniformity in Camp America
* Jazz Bands Bring Troopers Labor Day Soul
* Guantanamo Bay Watching as Hurricane Ivan Approaches
* Around Guantanamo Bay: The Cuban Club
* Remembering 9-11: For Troopers, the GWOT is Personal
* World Wire
* Worship Wire
* Sports Wire
* 15 Minutes of Fame with Petty Officer 3rd Class Jarod Ross
* Guide Wire
# The Winds of the World

A Yasmini/Ranjoor Singh story of India at the start of World War I. First serialized in Adventure magazine, July–September 1915.
Kirby pulled out to the roadside and let the regiment pass
THE
WINDS OF THE WORLD
By TALBOT MUNDY
Author of KING—OF THE KHYBER RIFLES, ETC.
ILLUSTRATED BY JOSEPH CLEMENT COLL
TORONTO GEORGE J. McLEOD, LIMITED PUBLISHERS
Ever the Winds of the World fare forth (Oh, listen ye! Ah, listen ye!), East and West, and South and North, Shuttles weaving back and forth Amid the warp! (Oh, listen ye!) Can sightless touch—can vision keen Hunt where the Winds of the World have been And searching, learn what rumors mean? (Nay, ye who are wise! Nay, listen ye!) When tracks are crossed and scent is stale, 'Tis fools who shout—the fast who fail! But wise men harken-Listen ye!
Yasmini's Song

### CONTENTS

* Chapter I
* Chapter II
* Chapter III
* Chapter IV
* Chapter V
* Chapter VI
* Chapter VII
* Chapter VIII
* Chapter IX
* Chapter X
* Chapter XI
* Chapter XII
* Chapter XIII
* Chapter XIV
This work is in the public domain in the United States because it was published before January 1, 1929.
The longest-living author of this work died in 1940, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 83 years or less. This work may be in the public domain in countries and areas with longer native copyright terms that apply the rule of the shorter term to foreign works.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# The Winds

1912.
To me the winds that die and start, And strive in wars that never cease, Are dearer than the level peace That lies unstirred at summer's heart.
More dear to me the shadowed world, Where, with report of tempest rife, The air intensifies with life, Than quiet fields of summer's gold.
I am the winds' admitted friend: I share those ancient mysteries They whisper to the trembling trees Or roar along the heavens' end.
And when my spirit listless stands With folded wings that do not live, Their own assuageless wings they give To lift her from the stirless lands.
Within the place unmanifest Where central Truth is immanent, Lies there a vast, entire content Of sound and movement one-in rest?
I Know not this: yet in my heart I feel that where all truths concur, The shrine is peaceless with the stir Of winds that enter and depart.
This work is in the public domain in the United States because it was published before January 1, 1929.
The longest-living author of this work died in 1961, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 62 years or less. This work may be in the public domain in countries and areas with longer native copyright terms that apply the rule of the shorter term to foreign works.
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# The Works of H. G. Wells (Atlantic Edition)/The Wonderful Visit/Chapter 19

§ 19
So the Angel dined and talked to the Vicar, and presently the night came and he was overtaken by yawning.
"Yah—oh!" said the Angel suddenly. "Dear me! A higher power seemed suddenly to stretch my mouth open and a great breath of air went rushing down my throat."
"You yawned," said the Vicar. "Do you never yawn in the angelic country?"
"Never," said the Angel.
"And yet you are immortal!—I suppose you want to go to bed."
"Bed!" said the Angel. "Where's that?
So the Vicar explained darkness to him and the art of going to bed. (The Angels it seems sleep only in ​order to dream, and dream, like primitive man, with their foreheads on their knees. And they sleep among the white poppy meadows in the heat of the day.) The Angel found the bedroom arrangements quaint enough.
"Why is everything raised up on big wooden legs?" he said. "You have the floor, and then you put everything you have upon a wooden quadruped. Why do you do it?" The Vicar explained with philosophical vagueness. The Angel burned his finger in the candle-flame—and displayed an absolute ignorance of the elementary principles of combustion. He was merely charmed when a line of fire ran up the curtains. The Vicar had to deliver a lecture on fire so soon as the flame was extinguished. He had all kinds of explanations to make—even the soap needed explaining. It was an hour or more before the Angel was safely tucked in for the night.
"He's very beautiful," said the Vicar, descending the staircase, quite tired out; "and he's a real angel no doubt. But I am afraid he will be a dreadful anxiety, all the same, before he gets into our earthly way with things."
He seemed quite worried. He helped himself to an extra glass of sherry before he put away the wine in the cellaret.
# The Wood

