Hell Visits Paradise

It started out as any other work day, but even at 8:30 in the morning, there was a twist. Here it was September 11, and the sky outside did not have one cloud, the temperature was perfect, there was no humidity, and in short, it was a day that would have been remembered for a long time no matter what had actually happened.

But it wasnāt to be remembered for the weather. And beautiful days do not make the cover of TIME magazine special issues for the sake of the sunshine alone. Look at the cover, or rather, at the sky in the background of it: That blue is not artificial, not retouched by magazine editors. That was the true color of the sky that day, a crystal azure that presents itself to the city of New York maybe two or three times a year. Theyāre the kinds of days that we New Yorkers complain about because they invariably happen on weekdays, and more often than not, on Monday. Monday, after a weekend of rain and thunderstorms.

This, of course, was a Tuesday, but the sentiment was the same. Monday had ended in a torrential downpour, soaking the sidewalks and filling the storm drains in a matter of minutes. Right around dinnertime, too. The weekend was cloudy but warm, with the crisp, Canadian air that brings the city relief from the humidity and the smells of the city that go with it.

On Monday Night Football, the Giants lost--got crushed, really--and I had gone to bed late, watching most of the game. I woke up at my usual time on Tuesday anyway, and nothing remarkable happened on the ride in. In fact, even when I got to the office, there was nothing to report.

Just around 9 oāclock, and actually it may have been slightly before that, one of the assistants on my sales team (Iām in spot TV advertising) came into my office and told me that an airplane had crashed into the World Trade Center. I figured, well, itās probably a Cessna that got blown off course from Linden Airport and smacked the side of the building, and since my assistant had nothing else to tell me yet, I just went back to work, not worrying about it.

But then my other assistant came in and told me we could see the smoke from the crash outside the windows in the SW corner of the floor, and when I saw the black smoke wafting through the air off in the distance it struck me that this was no light airplane crash--this was serious. And just then, Heather came in again and announced the second crash.

We raced into our conference room, where we keep the TV. Already 20 people were watching the news reports. The Twin Towers were aflame, and as soon as I saw the first shot of the second airplane crashing into the side of the Tower, I knew what was happening: those were no Cessnas, they were Boeing jets, and my initial guess was 767s, though I turned out to be wrong.

People started crying as the reality of what we were seeing sank in; one girl ran to the bathroom several times to throw up. Panic was setting in; we worried about the Sears Tower in Chicago, and as we thought of that, the Pentagon was hit.

Anger inflamed people; one guy started punching the wall out of frustration. We watched and watched and waited for the next disaster, and when the first tower collapsed, we began to worry about the UN being hit (weāre only a couple of blocks away). People began to collect their belongings and start making plans to go home. And as a bunch of them began to leave the conference room, the second tower collapsed in front of our eyes.

What follows from here is an account of my experiences after that point. I had originally sent these essays out in mass emails to friends in California and around the country, usually sending one a day but sometimes I found enough words for more. I have edited them for punctuation and the like, but the form and content is intact from the original words, the original feelings. I hope this helps you understand the sentiment that has cloaked New York City over the past 10 days.

September 11

We were evacuated (I work two blocks from the U.N.) at 11, and walked up Second Avenue with thousands of other people. Already, Second Avenue was devoid of traffic; only emergency vehicles were driving down the street. We were all going to walk over the Queensboro Bridge in order to get out of the city. Normally the view of NY from the bridge is awe-inspiring. Today, it was a sickly vision of smoke and ash. Instead of twin towers, there was only a single pillar of thick, black smoke.

Getting over the bridge was not easy; the police had unwisely left a walkway open that ends abruptly about 1/3 of the way over the bridge. To get onto the main roadway, you have to scale a short concrete abutment, which is not easy if you're, say, injured or older. So we spent some time helping the less-agile over the concrete before continuing on. But even to this point it was amazing at how many people were lending a helping hand where needed, and what an orderly progression the entire journey was. There was no screaming or yelling, no hysteria, no looting, no hint of anything but order and civilization.

Once over the bridge, in Queens, we walked to a co-worker's apartment, where we got updates from WABC and watched for any sign of the subways opening, but that turned out to be futile. So Joe, whose apartment we were in, drove me to Bay Ridge; en route there is a view of lower Manhattan that is quite popular for its angle of the city, generally accented by the World Trade Center; that, too, will no longer be.

After that, I got on my bike to ride to a hospital and donate blood, which the local TV stations had been begging for people to do. Well, Lutheran Medical Center unceremoniously turned me away, and so I got on the subway to Manhattan--trains were running on the W line over the Manhattan Bridge--to try and find some way to help. Several blood banks were turning hundreds of people away, but I found a WCBS correspondent (who later broke the story on the explosive-laden van under the George Washington Bridge, though it turned out to be a hoax) who told me of two locations to try, the second of which was the Red Cross.

So I rode my bike up to the first location, got turned away again, and rode to the west side to see what the Red Cross had to say. There I turned in a volunteer signup form, along with hundreds of other people who were attempting to make appointments to give blood in the next few days, or also to volunteer their time. We were given a short speech about the Red Cross "being the hardest job you'll ever have. If you're not comfortable with that, you can leave now." They were pretty serious. But then it was over, and they said they'll call us when they need us.

So I rode down Broadway and went through a deserted Times Square. If you've ever been in Times Square, you know what a madhouse it is. This afternoon, it was virtually abandoned. I rode my bike down the middle of 7th Avenue with no traffic to worry about. On a Tuesday afternoon, that's an unheard-of condition. Eventually I ended up at St Vincent's hospital, which is where most of the victims are being treated. I was prevented from going any further down 7th, and while there I noticed the hundreds of reporters, ambulance personnel, tired doctors and nurses, and concerned relatives jamming the plaza around the hospital. This was where the tragedy became clearer; this is where they were bringing the injured. Just as I left, another ambulance pulled up.

I proceeded down Fifth Avenue and stopped in Washington Square Park, where I finally got a cell line through and called my mom to assure her everything was OK with me, but the city was not. Though activity above 34th Street was largely normal, from 34th Street down a lot of places were closed. Washington Square Park was full of people walking around in a daze, looking and pointing to where the Twin Towers should be protruding above the skyline; instead, there was just that thick, incomprehensible smoke. And as I spoke with my mom, 7 World Trade Center collapsed.

Now it became impossible to move. I tried to get on the subway at several locations, all of which were closed. Riding up to Union Square, I was told by the MTA that subway service was again suspended. So now I had to ride my bike all the way back to Bay Ridge. But first I had to get to the Brooklyn Bridge in order to get there.

Crossing Houston St, I found that police had blocked off all traffic from going south of the street, but bikes were allowed. I had nothing but empty streets to ride on, all the while the wall of smoke and ash rising higher and higher into the sky as I approached. When I got to Canal St, the top of the smoke was probably 2000 feet high, and covered 1/3 of the sky. Remember that this was otherwise a gorgeous September day in the city; few clouds in the sky, 80 degrees, no humidity. South of Canal Street, all semblance of normalcy was gone.

You know that light gray dust that is left in the barbecue when the coals have burned out? That's what the ash all over the city south of Canal Street looks like. Below the Brooklyn Bridge--I got within one mile of "Ground Zero", as the networks are calling it, before a rather rude cop turned me away--everything is covered in that ash. EVERYTHING. The street, the sidewalk, the cars, the cops, the ambulance workers, my tires, the trees. But as I stood there and looked up at this gigantic cloud of smoke rising from my city, a sole butterfly made its way overhead, oblivious to the chaos which we had been subjected to over the day.

