To call the mood in New York strange would be to, in some inexplicable way, understate it completely. Surreal, a bizzare constrast of normalcy and utter strangeness. Seven miles north of ground zero, 40 hours after the tragedy, you can smell the smoke.
Forty hours ago, we were listening to the radio in a cab announce the impossible. An airplane had just hit one of the twin towers. Then another. My wife and I rapidly found our plans changed. We stared as the towers burned on a waiting room television. In rapid order, we backtracked, aiming for our daughter's pre-school. Seared in my memory, is walking south on second avenue in the 20s, with the a roar of noise in my ears. At the time, I thought it was a fighter plane. Now, I know it was actually one of the twin towers cascading to the ground in an image that will be seared into the world's collective psyche for generations to come. A pillar of white-gray smoke rose south, smoke which would remain for the rest of the day, and still hangs over the city.
Daughter in hand, and with the stunning fortune to have a cab, we slogged first north, then finally, in the 50s, east, slowly towards home. The ride, normally a quick 20 or 20 minutes stretched out past two hours. Radio on continually, emiting one impossible message after another. With determination, and much repeated dialing, the cell phone allows us to reassure parents. Several attempts to contact the cell phone of a close friend who worked on the 80th floor of 2 World Trade yielded only the various electronic squawks of the city's shredded and straining cell phone system. Impossibly, when we get home, we try again, and discover that this day, rather than being at his desk at 8:15, he decided to take a spare comp day he had accumulated.
Tuesday afternoon, and again on Wednesday, our local playground was filled with laughing, happy children, and drawn tense parents. Clumps of parents in hushed discussion under almost shockingly clear skies, in crisp, perfect early fall weather. The contrast was shocking. The day was brilliant. A cold front having just passed, the skies were a perfect blue, the air hinting at the first coolness that says summer is passing and fall is on the way.
The skies have been eerily quiet. Our playground, on the upper east side normally provides fine airplane watching. Either northbound headed towards Laguardia, or south towards JFK, depending on the wind. The east river, provides barges, tug boats and random commercial traffic. The FDR drive, the steady hum of traffic. All silenced. On Tuesday, the afternoon quiet was repeatedly torn by the roar of fighters, and the whomping pulse of helicopters. Sirens, every few minutes, all afternoon. And on Tuesday, all afternoon, the smudge of smoke, lurked,half hidden behind the bulk of the midtown skyline, a mute, silent reminder of the morning's horrors.
Stress is strange. Tuesday, after dinner, the notion of ice cream, from our local gourmet ice cream joint seemed somehow soothing. We were far from alone. A line twenty five deep pours out of the store. Nervous jokes about the way a true New York facers disaster: Well fed.
With a small child, we avoided the totally mind numbing assault of continual televiions repetition, snagging updates from the internet, or a few minutes of CNN while our daughter played in her room. But, the images, seen once, were more than sufficient.
Tommorow, we will try to pick up the threads of our normal daily routine. But there will be an edge to everything. Every roar of a jet engine will catch our ears. Every siren, normally the background thrum of the big city will make us perk up and pay attention.
Some people say everything has changed. And yet, it must not. Yes, we have been shockingly shown the depth of hatred our nation inspires in some people. Yes, we have been reminded of some of the deep vulnerabilities in our modern world. But we must also dig deeply into our sense of who we are.
We are a free society, a society of tolerance, of ideals and of hope. As we move to identify those who have committed this horrific act, and perhaps more importantly, those who inspired and funded it, we must not let them turn us away from the very ideals they are attacking. And when we have identified these people, and move to punish them, once again, we must not turn away from our ideals, for that in the end would be a defeat as great as any these people could inflict on us. We must be sure our punishment is swift, sure, but above all, just, and fair.
In the weeks and months ahead, nothing will send a clearer signal to
these people than if we move forward, with purpose, with intent, but above
all, without abandoning our sense of who we are, and what we stand for.