* Search for titles containing or beginning with: "The Wood."
* sister projects: Wikidata item.
This is a disambiguation page. It lists works that share the same title. If an article link referred you here, please consider editing it to point directly to the intended page.
* The Wood, a poem by Charlotte Brontë
* The Wood, a poem by Howard Phillips Lovecraft
* The Wood, a poem by John Cowper Powys
# The Wood-Paper Patent

* related portals: Supreme Court of the United States.
* sister projects: Wikidata item.
United States Supreme Court
90 U.S. 566
The Wood-Paper Patent

## Notes

This work is in the public domain in the United States because it is a work of the United States federal government (see 17 U.S.C. 105).
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# The Wonderful Wizard of Oz (1910 film)

* related portals: Fantasy film.
* sister projects: Wikipedia article, Wikidata item.
Cast and Crew :
| Cast ||
| Role | Actor |
| | Bebe Daniels |
| | Hobart Bosworth |
| | Robert Z. Leonard |
| | Winifred Greenwood |
| | Eugenie Besserer |
| | Lillian Leighton |
| Crew ||
| Production company | Selig Polyscope Company |
| Distributor | Selig Polyscope Company |
| Director | Otis Turner (d. 1918) |
| Producer | William Nicholas Selig (d. 1948) |
| Screenwriter | Otis Turner |
| Cinematographer | Otis Turner |
| Based on available information, the latest crew member that is relevant to international copyright laws died in 1948, meaning that this film may be in the public domain in countries and jurisdictions with 75 years p.m.a. or less, as well as in the United States. ||
Selig Polyscope Inc. The Wizard of Oz 1910
MEETS THE WONDERFUL SCARECROW.
THE CYCLONE.
BLOWN INTO THE LAND OF OZ.
MOMBA THE WITCH ASSERTS HER POWER OVER THE WIZARD OF OZ.
I will give my Crown to anybody that releases me from the Power of Momba the Witch - so I can go back to Omaha. On the bill - As a wizard I'm humbug and tired of this King business - N. B. - Wishing to keep this secret I have issued this proclamation. The Wizard of Oz King
GLINDA THE GOOD CHANGES TOTO INTO A REAL PROTECTOR.
I will give my Crown to anybody that releases me from the Power of Momba the Witch - so I can go back to Omaha. On the bill - As a wizard I'm humbug and tired of this King business - N. B. - Wishing to keep this secret I have issued this proclamation. The Wizard of Oz King
THE RUSTY TIN WOODMAN AFTER BEING OILED PROVES GRATEFUL.
OUR FRIENDS ENCOUNTER MOMBA THE WITCH.
DOROTHY LEARNS THAT WATER IS FATAL TO A WITCH.
DOROTHY REACHES EMERALD CITY TO CLAIM THE CROWN.
THE WIZARD FREE, THE SCARECROW MADE KING.
THE WIZARD PREPARES FOR FLIGHT.
UNION RULES NO WORK AFTER 12
THE WIZARD BIDS GOOD BYE TO OZ.
Selig Polyscope Inc. The End 1910
This work is in the public domain in the United States because it was published before January 1, 1929.
This work may be in the public domain in countries and areas with longer native copyright terms that apply the rule of the shorter term to foreign works.
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# The Wood-Cutter

Collected in Ballads of a Cheechako
This work is in the public domain in the United States because it was published before January 1, 1929.
The longest-living author of this work died in 1958, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 65 years or less. This work may be in the public domain in countries and areas with longer native copyright terms that apply the rule of the shorter term to foreign works.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# The Wood (Lovecraft)

They cut it down, and where the pitch-black aisles  Of forest night had hid eternal things, They scal’d the sky with tow’rs and marble piles  To make a city for their revellings.
White and amazing to the lands around  That wondrous wealth of domes and turrets rose; Crystal and ivory, sublimely crown’d  With pinnacles that bore unmelting snows.
And through its halls the pipe and sistrum rang,  While wine and riot brought their scarlet stains; Never a voice of elder marvels sang,  Nor any eye call’d up the hills and plains.
Thus down the years, till on one purple night  A drunken minstrel in his careless verse Spoke the vile words that should not see the light,  And stirr’d the shadows of an ancient curse.
Forests may fall, but not the dusk they shield;  So on the spot where that proud city stood, The shuddering dawn no single stone reveal’d,  But fled the blackness of a primal wood.
# The Works of H. G. Wells (Atlantic Edition)/The Wonderful Visit/Chapter 3