From there on, the experience is nothing outstanding. People with breathers were everywhere, even in Brooklyn. The smoke column has blown over Brooklyn, mostly, and so parts of the borough smelled smoky. Children on the streets had breathers on while they sat on their steps, but not everyone was so solemn; at 59th St and 4th Ave, the playground still had its traditional contingent of soccer and basketball games being played. Mothers continued to take their babies out for a stroll. Radios blared reports of the tragedy in Spanish and English, depending on who you were closer to. Once I got home, I saw at least 75% of the channels broadcasting news about the day, or not broadcasting at all. Only the Cartoon Channel and ESPN come to mind as not broadcasting news; even MTV carried CBS.

As I received emails and responded to messages, finally hearing from friends who worked in lower Manhattan, my worry became less and less, although there are still a couple of people I haven't heard from yet. My attention is slowly starting to turn to the thoughts of Oh my god, what happened today? And the longer I feel these thoughts, and the more I release my anger at how something like this could happen (what the hell has the CIA been doing? Why didn't they know? How did the FAA let these planes get so far off course? Where were the F-15s as soon as the first plane crashed?), I get closer to being overcome with grief, not only for the people who undoubtedly perished, but also for the city I have so come to love in my 3 1/2 years here, which will now never be the same again.

September 12

Naturally, it starts slowly: I didn't notice it last night right away. While watching channel 7 news, the anchor pointed out that if you don't have cable, channel 7 will be on antenna UHF channel 68. I thought, "But 7 is a broadcast station. Why is this necessary?" That was before I realized that except for CBS, all other TV channels were broadcast from the tall tower on the top of the World Trade Center. Obviously their signals have to come from somewhere else now.

I have an antenna-only TV in my bedroom (useful on Sundays because I get Philadelphia stations' NFL broadcasts) and the only channel it gets now is 2. And 68, of course, and some other UHF stations that broadcast from New Jersey. But no 4 (NBC), 5 (FOX), 7 (ABC), 9, 11(WPIX/WB) comes in on that TV set.

Then, when I went to the supermarket to get groceries, I was almost unable to use my credit card (I'm SO broke right now). The authorizations go through downtown Manhattan, evidently, and so only a few lines are available. It's taking forever to make credit card transactions. Fortunately, I escaped with my chicken, butter, and other various items (yes, beer was included--some things never change) and was able to pay with the MasterCard. It did make me think about the fact that the American Express world headquarters is right across the street from 3 World Trade Center.

But the big news began when I got back to my apartment. There's an old guy in the building who walks his small dog several times a day. He was in the elevator when I got there and said to me "I think the Garcias lost a daughter." Mr. Garcia is the superintendent of the building. The Garcias have two daughters, one of whom is in high school, but the other one is in her early 20s, and the guy in the elevator says she worked in one of the twin towers and Mrs. Garcia is downstairs, crying hysterically.

Other stories I'm hearing include a friend who worked with a guy who lost his wife in one of the plane crashes; someone who knew a whole family on the Boston-LA flight; and my assistant, Fran, who was on the phone with one of her friends who got hit by the glass from the first impact, and whose whereabouts we're still not sure of yet. My old assistant, Ali, may have lost her aunt, who also worked in the Towers. Stories like this will be coming in for days. There will be many incidents where I'm two degrees of separation from the victims of yesterday, thought thankfully no one I've been personally acquainted with--so far--has been reported deceased. And I have now heard from everyone I was trying to reach, which is good news.

September 13

Amazingly, the commute into work wasn't all that bad: the trains weren't running perfectly, but they were close enough. More crowded than usual, to be sure. But as far as time was concerned, things were almost back to normal, really.

That is, until the day began.

The first thing I found out was that the woman who sits in the office next to me--our computer specialist--lost her brother in the towers collapse. There is still hope, of course--survivors are being pulled out of the wreckage and living to tell about it--but considering where he worked, we fear the worst.

Good news came that Ali's aunt is OK. She was feared missing, but had left the building before it was too late, and so some joy came from knowing that.

And then the business world gave us its ugly perspective. In my emails this morning was a request from an agency for revised rates by the end of the day, as if nothing had happened. I responded with an "You're kidding, right?" email that was met with a reply of "No, and if you have a problem with that, call my supervisor." My subsequent reply had something to do with the lack of perspective anyone could have by demanding a deadline like that at a time like this, and I didn't hear anything back after that.

But the worst story came from a friend who works for Paramount's advertising agency. She says that not only was she called at home yesterday (when 90% of the city wasn't working), but her supervisors were upset and angry with her for being "too sensitive to handle their job" as a media buyer for the New York area. I said, "WHAT?!?!?" You can imagine what I would do if my own supervisor had given me that kind of attitude (my manager at work has, as I would expect of her, been a gem through this whole thing). I told her to document everything and send it to the Daily News so that the country can see the kind of people that their $9 per movie goes to.

Next came lunch hour. Because of bomb threats to Grand Central Station, the streets were packed solid at lunchtime, and everyone seemed to be walking around with nowhere to go--several buildings were evacuated, and the UN area was blocked off to pedestrians and vehicles alike. This went on for about two hours, but didn't really affect me because I just bought a slice of pizza and went back to my office.

The rest of the afternoon was largely eventless, with some idiocy in the advertising world perpetuating itself. For example, Philip Morris Co has asked to cancel all their remaining advertising in this week's late news broadcasts, should they start running commercials again. Johnson & Johnson has done the same. We heard about the NFL cancelling the weekend's games, and watched the TV as other buildings continued to collapse.

But after the day ended, things got better, and the highlight of my week came soon.

I was walking with my friend Lauren down Lexington avenue when we spotted a crowd at 26th St. Who was it? Oh, only Bill Clinton in front of the missing persons' office, interviewing TV cameras and consoling those who lost loved ones, whose signs you may have seen on CNN. Many of the people CNN showed were with the President when I was there. (I got about 6 feet away, and as a side note: I saw Chelsea Clinton and later we waved at each other. You have to admit that's kinda neat!) He hugged and spoke with the people carrying the signs. It was Bill Clinton at his best--consoling us when we needed consoling. Many of us in the crowd shouted our words of support for the President and Chelsea, who was softly crying most of the time. It was very moving to see Clinton with people crying hysterically over their loss, the former President offering words of support and caring as he always has.

When I eventually got home, I have sad news waiting for me: Mr. Garcia's daughter is still missing. She worked in the 100th floor of Tower 2, and we fear the worst for her. Their vigil continues downstairs, and after seeing her pictures I can now count one person who I knew among those who are at least missing right now, if not gone.

The figure of our Mayor, Rudy Giuliani, has been of great comfort to New Yorkers. He has been a strong and inspiring leader throughout this crisis, and there are more than enough people here now that wish we could reelect him in two months. Our primary election--which was scheduled for September 11--has been pushed back 2 weeks, and I can imagine how many people will write in Giuliani's name. He has been a symbol of all New York stands for when he's at his best--and he's been at his best all week now.

President Bush is due here tomorrow. He will not meet a hostile reaction--people here will be cordial when he arrives--but from the reaction I saw to Clinton's presence, the former President really commands our love and respect in this city. One woman shouted out, "We don't care what you did wrong, Bill--we love you anyway." Such sentiment prevails here, not because he did anything particularly outstanding for the city, but because of his compassion for America--which he demonstrated to me personally today.

The anger we are all feeling now is certainly justified in light of this tremendous tragedy which has been visited upon us. But we must also remain calm. Ours is a nation of justice and freedom, of acceptance and liberty. It pains me to hear of the attacks on mosques around the country. I saw graffiti on a pay phone that read "Kill Arab businesses" and I wanted to throw it away (but how do you throw away a whole pay phone?). Hate is not the answer. While I do not object to the principle of fighting fire with fire, it is not a fire on our shores that caused this. The Arab community of NY has expressed profound regret over what has been done, and I need not tell the Jewish community or the Black community what it means to be singled out because of your race. This is a time for patriotism, community, and caring; racism belongs in none of those categories.

