September 17, 2011
Or, as it seems to me…
My own private 9/11…
One of the most vivid memories of the time of 9/11 came on the 12th. It was morning, and I walked out on to Spring Street, where we lived at the time and walked up and down the street. I paused, across the street from our apartment, and my mind took a mental snapshot of the moment. Ever seen ON THE BEACH, the 1959 apocalyptic film with Ava Gardner and Gregory Peck? In the final frames, the camera pans deserted streets; everyone is dead, there is only the wind, loose paper blowing like tumbleweed, desolation without destruction.
That was Spring Street that day and my mind took a black and white photo of that moment, which remains with me today. The street was empty; I was the only person on it. Bits of paper from the Towers blew down the street; there was no sound but for the wind and the air was heavy with the smell of melted plastic. The moment seared itself to my brain.
So it was that on 9/11I wanted to go back there, to stand in the same place that I had when my mind captured that moment, to capture a new photo, not to supplant the old but to add to it.
So I went there, found the place I had stood, and captured the moment. This time it was a color shot, of a street full of people, of cars and taxis moving east, a feast of visuals and a mélange of languages, of laughing people, street vendors with jewelry, none hawking, that I could see, souvenirs of “9/11” – those bits of plastic engraved with Tower Images, dramatic photos of the buildings before their fall, of dramatic shots of fire fighters or of smoking buildings after the attacks. Nope, not that day, not that street.
I walked down to the Manhattan Bistro, still there after all these years, owned by a Frenchwoman named Maria who had it re-opened as soon as she could, perhaps only a day or two later, determined to be there for her clientele. We sat there often; drink in hand, not saying much that I recall. When I arrived, I recognized the woman behind the bar; it was Maria, Maria’s daughter. I asked after her mother and was saddened to hear she had passed on August 17th; I had hoped to see her. One of the waiters, a busboy then, came over and held my hands and told me it was good to see me. He asked after Al, my former partner. I told him he was now in DC. He smiled and then moved on; I was left warmed by the fact he had remembered us and seemingly well.
My friend Rita Mullin was in town and she wanted to see me but respected that I might want to be alone that day. At first I thought I would but then determined that I really didn’t want to be alone. Sport that she is, she tucked herself in a taxi and met me there, arriving with her son Matt, who has become my friend also.
We talked about 9/11 but it was background and didn’t, as I now recall, completely dominate the conversation. I realized that their presence and our talk helped me bridge the days, the 9/11 that was and the 9/11 I was currently living. The photograph in my mind was not black and white; it was color. It was not of desolation now but of life in all its annoying Soho grandeur, noisy crowds and boisterous sidewalk sellers of art and jewelry – life.
I was glad for that, glad that my friends were with me for that moment and glad I could appreciate their presence.
There is a great line from THE GO-BETWEEN, a film written by Harold Pinter. “The past is a foreign country; they do things differently there.” It is my solemn hope that ultimately “9/11” will become a foreign country and that the one we will be living in will be that better place we can still find after all this tragedy.
Letter from the Vineyard 
Letter From New York 11 30 15 Stepping up to hope…
November 30, 2015Brian Gallagher. Joe Boardman. Amtrak. Hudson River. West Point. X-tra Mart murder. IS. COP21. Climate Change Conference. Producer’s Guild of America.“Tut” SpikeTV. Christ Church. Hope.
It’s a grey day, chill and gloomy. The train is crawling south toward the city. In front of me is Brian Gallagher, who is the sidekick of Joe Boardman, President of Amtrak, who is sitting across from him. Brian is by way of being a friend and I went up to say hello to Brian when I saw him, realized that Boardman was across from him and said hello to him too. He seems a very shy man, something Brian is not. Perhaps that’s why they seem to make a good team.
The Hudson River is smooth as a mirror, reflecting the muted colors on the banks above it.
With me I am carrying twenty pounds of textbooks from which I must choose the one I will use in the class I will be teaching at our local community college near the cottage. It’s challenging and I have to make the plunge by Friday.
That said, I’m excited about teaching the class.
Waking up around seven, I almost immediately plunged into emails and got lost in them. Before I drove to the train station, I organized all the Christmas presents I’ve purchased during the year in piles for the person for which they are intended. With Christmas carols playing, I found myself in a festive mood.
Which is the mood in which I intend to stay.
It was, as you know, a harsh weekend out there. Our local tragedy was that a woman, working at the X-tra Mart not far from my local grocery store, allegedly went into the restroom, gave birth to a baby boy, strangled him and disposed of his body in a trash bin outside the store and then returned to work.
She is currently in the hospital receiving a mental evaluation.
As is the man who shot dead three in Colorado Springs, Colorado.
We’re all a little crazy. I think it is part of the human condition but these folks are really crazy, in tragic ways.
Crazy zealous are the members of IS, who, I think, honestly believe they are doing what God wants of them. How you believe in such a crazy God is another question, but they do.
On a brighter note, COP21, the Climate Change Conference, has begun meetings in Paris. Out of this might come good news, of nations agreeing to work together to cool the planet, which was warmer last year than any other year in recorded history.
That’s important to remember that we’re talking about “recorded history.” The planet has gone through much colder and warmer times.
As I am a member of the Producer’s Guild of America, I get screening copies of movies and television shows to watch for judging purposes. One of them I got was “Tut,” the massive SpikeTV mini-series. As I was watching, it occurred to me that it is amazing how humans seemed to make a leap toward civilization about 10,000 years ago and haven’t looked back.
The time we have wandered the planet as beings you and I would recognize, has been an incredibly short amount of time.
As I am choosing to be joyous, nature has chosen to support me with a burst of sunshine. We have just sped past West Point and the sun is glittering off the river water.
Every Sunday that I go to Christ Church, I light a candle for myself, for a friend who is struggling with brain cancer and one for all the things I should be lighting a candle for, like world peace and the eradication of poverty.
I’m older now than I have ever been and will only continue down that path and as age piles upon me [with attendant wisdom, one hopes] I will continue to seek to be grateful for all the wonders of the world, those which I have experienced and the ones which lie ahead of me.
Tags:"Tut", Amtrak, Brian Gallagher, Climate Change Conference, COP21, Hope, Hudson River, Joe Boardman, Mat Tombers, Mathew Tombers, SpikeTV, West Point
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