§ 3
The Vicar of Siddermorton (which is nine miles inland from Siddermouth as the crow flies) was an ornithologist. Some such pursuit, botany, antiquity, folk-lore, is almost inevitable for a single man in his position. He was given to geometry also, propounding occasionally impossible problems in the Educational Times, but ornithology was his forte. He had already added two visitors to the list of occasional British birds. His name was well known in the columns of the Zoologist (I am afraid it may be forgotten by now, for the world moves apace). And on the day after the coming of the Strange Bird, came first one and then another to confirm the ploughman's story and tell him, not that it had any connection, of the glare upon Sidderford Moor.
Now, the Vicar of Siddermorton had two rivals in his scientific pursuits: Gully of Sidderton, who had actually seen the glare, and who it was sent the drawing to Nature, and Borland the natural-history dealer, who kept the marine laboratory at Portburdock. Borland, the Vicar thought, should have stuck to his copepods, but instead he kept a taxidermist, and took advantage of his littoral position to pick up rare sea-birds. It was evident to any one who knew anything of collecting that both these men would be scouring the country after the strange visitant, before twenty-four hours were out.
The Vicar's eye rested on the back of Saunders's "British Birds," for he was in his study at the time. ​ Already in two places there was entered: "the only known British specimen was secured by the Rev. K . Hillyer, Vicar of Siddermorton." A third such entry. He doubted if any other collector had that.
He looked at his watch—two. He had just lunched, and usually he "rested" in the afternoon. He knew it would make him feel very disagreeable if he went out into the hot sunshine—both on the top of his head and generally. Yet Gully perhaps was out, prowling observant. Suppose it was something very good and Gully got it!
His gun stood in the corner. (The thing had iridescent wings and pink legs! The chromatic conflict was certainly exceedingly stimulating.) He took his gun.
He would have gone out by the glass doors and verandah, and down the garden into the hill road, in order to avoid his housekeeper's eye. He knew his gun expeditions were not approved of. But advancing towards him up the garden, he saw the Curate's wife and her two daughters, carrying tennis-rackets. His Curate's wife was a young woman of immense will, who used to play tennis on his lawn and cut his roses, differ from him on doctrinal points, and criticise his personal behaviour all over the parish. He went in abject fear of her, was always trying to propitiate her. But so far he had clung to his ornithology…
However, he went out by the front door.
# The Works of H. G. Wells (Atlantic Edition)/The Wonderful Visit/Chapter 22

§ 22
The Vicar, going to call the Angel, found him dressed and leaning out of his window. It was a glorious morning, still dewy; and the rising sunlight, slanting round the corner of the house, struck warm and yellow upon the hillside. The birds were astir in the hedges and shrubbery. Up the hillside—for it was late in August—a plough drove slowly. The Angel's chin rested upon his hands and he did not turn as the Vicar came up to him.
"How's the wing?" said the Vicar.
"I'd forgotten it," said the Angel. "Is that yonder a man?"
The Vicar looked. "That's a ploughman."
"Why does he go to and fro like that? Does it amuse him?"
"He's ploughing. That's his work."
"Work! Why does he do it? It seems a monotonous thing to do."
"It is," admitted the Vicar. "But he has to do it to get a living, you know. To get food to eat and all that kind of thing."
"How curious!" said the Angel. "Do all men have to do that? Do you?"
"Oh, no. He does it for me; does my share."
"Why?" asked the Angel.
​"Oh! in return for things I do for him, you know. We go in for division of labour in this world. Exchange is no robbery."
"I see," said the Angel, with his eyes still on the ploughman's heavy movements.
"What do you do for him?"
"That seems an easy question to you," said the Vicar, "but really!—it's difficult. Our social arrangements are rather complicated. It's impossible to explain these things all at once, before breakfast. Don't you feel hungry?"
"I think I do," said the Angel slowly, still at the window; and then abruptly: "Somehow I can't help thinking that ploughing must be far from enjoyable."
"Possibly," said the Vicar, "very possibly. But breakfast is ready. Won't you come down?"
The Angel left the window reluctantly.
"Our society," explained the Vicar on the staircase, "is a complicated organisation."
"Yes?"
"And it is so arranged that some do one thing and some another."
"And that lean, bent old man trudges after that heavy blade of iron pulled by a couple of horses while we go down to eat?"
"Yes. You will find it is perfectly just. Ah! mushrooms and poached eggs! It's the Social System. Pray be seated. Possibly it strikes you as unfair?"
"I'm puzzled," said the Angel.
"The drink I'm sending you is called coffee," said ​the Vicar. "I dare say you are. When I was a young man I was puzzled in the same way. But afterwards comes a Broader View of Things. (These black things are called mushrooms; they look beautiful.) Other Considerations. All men are brothers, of course, but some are younger brothers, so to speak. There is work that requires culture and refinement, and work in which culture and refinement would be an impediment. And the rights of property must not be forgotten. One must render unto Cæsar… Do you know, instead of explaining this matter now (this is yours), I think I will lend you a little book to read (chum, chum, chum—these mushrooms are well up to their appearance), which sets the whole thing out very clearly."
# The Works of H. G. Wells (Atlantic Edition)/The Wonderful Visit/Chapter 25