September 15 (I didnāt write on the 14th)

Because the winds have shifted, Bay Ridge now has that smell of smoke in the air. We'd been spared that sense for the last few days, but no longer. And the reminder of the Garcia's daughter is impossible to miss: they have posted her picture (or rather, a collage of pictures) next to our elevator in case someone has seen her. Underneath the sign is a poem with a picture of the World Trade Center and the date September 11, 2001. The poem is held onto the wall with a lone sticker that says "Love".

On Third Avenue--which is the main road on my side of Bay Ridge, and has an aspect similar to old town Pasadena, but narrower and older--every business window features one or two flyers taped to it, either asking for donations and where to send them, or to offer prayer vigils, support groups, and counseling centers. American flags are everywhere: on the taxis, the supermarket walls, cars driving around, porches, doorsteps. People are walking around with red white and blue ribbons pinned to their shirts. This neighborhood is home to many WWII veterans, from both the American side and some of the European countries' sides. We have a heavy Polish, Greek, and Russian population here as well. They too are displaying their American flags. The VFW guys have their hats on as they walk down the street.

My gym is displaying a flag in one of the glass doors that leads inside. Other businesses also display full-sized flags in their storefront windows. There are no messages of hate, or of the desire to drop bombs on Afghanistan. Just a coming together of people from all different backgrounds, and even the people who weren't born here are in solidarity with those who have lived here their whole lives.

I forgot to relay a few other interesting things that have happened over the last few days. Wednesday night, I had dinner at my house for several friends, and they brought someone with them who couldn't go home because she lives in Battery Park City, which is located in Manhattan below the WTC, and thus is inaccessible right now. Three of my guests knew the man on the flight that crashed in Pennsylvania who CNN has been touting as the rugby player who led a team of passengers on that flight to attack the hijackers. They all said that this guy was not quite as tall as me, but bigger! (Parenthetical aside--for those of you who are not aware of what I look like these days, for whatever reason, I'm 6' 4" and weigh 240, and it's not beer gut anymore. For this rugby player to be described as bigger than me, well, that's a significantly large human being.) While there are now reports leaking out that the plane was shot down, there is no doubt in anyone's mind that this team of passengers at least made an attempt to stop the hijackers. And my guests confirmed to me this man's leadership and action skills that cause them to have no doubt he did what is being reported.

A friend who is a high school English teacher in Queens says that her kids have been looking for answers where there are none. Will we go to war?, they ask. Who did this to us?, they ask. They look to their teachers for the answers, but they have none to give. A generation that didn't seem to care about anything now seems to care, but they don't know what to do with it. CNN ran a segment this morning about defining times for Americans, in terms of sudden tragedies. Myself, I remember the assassination attempts on Ronald Reagan and Pope John Paul II, and the assassination of Anwar Sadat. I remember the explosion of the Challenger. But today's high school students know none of these events. Nothing has really gone that wrong since 1986, the Gulf War notwithstanding. Now, America's youth have something to remember.

Other interesting stories pour in: Another friend of mine works at the WTC, but is notoriously late. On Tuesday she got to the WTC at 9:03, and obviously went immediately home. Had she been on time, we have no idea what would have happened to her. She lost dozens of co-workers. My friend Stacie worked in both WTC 2 and WTC 7 over the past several years, and a few months ago left that area to a midtown office. Her former desks are no longer.

President Bush came to New York yesterday, but I didn't hear any of what he said until later last night. I thought he had some good things to say, and his presence here made many people feel like we really do have the support of the government behind us. We already felt it from the rest of the world: the Europeans postponed all their soccer matches from Wednesday and Thursday, games in the Champions League and UEFA Cup--which on that continent is as important as our NFL playoffs. A popular email going around right now is a transcript from a Canadian MP who decries the lack of recognition America has received for its generosity in the past, and it's time for the world to give back. Moments of silence in London, Munich, Bucharest, and Paris have touched us here in New York for the show of solidarity with us, not just our city, but our whole nation.

Seeing the pictures on CNN this morning of the gaping hole which used to be our two largest buildings is a sickening sight. I have eaten at Windows on the World, the restaurant on the 107th floor of the north tower. In 1998, my company's Christmas dinner was there. And while the food wasn't really all that spectacular, the view was incredible. There was a bar on the other side of the building that also had the views, and on that side you could see the other WTC tower--and that's what always got to me. See, when you're up in an airplane, or on the top of a large tower, you see everything around you from high up, sure--but it's not easy to get a sense of HOW high up you are. By having the other tower right next door, the view from Windows on the World was put into a unique perspective. Even when you pressed your face up against the window, you couldn't see the bottom of the other tower--THAT's how high up you were. VERY high up.

The WTC was always the first landmark of Manhattan one would see when coming up New Jersey by train or car. Somewhere around Elizabeth, you could see the top of the WTC sticking out above the hills. From the Belt parkway, you could see the WTC from as far away as Canarsie. Crossing over the canal that separates Coney Island from Bensonhurst, you could glimpse the WTC briefly. None of these views will ever be so accented again. It's a very difficult concept to grasp, because unlike SEEING something, NOT seeing something is a harder concept. When I was in Toronto, I was amazed at how you could see the CN Tower from so many different places. Imagine being used to seeing something like that every day, and for it now to be gone.

My last time with the WTC was last Saturday. I decided to get up early and ride my bicycle up the recently-completed Hudson River Path, which is a bicycle and pedestrian path that extends from Battery Park all the way up to Riverside Park in Harlem. Because I traditionally cross from Brooklyn into Manhattan over the Brooklyn Bridge, I ended up getting onto the path above the WTC, and proceeded north. But on the return trip, I decided that I would ride all the way down to the Battery.

As I passed under the pedestrian bridge that crosses over West St, I got stopped at a red light right across the street from Tower 2. I remember looking up at it and thinking to myself, Jesus Christ, that's a big building--the same expression of awe I have always had when driving or riding by the WTC. I had no idea it would be my last intimate view of the edifice.

I used to drive by the WTC every Friday night. From Brooklyn to Chelsea Piers, which is where I play hockey on Friday nights (our new season was due to begin yesterday, but of course that has been postponed), you come out of the Brooklyn Battery tunnel and proceed up West St, right by the World Trade Center, and up to 23rd St. Inevitably I would get stopped at a red light near the Towers, and of course have to look up and think to myself, Jesus Christ, that's a big building.

I once got lost in the plaza between the twin towers. I was on my way to Hoboken for a date one night, and to get there I had to take the PATH train, which I knew from experience was downstairs from the World Trade Center in the underground mall. The problem was that from Brooklyn, the only way to get to the WTC by subway was to pass the WTC on the 2 or 3 train, get out, and walk two blocks down to Chambers St and go from there. Well, somehow I screwed up. I got out at the right station, but instead of walking back into the subway at Chambers St, I decided to get creative and enter through one of the WTC towers and take an escalator from there. Big mistake. This was in December, and that December happened to be a cold one--I was all bundled up in the 20 degree weather, with ice and snow all over the ground, and here I am wandering around the World Trade Center plaza, unable to find an open door into one of the towers. Finally--after sliding around on sheets of ice--I found a sympathetic security guard who directed me to the PATH train entrance. But not before I had explored every dead end and locked door in the abandoned plaza.

Which brings me to another point. Weekends and nights around the World Trade Center were quiet places. The Five-Borough Bike Ride began every year just up Church St from the World Trade Center, because on Sundays the area is abandoned. With the huge volume of people participating, I always ended up starting farther down the street, usually right by the WTC.

I remember for the longest time I thought the WTC was a black glass building, not the steel structure it was, because at night, all you would see were the hundreds upon hundreds of lights left on in the evening. It was really a beautiful sight at night, because since there were steel beams every 39 inches across, one office's lights might appear as 5 or 6 from the outside. There was a red light on the top of the TV tower of the north tower that blinked slowly at night, and the whole building looked so peaceful when you saw it late in the evening. The Empire State building lights turn off at midnight every night; the WTC always stayed on.

