Way back in 1959 an American history teacher told a classful of wiseguy sophomores about some battle in which only one person died. The Boston College High School 14- and 15-year-olds snickered at Smilin’ Jack Doherty’s revelation, only to be surprised by the Jesuit priest’s sudden sternness: “For that one soldier and his family it was the most important battle of his life.” Not surprisingly, the tittering quickly ceased, and we thought about mortality on the battlefield for that one participant.

Now that we are commemorating the 25th anniversary of September 11th and the thousands that died in New York, at the Pentagon, and in Shanksville, we’re prone to call this America’s worst day, just as our parents and grandparents used to label December 7, 1941, with its 2,043 casualties as the worst day ever for our country.

But by sheer numbers September 17 was the worst day ever for fatalities. The year was 1862, the place Antietam – sometimes called Sharpsburg – during the Civil War, in which 23,000 died in a SINGLE day. (For comparison, the Vietnam War resulted in 57,000 casualties after 11 years of fighting.)

Yeah, 23,000 is almost eight times bigger than 2,977 (2,753 in New York, plus 184 in Arlington, VA, plus 40 in Shanksville, PA). Admittedly, many more died after 9/11 from the carcinogens released.

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There were not that many injuries per se, as Mass General here in Boston was instructed early on that day to prepare – at no small effort – for treating burn victims, who never were transported here, as most burns were fatal.

May they all rest in peace or, as they used to pray in Latin, “Requiescat in pace.”