§ 25
Then the Angel came in sight of the forge, where Sandy Bright's brother was shoeing a horse for the carter from Upmorton. Two hobbledehoys were standing by the forge staring in a bovine way at the proceedings. As the Angel approached, these two and then the carter turned slowly through an angle of thirty degrees and watched his approach, staring quietly and steadily at him. The expression on their faces was one of abstract interest.
The Angel became self-conscious for the first time in his life. He drew nearer, trying to maintain an amiable expression on his face, an expression that beat in vain against their granitic stare. His hands were behind him. He smiled pleasantly, looking curiously at the (to him) incomprehensible employment of the smith. But the battery of eyes seemed to angle for his regard. Trying to meet the three pairs at once, the Angel lost his alertness and stumbled over a stone. One of the yokels gave a sarcastic cough, and was immediately covered with confusion at the Angel's inquiring gaze, nudging his companion ​with his elbow to cover his disorder. None spoke, and the Angel did not speak.
So soon as the Angel had passed, one of the three hummed this tune in an aggressive tone.
Then all three of them laughed. One tried to sing something and found his throat contained phlegm. The Angel proceeded on his way.
"Who's 'e then?" said the second hobbledehoy.
"Ping, ping, ping," went the blacksmith's hammer.
"S'pose he's one of these here foweners," said the carter from Upmorton. "Däamned silly fool he do look to be sure."
"Tas the way with them foweners," said the first hobbledehoy sagely.
"Got something very like the 'ump," said the carter from Upmorton. "Dää-ä-ämned if 'e ent."
Then the silence healed again, and they resumed their quiet expressionless consideration of the Angel's retreating figure.
"Very like the 'ump et is," said the carter after an enormous pause.
# The Works of H. G. Wells (Atlantic Edition)/A Modern Utopia

A MODERN UTOPIA
# The World-Soul

Thanks to the morning light
* The World-Soul in Poems (1847)
* The World-Soul in Poems (Household Edition, 1904)
# The World (newspaper)

* related portals: Newspapers.
* sister projects: Wikipedia article, Commons category, Wikidata item.
American newspaper published in Coos Bay, Oregon, originally called The Coast Mail. No copyrights appear to have been renewed, per the Online Books Page
Volume 47 (1930)
This work is in the public domain in the United States because it was published before January 1, 1929.
This work may be in the public domain in countries and areas with longer native copyright terms that apply the rule of the shorter term to foreign works.
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This work is in the public domain in the United States because it was legally published within the United States (or the United Nations Headquarters in New York subject to Section 7 of the United States Headquarters Agreement) before 1964, and copyright was not renewed.
* For Class A renewal records (books only) published between 1923 and 1963, check the Stanford University Copyright Renewal Database.
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Works could have had their copyright renewed between January 1st of the 27th year after publication or registration and December 31st of the 28th year. As this work's copyright was not renewed, it entered the public domain on January 1st of the 29th year.
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It is imperative that contributors ascertain that there is no evidence of a copyright renewal before using this license. Failure to do so will result in the deletion of the work as a copyright violation.
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