I still can't believe it's gone.
*************

Something occurred to me this afternoon when I was walking home from the grocery store. For the first time since Tuesday, I saw a commercial jetliner pass overhead.

This is a big deal because my neighborhood is right under the corridors for jets approaching both JFK and La Guardia. Usually I can look out my window at night and see the lights of 4-5 jets in the distance. During evening commute hours, a jet passes overhead every few minutes. We see contrails in the sky at twilight. Until this afternoon's aforementioned plane, I hadn't seen any of those things.

For those of you who have flown to NYC, you may recall (if you look out the window when you fly) seeing a large suspension bridge before you flew over the city. That bridge is the Verrazano Narrows bridge, and Bay Ridge--my neighborhood--is the part of Brooklyn that holds the east anchorage.

Watching the news--from which I took a break last night to watch Airplane and Coming To America--I am now getting tired of the melodrama employed by the local news people. The national news hasn't been so bad, but boy the local newscasts are just one overblown story after another. Yes this is a great tragedy, but I don't need to hear a report about a 6 year old boy wanting to see the tanks at the National Guard station. That's the kinds of stories the local news stations are stretching their resources to cover.

On the subject of flags again, the neighborhood's main bar--the Salty Dog--has placed a 10' x 14' flag (or whatever the dimensions are, all I know is that it's big) over their entrance; the bar is a former firehouse, so that should give you a good visual. I'm expecting it to be packed tonight.

Today was, by the way, rather cool. For the first time since April I felt the "hey!" that you feel at the first sign that summer is over and you just went outside in shorts and a t-shirt expecting temperatures in the 70s. And we're expecting more cool weather for the next few days. It had been a great summer--the humidity kept itself to a minimum, and aside from the August heat wave we had a month ago, the temperature stayed pretty mild. I've had a nice tan since July, and even kept my gym workouts regular. Life was wonderful this summer, and I found myself often thinking about how great it was to be here, in this city, at such a wonderful time, at an age where I can appreciate it for its beauty.

It seems to me that the rest of the country, which had for so long feared New Yorkers and feared the Big City, is seeing now that New York may be a big city, but it's filled with many caring people who love the city in which they live. For years I always heard stories of people who said that New Yorkers are rude, impolite, and just don't care. I hope that impression has been permanently dispelled by what everyone has been seeing this last week.

One final note: The Garcias have been hosting people all day for their daughter, and it is clear that they are no longer expecting a miracle. It's so sad to see, people coming out of the basement (their apartment is on that level) in suits, a pained expression on their faces at having lost someone so young, and so sweet. I was helping one of my neighbors carry her groceries home from the supermarket and we talked about Carmen, how we used to see her walking the Garcia's dog in the morning before she went to work, and what a nice girl she was. I didn't really know her, but my neighbor had spoken with her a few times and thought well of her. Neither one of us have seen the younger sister, and I still haven't seen Hector for the past few days.

Whatever we do to retaliate for this, it can't bring back the Garcias' daughter. And to me, that's the great tragedy of this whole thing. We may call for revenge, we may call for retribution, we may call for Osama bin Laden's head to be cut off (slowly, with a penknife) in a public ceremony in front of a rebuilt World Trade Center some time in the future. But none of that will ever lead to me seeing Carmen Garcia again walking the dog in the morning before she leaves for work.

I wanted to be by myself this evening. But a friend of mine is so upset at this, she doesn't want to be alone anymore, so she's on her way over here. Over the last few days, I've had many friends over for dinner, drinks, and just being--being together, here, in New York City. While the rest of the world looks at us with saddened eyes, we look at each other with, "What the f*** just happened?!?!" eyes, and we are all beyond comprehension with our anger and sadness. Anger because we can't understand how someone could possibly visit our city, or visit one of us, and not fall in love with this wonderful place we call home. I seriously believe that if Osama bin Laden ever came to Manhattan, he'd tell his operatives to lay off New York.

Sadness, because so much of our beloved home is forever ruined. The Twin Towers are gone. If you don't see them every day, or at least once a week, then you have no idea what it means to know that they're gone forever. So let me try to describe what it means.

It means that never again will I cross the middle street of Manhattan (6th Ave) and see the city's two tallest buildings.

It means that the city's two tallest buildings are now the Empire State Building and the new Trump Plaza on first avenue...right near the U.N. And blocking my company's view of Queens from our conference room.

Do you have any idea what it must have been like to see the smoke from the WTC crashes outside your co-workers' window??? Do you know what it's like to think to yourself that you will never see the Twin Towers, once a weekly part of your vocabulary, ever again? No, nor will I know what it's like never to see my son or daughter again because of this.

My point being that we are all in this together, regardless of what degree to which you've been immersed. Whether you lost no one and have never been to New York, or have lost your only son, a fireman, in the tower collapse, we are all in this together as Americans, and that's how we're going to get through this--together.

You've already seen on TV how New Yorkers have come together, and from what I can see on national news, the whole country is coming together. In New York, we've always kinda figured that the rest of the country hated us--we're "Yankees", we're arrogant, we won 4 of the last 5 World Series--but now we're seeing that everyone recognizes that we're all the same, and the outpouring of love has been overwhelming.

So I leave you now with something I wrote over the last week, which I ironically happened to start to write the night before the 11th, when I had a hell of a time getting to sleep anyway.

FOREVER IS NOW

September 10, 2001:

I want to see the Greek islands
In their sun-soaked August glory;
I want to taste the pilsners of Prague
And meet Ms. Czech Republic's sister.
I would visit the streets of Bucharest
And taste their cuisine's many flavors,
Fly the capitals of South America;
Argentina, Chile, Peru, and of course Rio.

*****

September 15

But after Tuesday, I only want to see one thing:
I want to see the Twin Towers.
I want to see the plaza again.
I want to be in Windows on the World.
I want to see Carmen Garcia.
I want to never hear about jets
Plunging into the World Trade Center.
There will never again be a day
Like September 10, 2001.

September 16

Today? Well, today started late. I decided to sleep in, which I really needed, considering how hard it's been for me to sleep these last several days. I'm an insomniac anyway, and the stresses of the last week have just made it that much harder for me to get sleep at night.

My only scheduled activity was something that had been on the agenda for weeks: Incubus played at Hammerstein Ballroom tonight, giving me and my friends who went with me our first taste of normalcy since Tuesday. Incubus was the only band originally scheduled to play in New York this weekend that didnāt cancel their shows. And the band decided to donate the proceeds from the show to the disaster relief fund here.

So I travelled into Manhattan this afternoon. Here's what I saw.

There are flyers for missing people all over the city. In the subway, on telephone booths, on those boards that construction companies erect around a work site, on bus stops, on streetlight poles--basically, any flat surface. There's little hope of finding anyone else alive: the flyers have now become miniature memorials for the people who are missing. Every time I pass one I look to see if it's anyone I know, and so far I haven't seen any of those. But the time will come, I'm sure, when I will pass one with the picture of someone I know, and that's pretty much going to be when it all hits the fan for me. I'm still in denial; I'm still in shock, waiting for the curtain to fall and have the MC explain what a great magic trick this was, and there are the towers, back in place. I know that's not going to happen, but that's how it feels.

I saw some flags flying at half mast outside a post office on the upper east side, which was largely unremarkable except that someone had taken the care to make sure that of all the flags, the American flag was still the highest of them all. Nice touch.

I passed something interesting on E 91st St. Between Second and Third avenues, the street is closed to traffic, and has been renamed James Cagney Place. There is a memorial in the middle of the block on the north side of the street where a flag flies and a large bronze plaque reads "God Bless America", with Cagney's birth and death dates. Several people have set candles and flowers upon the plaque, framing the phrase "God Bless America".

