2003-10-07
New York City
I went to New York City this weekend for the first time in three years.
On Sunday, I visited the site of the World Trade Center. I was overcome with emotion when I saw the size and magnitude of the site itself. As I looked up at the surrounding buildings, questioning their height, I couldn't fathom the horror of two buildings twice the height of those I craned my neck to see collapsing and crumbling.
I've heard people say things like, "I'll never forget where I was when Kennedy was shot." I didn't fully understand what that meant until September 11. I stood in the corridor of my school in a circle with my colleagues, listening to my principal deliver the news. I began to sob. Few things have made me sob. The events of September 11 caused my body to heave.
As I approached Ground Zero, I imagined the street on which I walked teeming with human beings, running from the flying debris and ducking into nearby doorways to avoid inhaling the dust clouds chasing them. Any one of those survivors could have been my brother, my colleague, my friend. I looked down. This is what I saw.
I took a few more steps and saw this.
I wondered when these words and images were etched into the concrete. Was it a few days after the tragedy occurred or a few days before my feet touched that very block of pavement?
Standing before the fence that separated me from this enormous gravesite, I skimmed the historical retrospectives and the plaques naming each victim which hung above my eye level. I glanced at the faces of the people around me. Some were crying, some were staring blankly, some were awestruck. It was remarkably quiet. People spoke in hushed voices. Bouquets of flowers and roses with grapevines were entwined in the steel of the fence. A journal was left at the base of the fence on this year�s anniversary.
I looked up and noticed that the building behind the site, still under construction and repair, was shrouded in a black veil.
A man I barely knew in college perished in the collapse of the twin towers. He dated a very good friend of mine and wasn�t the kindest of souls as an undergraduate. I looked at his name on the plaque. There it was. Etched. I felt the same way I did when I learned of his death. I would never wish such a horrible end of existence on anyone, but I felt more grief and remorse for people I�d never met, whose stories I�d never heard. It was the first time I�d ever experienced such a reaction, and it�s a bizarre feeling.
On the corner section of the fence hung this sign forbidding the sale or distribution of merchandise less than twenty feet from the fence:
Not twenty feet from the sign, I saw this:
This sickened me to the pit of my stomach. Vendors called to the tourists, beckoning them with promises of the best and cheapest souvenirs. FDNY tee shirts, baseball caps and plexiglas models of the twin towers stood on portable tables spanning an entire city block. Restauranteurs took the opportunity to lure hungry tourists by hanging posters advertising their establishments.
I�m glad I saw the remains of the plaza on which the tallest buildings in New York once stood. And I understand why native New Yorkers don�t go.
joeparadox at 5:05 p.m.