September 11th |
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| "It
was the best of times, it was the worst of times." When Charles Dickens
wrote these immortal opening lines in "A Tale of Two Cities,"
he could have been describing New York on the morning of Sept 11. The city
stood on the cusp of economic recovery, its crime rate dramatically reduced
and the incomparable Yankees resolutely hitting their familiar autumn stride.
On my way to class at Fordham Law School under a balmy morning sun I strolled leisurely down Riverside Drive, pausing to admire a memorial to the city's firefighters. Erected many years ago and dedicated. to those who previously had battled urban infernos, the figures chiseled in granite reflected grim determination. I could only reminisce several days later about the irony of that brief visit. The first wail of distant sirens sullied the early morning stillness, and I winced at the raucous sound of a fire truck impatiently blasting its horn and racing past me. Regrettably, sirens are a fact of daily life in New York, and Riverside Drive offers police and ambulances a swift alternative route to crowded city streets. The constant flashing red lights and sirens numb us to the potential death of or injury to a stranger. Days later, I would feel remorse at my annoyance at this noisy interruption of my reverie. My daughter had called a few minutes earlier to tell me that someone had bombed the World Trade Center. Television tends to immunize us to an immediate need for details when we can watch it on news at eleven. Callous, yes, but living in a media surfeit of violence, I discounted the information, despite its proximity. More sirens did nothing to dispel my sense of urgency. Walking up to Broadway, I signaled a taxi. One of the omnipresent yellow sedans eased over to the curb. New York taxi drivers, known for their laconic disposition and principally concerned with your destination, display a general indifference to the world. My driver, obsessed with lane changes during the ride to midtown Manhattan said not a word about any bombing. Approaching 62nd Street, home to the illustrious Fordham Law School, I saw no visible evidence of alarm. But on entering the building, I sensed an eerie and ominous silence. Within minutes, I knew. In the faculty lounge, a handful of professors and staff stood riveted to the images flickering on a vintage television set I puzzled to myself: Why are all these people watching a war movie at 10 a.m.? Several buried their faces in tremulous hands, disbelieving and stunned. Others gaped incredulously. The harried voice of a reporter brought me into focus as he explained the tape depicting the horrifying impact of airplane and tower. We were not witnessing an accident, but a willful and intentional mass murder by an unknown marauder. Two steel and glass structures buckled to the ground, interring innocent lives and imploding a symbol of American enterprise. I looked around. Not a dry eye among us. I flashed back to Dec. 7, 1941, when my family sat around the radio listening to reports of the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor. A similar morning attack on the United States was marked by treachery and evidenced by smoking hulks of American ships and the deaths of innocent sailors and civilians. Inevitably, our memory of Peal Harbor faded, renewed only by televisions annually replaying the scene, the dedicated survivors who attend the memorial and `the stark reminder of the sunken Arizona lying incapacitated in the water. But the Smoke billowing from the Twin Towers continues to swirl thinly
above the carnage. To the survivors, it is a constant reminder of another
infamous day. Although the law school experienced no physical damage,
its students, staff and professors are exposed daily to the proximity
of the disaster and to reminders of the deaths of friends and family Who could have foreseen the changes in our lives inflicted by a handful of Middle Eastern fanatics: endless lines at airports, omnipresent security, the threat of biological warfare, unprecedented economic disruption? More important is the irreparable loss of innocent life, the innumerable funerals attended by grief-stricken families, riven and despondent. To what purpose? No treaties broken. No sundering of diplomatic relations. No threat of invasion. Apparently nothing more than inexplicable fury has changed our lives and welfare. Living in New York for three months, among a people often criticized for their inordinate self-interest, I have admired as has the rest of the country- the spontaneous outpouring of generosity by New Yorkers. Only now are stories of civilian heroism, comparable to that of police and firefighters, emerging. New Yorkers are a resilient bunch, fiercely loyal to their city Banners and bulletins on store windows proclaim, "I Love New York Even More." In a nation of laws, responding to the lawless is an uneasy task. Immorality masking itself in morality is inexplicable to a nation committed to an incomparable legal system. Cloaking mass murder under the pretense of divine approbation defies logic. But in the inevitable passage of time, the law will emerge to respond to those who ignore it. For my wife and me, who came to this city as strangers and were present at its darkest hour, the searing experience will not easily subside. But we have no doubt that this "worst of times" will be followed by "the best of times." *** |