One humorous note happened, though in a way it's a little sad. I was on my way to meet friends to go to the concert, and while walking down seventh avenue I saw seven police standing around their police van, and I thought to myself, What, did they lock their keys in the car? After hearing a few of them talking to each other, I found out that Yep, they locked their keys in the car. Ordinarily this would have been cause for hilarity, but considering that they probably locked them in there as a result of severe fatigue, I reserved my mirth for another occasion. But it does still strike me as funny.

Speaking of the police, I heard an interesting story from one of my friends this evening. As he and his girlfriend were exiting the PATH trains from New Jersey, they saw a guy who had set up a box with some postcards of the World Trade Center and was selling them. A policeman came along, knocked over the box with his truncheon, and ordered the man away. They later saw another couple of policemen accosting another such vendor. I'm still not sure how I feel about that.

More observations: The big TV screen on the facade of Macy's (at 34th St and 7th Ave), which usually runs a perpetual array of fashion ads, is displaying only a waving American flag with a message of condolences to the families and friends of those who have been lost. A block away, at Madison Square Garden, their display board features a flying American flag, with reminders of the events which are being cancelled from the next few days. Felix Trinidad was scheduled to fight here on Friday night; the promoter had erected a pair of huge (gaudy) boxing gloves over the entrance to MSG. They're still there; whatever happens to the fight is anyone's guess, it all seems so trivial now.

There is still smoke rising from the WTC. It's not nearly as thick and black as it was, and the smell has subsided. But as I crossed the Manhattan Bridge back into Brooklyn tonight, I saw the smoke, illuminated by floodlights on the scene, and it reminded me again that the towers just aren't there.

Security is so tight all over the city: the 68th St pier is closed, large portions of Penn Station are closed off, and there were metal detectors at the entrance to the Hammerstein when we walked in. The show, by the way, was outstanding, and from time to time, chants of "U - S - A!" would erupt from the crowd between songs. Singer Brandon Boyd offered his sympathy for what has happened and relayed his best wishes for our recovery.

There are two more things I want to write about tonight. One concerns the Garcias' daughter, Marilyn Carmen Garcia. When I got home tonight, I saw, outside our building and next to the window where she lived, a group of candles and some flowers surrounding a picture of Carmen. I dropped off my things, grabbed a candle, and added it to the group, thinking to myself that I put it there not just on my behalf, but on behalf of all of you who have written with your best wishes for their family.

Finally, something I saw on the subway tonight deserves mention. First of all, my subway ride home was pure New Yorkerness. I wanted to write something down but had no pen. A nurse from Mt. Sinai Hospital was waiting on the platform and I asked if she had a pen I could borrow; she produced a pen and told me I could keep it, but of course after writing what I needed to, I returned it. She said "So how are you holding up through all this?" We talked for 10 minutes or so about what was going on before the train arrived. And when I got off the train, I had a conversation with another random rider, who lived in my neighborhood, about the things that have happened lately.

The reason I was borrowing the pen was to write down a sign which I saw in the Union Square/14th St station for the Q/W/R/N lines. The sign was written in very legible handwriting, an anonymous message from someone who just wanted to let everyone know what has been obvious but had, for the most part, gone unsaid. The sign said this:

"To the Family/Friends of the victims and the missing--may this public outpouring of love and support help to heal your pain."

September 17

So in addition to that nice little surprise by the MTA--what they've done is extended the J train from Broad Street in Manhattan down to 95th St, and I have no idea what happened to the N line yet--there was also an incident at Pacific St, and the police had closed the ENTIRE station to passengers. So I got the W train at 36th St, one stop earlier than usual, which means I got cramped onto the train, and, well, it's a bit tedious to describe, but take my word for it, we weren't comfortable.

But such surrealism: passing the Pacific St platform, which on an ordinary day is jammed with people (and on a slow day is at least fairly occupied), seeing it totally empty except for 4-6 police, was just another odd image during this trying time. Think of seeing the 405 around LAX with no cars on it at 5 in the evening. Think of Atlanta's freeways abandoned during rush hour. That's the kind of feeling I'm trying to convey here--because you have some serious traffic problems in those two cities!

Once in, there was nothing but lethargy in the office. No one is ready to go back to work. And it's not because we're afraid--politicians keep telling us to continue as we were to show the terrorists that they haven't scared us. We're not scared at all (well, some people are), but we are in shock, and for that reason we need time to heal, time to just sit and reflect, to be together without the added (and unwelcome) burden of having to work. I really didn't get much accomplished today, and the guy I share an office with didn't either. I have my golf clubs in the office right now (another long story that I shan't delve into) and I can't count how many people have come into my office to putt a few balls across the floor lately, just to get their minds off of things.

The smoke is still gently wafting about the horizon to the southern tip of the city, though you can't really smell it now. It's more of a haze than smoke. But today the newspapers began providing names of the lost and assumed lost. Now it's starting to hit harder. One reader of these emails has lost several friends who were in the fire department. My next-door neighbor, whom I hadn't seen in months, happened to be at the elevator when I got home, and we talked for some time. She lost a few people in the towers collapse, and has several friends whose brothers were in the fire and police departments, who are now missing. And of course there's Carmen, whose memorial grew last night.

The talk is of such unimaginable loss. Even if you didn't directly know someone who perished, your co-workers did, and their friends and your friends did. It affected the ENTIRE POPULATION of the city, and it seems as if there's no end to the sorrow and also the anger that we all feel.

And yet, I can't get a gauge on how people feel about the resumption of the baseball season. Some people who were so concerned with the pennant races just a week ago now don't care at all. But others bring up the very good point that getting our sports back on TV will get us back into normalcy. We need some kind of distraction from this, almost as if it's too much to handle right now. There will be no subsidence of the anger we wish to fuel our revenge, but if it's not going to happen right away, can we please take a break?

I have to say I agree with that. Aside from the fact that my Chargers were 1-0 and headed for a 9-7 season after last year's misery, I'd like to see the NFL resume just to get us back in order. Life will go on, and while it may take longer for those who lost close loved ones, the fact is that it HAS to go on. And someone pointed out that disrupting our daily routines is just what the terrorists wanted to do--why play into their hands and let them feel they won?

Usually my emails have been more descriptive than philosophical, but that's what's beginning to happen now. Maybe these won't be daily anymore, because things ARE beginning to return to almost-normal, though obviously there will be no such thing as what normal once was. As long as it gets somewhere close, I'll feel better. But I still don't think I should have to go to work tomorrow--that shock is still there, and I'm having a hard time shaking it. People keep asking me how I feel, and my answer is almost invariably punctuated with a deep sigh before I find the words, "I'm OK, I guess." I can't figure out whether or not I'm guessing right, but it seems like the right answer.

One of the first symptoms of Post-Traumatic Stress Syndrome is an inability to sleep. With my track record, I have no right to claim any reason for insomnia other than the fact that it's part of my engineering--according to my mom, I've had trouble falling asleep since I was 12. But for some reason, this is different. I keep replaying images in my head of the TV pictures, the live view of watching the north tower fall (that's the one with the big TV antenna on top of it), and as I write this now, I realize that in many of my sentences, I continue to refer to the World Trade Center in the present tense, which I guess is a way of me subconsciously denying this whole episode.

One reason for tonight's insomnia, however, is that I forgot to say so much in my last dispatch.

First off, I was on the subway coming home and noticed the Twin Towers in some of the subway ads, or addresses referring to their floor of the World Trade Center. They were just such a manifest part of New York, how can they be gone? I don't get it. I just--don't get it.

The Newark Star-Ledger printed a big flag in its Friday newspaper, but is it me or did they print the flag backwards? Isn't it true that when the flag is displayed vertically, the stars are to be in the upper right-hand corner? The Star-Ledger printed it with the stars to the left.

People hold little flags everywhere. On the subway, I have seen many people clutching flags in their hands, wearing t-shirts that read "I (heart) NY", Tommy Girl shirts with stars and stripes on them, the MTA guys have flags in their helmets. A walk down my street sees yellow ribbons (yes, tied around old oak trees!), flags, bunting, and another neighbor has a large red white and blue ribbon that stretches all the way down his door. My father went to buy flags the other day and couldn't find any more, so he too bought the ribbons. People at work have small ones pinned to their shirts. Whoever thought this would break America could not have been more wrong.

Another friend in California wants to come visit, but she is afraid that it would be inappropriate to come at a time like this. But we still have plenty of tourists here in the city, some of whom have been reportedly helping relief efforts. Mets manager Bobby Valentine spent the weekend helping the Salvation Army. You may have noticed this already, but even through a tragedy like this, New Yorkers remain passionate, proud, and poised.

I forgot about something my next-door neighbor said. She worked in the World Financial Center across the street from the WTC, and was evacuated in time. But their office is gone--flattened when either the towers came crashing down, or as a result of the fires, I don't know. She says her company is looking for a new workspace, but they don't expect to have anything for at least a couple of weeks. So I asked her what's she going to do in the meantime? Her reply was along the lines of "Try to keep my mind off of this."

Can you imagine? The rest of us have somewhere to work, whether we're happy about it or not. We have all day to sit in our surroundings and think, I'm OK. Marianne has no office to go to, no co-workers to talk with (not in the office, anyway), no train to catch in the morning, because where would she go? It's a step beyond what I've been feeling, I can see it in her eyes.

We found out today that our hockey game that was originally scheduled for the 14th will be played this Friday instead. One of the guys on my team suggested we find small flag stickers and affix them to our helmets, and I think I have a few left over from my VFW labels that will work. (I am not in the VFW, but I make an annual contribution, and they send me these little flag stickers as address labels and envelope seals.) And we found out that our backup goalie from last season, who is a fireman, is OK, but is as of right now the only member of his engine company known to be alive. Thus we will be making donations before our game starts Friday, which is at the ungodly hour of 1130pm.

I've read some interesting emails from the past few days. I read the email from the guy who is from Afghanistan and is urging us to drill bin Laden and the Taliban, but not to punish the people of Afghanistan. He does have a point: the Taliban were not democratically elected, so far as I know, and the average citizen of Kabul may care not a whit for what the Taliban want. And didn't the Afghan opposition call upon the USA to expel the Taliban from power? Are the Taliban not those who recently destroyed the Buddhist monuments despite what the rest of the world asked them to avoid doing?

I've received numerous messages of sympathy, support, and good wishes from people all over the world, many of whom I've never met but have happened to come across the emails I've been sending. I feel like writing this helps me expunge some of the grief I am feeling, grief for my city and friends and neighbors and people I've never met, nor ever will. I see on the face of my fellow New Yorkers today a sort of calm resolve, a feeling that you can kick us but you can't keep us down, and we know it. Some people are leaving the city out of fear for what may come, and I may be a fool for staying, but I am not going to leave.

September 18

So much for melodrama.

I had the honor tonight of attending the taping of "Late Night with David Letterman." Unfortunately I just got home at 8pm, and so most of you will not have a chance to see the show this evening and that's a shame because Dennis Leary had some great things to say about the firefighters of the city, and Bryant Gumbel, while largely uninteresting, did have a very good suggestion for what we should do with the area around the WTC. I'll leave it unsaid in case you do get to see the show.

Today seemed to be getting back to so-called normal. If anything, it's in a kind of "This Is How It's Going To Be And That's All There Is To It, So Deal" sort of way. The smoky smell in Brooklyn is actually unexplainable; at first I figured it was because of the fires, but now I'm not sure what it is, really. It doesn't make sense that it would be related to the fire from a week ago, so I don't know quite what to make of it. But it's funny how that was my immediate thought; after all, since when do we all of a sudden have time for the regularly-scheduled disasters like fires and need ambulances for such mundane things like broken bones and car accidents?

I hope my sarcasm (or is it sardonism? I always get those backwards) is clear there, but the former part of the statement is true.

By normal, I mean that there are just not that many things to say that are different: I'm used to seeing the flags everywhere, and I expect they'll be there for a long time. I've gotten used to the heightened security at every building in the city, and I can deal with that. I heard that the line to get into the Empire State building yesterday stretched all around the block (and that's a big block. Did I mention that yesterday? I can't remember). But the Yankees are back on TV, and it's time to pick the winners in the football pools, and I am really glad to have this semblance of normalcy, such as it is.

But I did find some stuff to share with you tonight.

Yesterday I reported about police action at Pacific Street: Well, turns out it was for a bomb scare, and the station was cleared out quickly enough that even if it had been true, there would have been a minimum of damage and/or casualties.

The MTA handed out new 11" x 18" maps of the subway system with the new plans of the J train, so the confusion has been reduced exponentially in a minimum of time. Quite a lot to expect from the MTA--they're not actually a city agency, they're state-run--but they did it well nonetheless.

The Daily News ran four pages of face photos of people who are missing. This was the most poignant reminder of the cost of last Tuesday, and the News will continue running photos as they come in. I scanned the faces and names for anyone else I know, and so far I have been fortunate to have not found any: but four pages is nowhere near the total that we will eventually see. I am not looking forward to searching those faces over the next few days, but I owe it to them to do so, as a reminder to myself and to anyone else who knows them that they are still in our hearts.

I had a migraine throughout most of today. I get them fairly often anyway, so it's not really a big deal, but I know that this one must be a combination of not sleeping, and stress from these events. I was hoping that the outlet of telling my story to so many people would relieve the pressure of the stress, but oh well. So yes, I went to the Letterman taping with a headache. But by the time the show was over, I felt much better--thanks Dave!

Today was Rosh Hashana, which generally leaves the city empty; but today it seemed like a lot of people who would have taken the day off for the Jewish New Year decided to come to work anyway, undoubtedly feeling so far behind in their work. I think this was the wrong thing to do, if it is in fact true. A holiday such as today should be a time to gather with one's family and community, regardless of how far behind you are, even in these trying circumstances; and companies need to give a lot more leniency to those who are grieving. Stop worrying about profits and start concentrating on people.

Do I sound like Al Gore? Uh oh.

I applaud President Bush's visit to the Moslem community in DC. Perhaps when the common man or woman in an Islamic country sees Americans reaching out to people of their religion--think about how many times you've seen support for Islam on your TV over the years and I guarantee you can't find much of it--they'll realize that there's no reason for this terrorism, that we are just as compassionate and tolerant as they would want us to be. And maybe that can defuse the anger that leads to the support of bin Laden.

I realize that wasn't the most clearly-written paragraph I've written in the last week, but I'm hungry, tired, and still kinda achey. But I feel like things are settling in. Last night I was still so anxious, yet right now I'm feeling a little more normal. I kinda hate to say that, because I don't want to discount the suffering still being felt by so many, and I certainly don't want to convey a feeling of Well, that's over. But it's time to take a break and a deep breath and get up for what comes next. I'll be ready.

September 19

There is a fire station on E. 51st St not far from here, between 3rd and Lexington Aves. (Postscript note: If you watched the ceremony before the NFL games on Sunday the 23rd where Bon Jovi was singing, thatās where it was. I just happened to write about that station on the 19th. Neat coincidence, eh?) The walls surrounding it are literally covered entirely over with posters of people and wishes for the lost firefighters. Bouquets of flowers line the sidewalk in front of the station house, and the street has been blocked off to crossing traffic, although I'm unclear as to whether it's so fire engines have freer access to the station house or if it's because President Jacques Chirac of France is here, and the street is closed for security reasons (since both the Waldorf-Astoria and the Intercontinental hotels are near 51st and Lex).

Speaking of the Intercontinental, that's where Hector Garcia works when he's not busy being my building superintendent. Last Sunday, the one before the WTC accident, Hector and I rode the subway into the city together, him on the way to work at the hotel, me on the way to Brother Jimmy's on the upper east side to watch the San Diego Chargers' season opener. I haven't seen him since Tuesday, and while I know why I haven't seen him, I also know that the next time I do, he won't be the same Hector--can't be the same Hector. A part of him is gone, and while the scar will eventually heal (as all scars do), things can just never be the same for him.

There are signs that New York is returning to normalcy: bored teenage kids rapping in the subway to no one in particular, rude men shoving aside women to get out of the train station first, beggars cropping up all over. Truthfully, I'm worried: with the economy the way it is, and this pressure of war hanging over our heads, I'm concerned that the civility of the city may have passed its zenith and is now dragging back down toward the 80s, which were not such a pleasant time to be here.

But the normalcy is comforting enough. After chronic insomnia and migraines, something about yesterday brought things down to a calmer level, if no more like the "old days", which I am defining at this point as any day on or before September 10, 2001. After my migraine subsided--which happened while I was in line for the Letterman show--I was beginning to feel a little more like, Okay, I can do this. My anger has subsided, no problem there. I haven't been feeling fear. I am still sad and sorrowful, that's going to be a problem for a while. I am going to want us to do something to the people who did this and cancel their subscription to life (and I don't mean the magazine).

And I think I know why I feel a little better. Of all people, Bryant Gumbel said something during the show last night that really struck me. Toward the end of his interview, Letterman prompted Gumbel to give his idea for a memorial to the Twin Towers and the people who perished there, suggesting that Bryant had mentioned something to him in the break. Gumbel's idea is to rebuild the towers, but not as they were before. Instead, rebuild them as full-size monuments, exact replicas on the outside, nothing on the inside. Restore the skyline of New York, rebuilding the area.

I like that idea. And I would take it one step further. Keep the Windows on the World restaurant at the top; keep the observation deck. Install elevators to get to the top. And for the bottom ten stories, run staircases up along the inside walls of the towers and inscribe the names of each person known to have perished there. Maybe each tower could be one or the other--one tower for the Windows on the World, the other for the memorial. Put the TV antenna back on top and you'd have a resurrected Twin Towers. I admit the idea needs some work, but it's a start.

There has already been some discussion about recreating the twin towers as office space again, but many companies are saying they wouldn't want to be there. And it may not be such a good idea to put so much power in such a small area as the World Trade Center. But the monument idea would cut ice with a lot of people, I think.

Something else very nice happened today in Manhattan. I happened to discover it quite by chance. During lunch hour, I went to Madison Square Garden, in which there is a sporting goods store called Cosby's. I was there to pick up some hockey sticks (my season begins Friday night) and a new pair of gloves. You may or may not be aware that MSG is where the Rangers and Knicks play, so now I've mentioned it. Well, when I got to MSG, there was a huge line going out around the building, loaded with people in suits and business casual dress. Why? Unbeknownst to me, and not announced to the general public so far as I knew, the New York Knicks were holding practice and decided to invite the public to come in and watch. I'm sure that despite the massive security they probably made everyone go through, it was probably greatly appreciated. I didn't go, for two reasons: one, I am not a basketball fan (though I do watch March Madness regularly), and two, with two hockey sticks in my hand, I really didn't want to deal with the questions of where I was going with those and did I have a license to carry them.

My ex-girlfriend called me today on her way to a memorial service in New Jersey. She called me and left a message on my office voice mail last night, crying hysterically, because she found out that she has lost two classmates from high school (she went to Riverdale CS in the Bronx), the husband of her accountant, and a few other people, some of whom lived in her building on 86th st in Manhattan. Her grief was overwhelming. When she called today she was only asking for directions to Edison, NJ, but by the time she hung up the phone she was crying again. And Saturday she has another memorial service to attend. These are just going to get worse and worse for a long time to come.

Sad as it is to say, the time has come to accept that anyone still missing is no longer likely to be found alive. A miracle can happen, absolutely: it's not so hot out that dehydration would be imminent, and not so cold that hypothermia would be expected at night. But the likelihood of finding anyone else alive is simply not practical now. Such a shame, and the faces keep piling up on the pages of the Daily News. Today it was six pages, I think. And as much as I would like to wax philosophical, I'm just not there yet. I'd like to explain why we can't blame Islam for this, but I'm not there yet. I'd even like to help explain how Islamic fundamentalism leads these suicide bombers to do what they do, but I'm not there yet.

I would, however, like to share something I found in my satchel today. Back in March I was keeping a daily journal of my experiences on the subway, as I was planning on putting together a book of my myriad experiences on the MTA. There are several entries which I think some of you might find interesting, so here goes:

A guy just stuck his head into the train to tell us, "Just remember folks--Satan is a sissy. Praise the Lord!", and just like that, he left.

I can clearly see the World Trade Center from 25 Ave and 86th St on the B line (now the W. That's significant because of its distance from Manhattan at that point).

The World Trade Center is one hell of a big building. You can see it from all over the city, even when it should be half-blocked.

I wanted to go from this point, because I remember where I was when I wrote this: I was in a taxi (and according to my notes, he was a maniac!) riding down the FDR drive one night, and as we passed from underneath the Brooklyn Bridge headed for the Battery tunnel, I had looked over at the Twin Towers and marvelled at their size, their shape, their near-perfect symmetry. Indeed, I believe the only dissimilarity between the two (not counting the TV antenna, obviously) was that one was six feet higher than the other. Tonight when I passed over the Manhattan bridge--which offers the same vantage point as the journal entry--there were no towers.

And speaking of the FDR, I wanted to point out that it's been totally empty the last few mornings. That's unusual for a road that is often packed pretty tight between the hours of 8 and 9 am.

I'm going to close this with another thank-you to everyone who has sent wishes of support and good will. I continue to receive messages from around the world, and I want you to know I appreciate them all. This is a trying time for our entire society, and so many people are apprehensive--about flying, going to sporting events, about tomorrow. Obviously none of us knows what is currently being devised by those who press the machines of evil, but certainly we cannot let ourselves be cowed by the supposition that SOMEthing must be in store for us. So instead I hope you are finding yourselves in a celebration of what creates your happiness in life, whether it be a quiet afternoon fishing on a lake, an afternoon playing with the kids, or drinking a beer at a baseball game--whatever it is you choose it to be. That's what freedom is all about--and I hope you are enjoying it to the utmost.

September 20

It rained all day today, a soft yet obnoxious rain that didn't just come down like a proper rain should, but rather blew about and got up under my umbrella to soak my pants just enough to be annoying. And like an idiot, I naturally decided to have lunch at one of the farthest places I regularly visit, some 8 blocks away. Dumbass.

The fire station on 51st St was much smarter. In anticipation of the rain--we knew this was coming--they put plastic sheets over the memorials that had been erected around their station so that everything would remain intact. And the flowers, posters, and memorials (lots of candles) continued to multiply. There is no escaping the mourning that we are feeling here, and as much as I try to tune it out for long periods of time, I too find myself in a perpetual sadness now. A program on the Discovery Channel last night had the spouses and parents of people who were on the flight that crashed in Pennsylvania, and when I turned to the show the wife of Jeremy Glick was on. You may recall my mentioning that several of my houseguests knew one of the guys on that plane; it was Jeremy.

Glick's wife recounted what had gone on from her end of the cell phone conversation, and how the episode ended. When she was done, and after another man described what he heard, the hostess (I think it was Diane Sawyer) asked the group, "Do you think that what they did saved the White House?" After a brief pause, the group nodded and made it clear that they firmly believed that. And I started crying, not just because I am a big fan of the White House, but also because of their sacrifice, not even knowing that the White House was a target; they did it because they knew it was right.

But I'm not just full of melancholy tonight. I read something very interesting. A guy named Steve Nash, who lives out in LA, is emailing a very interesting suggestion that may aid in curbing terrorists' will to fight. He suggests that we do not strike back at the terrorists now, but instead, every time a terrorist attack hits US soil, we make a donation to Israel in the amount that the attack cost us in damages. And if they wish, the Israelis may request the donation in military equipment. Whatever you think of Israel, you have to admit it's an interesting suggestion.

CNN, earlier this evening, ran a short piece about terrorist training camps, and had a former terrorist help narrate what we were seeing. According to this man, these camps breed hatred of the United States by basically brainwashing the recruits into blaming the US for all their problems. I missed most of the segment, so I have to interpolate what else must have been said but I think I can do that, based on my knowledge of Islam.

Islam, in itself, is a peaceful religion. But fundamentalists interpret the Quran in ways that fit their needs and justify their rage against the United States and the West. Ben Stein, while a guest on Craig Kilborne's show Tueday night, suggested that fundamentalists like bin Laden hate the West because they object to the fact that our women here are sexually liberated, and the fundamentalists are terrified of what that could do to them. I'm not sure if Stein is entirely on the mark, but it is certainly one aspect of our society that must act as a focus for fundamentalists' anger. Remember Iran in the late 70's? That was a similar movement to what we're seeing with bin Laden today. I'm not sure if I'm right about this, but I do not recall--in the pictures I saw of those days--seeing many, if any, women in those street protests.

That's a single facet of what causes this rage felt by the fundamentalists (that is NOT an easy word to type so often), but I cannot list them all. Fundamentalist Muslims are, in many ways, as extreme as fundamentalist Christians and conservative Jews such as the Hassidim. But in the Quran, terrorists have found phrases that justify their violence. The Quran expects followers of Allah to fight back when they are being attacked; and by convincing the young and easily influenced that their life is being attacked by the West, well, you do the math. That's where you get this fanaticism, this will to do anything even if it means certain death. They believe they're doing the right thing. And that as a result, they're going right to heaven.

Enough of that. I'll tell you what my big worry is now. My worry is that in the rush to judgement in the aftermath of this attack, we'll hit the wrong people and that this "War on Terrorism" will end up being just as effective as our other recent successes, like the War on Poverty, the War on Crime, and the all-so-effective War on Drugs. (I'm being sarcastic again.) We need to exercise some patience here and while some cursory strikes at terrorist camps would certainly hold a measure of efficacy, there is no way to win this without long-term goals and clear examples of what we need to do. This is no Vietnam we're going to be fighting; it will be a CIA war, and for it to really work well, we as ordinary citizens shouldn't hear too much about it.

Shift gears: the airline industry is laying off thousands of people right now. Can I be the first to suggest that we get some people into teaching? How about working for NASA or some other government agencies where the median age of its employees is over 50? I say NASA because that's who puts up the spy satellites. And how about the Armed Forces? Except for the Marines, recruiters are having a hell of a time meeting their goals.

Okay, enough pontificating. I'll be watching the President's speech tonight at 9 eastern, and I hope you will too. If I manage to stay awake enough, maybe I'll come back on and comment. Right now I'm going to eat dinner. I hope your days all went better than mine, and I'm sorry for getting off message back there.

September 21

It's been easy to love New York in the aftermath of the WTC collapse, the way the city has come together and stayed strong in the face of all this adversity. Today, on my train ride in, I was reminded of things I love about New York that I loved before all this happened.

On my subway ride this morning--which was, for the fifth day in a row, jam packed on every train I took--I saw a few things that always make me enjoy living here. First off, there was a guy leaning against the car doors reading a newspaper; and every so often, he would clear his throat, and make a few other fairly disgusting noises, then go silent. the first time I didn't think about it, but when he did it again, I kinda looked over at him out of curiosity, and when I turned back to my newspaper, I met eyes with a woman who was sitting down and had the same grossed-out expression on her face that I must have had, and we both started laughing. He continued carrying on like this for a good ten minutes before moving across the car to a seat away from us.

Then, at 14th St, a Rasta-looking guy with a satchel got on the train and leaned up against one of the poles. He pulled out a sketchbook and a pen, and proceeded to draw--or attempt to draw--small portraits of people on the train. But he couldn't get far before someone would move, or we'd come to a stop and his subject would get off the train. Finally he found a guy who had fallen asleep, and in the time it took to go about 1ø stops, he had a very accurate sketch of the guy's profile. I was amazed, and so I told him so as I got off the train (and said bye to the other passenger I had a laugh with).

That's the kind of thing that just happens randomly in Manhattan. There's so much energy here, it's such a charge to be in this great city. That someone--anyone--would want to destroy it is really an insult to all that's good in the world. And I hate to say it this way because there are those who will misinterpret what I'm about to say, but I think I've established my feelings enough by this point that I can say this.

Believe it or not, something positive will come out of this. In fact, something positive DID come out of this. I wish it hadn't taken the loss of almost 7,000 people to find out about it, but there's nothing we can do about that now. And I know it's hard to understand how the death of 7,000 innocent people can in any way be regarded as positive. But something did come out of it that we can take into the future with a high note.

What is it? Well, we always knew that America is a great country. We always knew that we were a nation of good people. But what this whole episode has proved is that we're so much greater than even we imagined. When the city was being evacuated, I have no doubt that there were people around the country wondering what kind of mayhem would result from thousands of New Yorkers in the streets. I have no doubt that there were countries in the world who were sure that the fall of the Twin Towers would unravel the fabric upon which America rested. I have no doubt that there were people wondering if America would just lose its mind and unleash our nuclear arsenal on the entire middle east.

But none of those things happened. While we may still pop off a bomb or two here and there for good measure, the mayhem never materialized and the fabric never rent. We were not only strong enough to handle this mess, but we were stronger; our divisions, geographical, economical, and political, came together instead of fracturing apart, as they would in a nation of lesser people. Crime plummeted after the attack; because good was going to triumph over evil, dammit, no matter what. If bin Laden thought he was going to make it easier to defeat America by his attacks, he just made it harder to get any sense of victory, and in fact turned the world against him.

Tonight, there is substantial worry that something will happen tomorrow. My mother called this evening to ask that I not go out in any large public gatherings this weekend for fear of what might happen. I've been getting emails about this for a couple of days now, actually. My worry is that it will not be the ready-for-anything New York to suffer another attack, but that a less-suspecting city, Los Angeles in particular, will be targeted.

Bin Laden has made it clear that one of his big problems is with western culture exporting its movies and violence and sex to the rest of the world. What is the symbol of that? Hollywood. Where is Hollywood? Los Angeles. I'm concerned for L.A. right now. He hit the financial center of New York; would not the entertainment center of Los Angeles be a logical next target? I ask for the Los Angelenos who are reading this to be prepared.

We'll see how back to normal we are this weekend here. There are funerals for firefighters all over the city tomorrow, and the Daily News has asked the general public to please come and show your support at these gatherings. My ex-girlfriend, who got in a car accident on the way to another memorial service on Thursday, is going to a service tomorrow for one of her high school classmates who is lost. She has been through much more than I have lately; she's lived here her whole life, and so it is understandable that she would lose so many more people in this tragedy. I feel awful for her.

September 28

Police stations are engulfed in flowers, even the transit police station in the Union Square underground corridor. Every fire station you pass is full of flowers, pictures of those missing, and letters of support written by people from all over.

The individual "missing" posters, however, are starting to come down. There is a noticeable lack of the posters on the subway now, as the hope of finding any more survivors is over. With that, unfortunately, goes the hope of finding Carmen Garcia. As I walked out of my building this morning and looked at the memorial next to the downstairs entrance, I noticed more candles and flowers, and more pictures; and as I look at the pictures over and over again, I am beginning to realize that I used to see her a lot more than I thought. It's very sad.

Rob Donner