story688.xml
Title
story688.xml
Source
born-digital
Media Type
story
Date Entered
2002-05-30
911DA Story: Story
WRITTEN ON OCTOBER 5, 2001 by Fredda Weiss ? a born and raised in Manhattan, now living in Los Angeles, California
Minor additions and corrections made on October 30th - with many thanks to Richard Masur for his ?fact check?!
I feel compelled to record my impressions of my first evening and day in New York (October 3 and 4) ? in order to remember the images, which I cherish, and which are sure to fade with time. I have not watched television since the first days after 9/11 ? preferring to read the eyewitness accounts and emotions emailed to me by friends, which seemed much more immediate and ?real?. To these, I am now adding my own.
I realize that my personal reactions are filtered through my five-year experience with the Victims of Pan Am 103 ? perhaps making my emotions more raw ? but I can?t imagine anyone not reacting with deep emotion ? and some concurrent denial ? to an event so overwhelming and awe-full.
The ride from JFK to 37th Street and Lexington Ave. (usually a 40-minute drive) took about 20 minutes! The night was clear and warm ? Indian Summer at its best. My driver was a Sikh, and his appreciation at being treated like a human being was palpable. God knows what abuse many NY cab drivers have suffered since 9/11. As we approached the City, the view of the skyline was more disorienting than I had expected. I never loved the architectural ?monotony? of the twin towers, but eventually they must have become the anchors by which I ?constructed? the skyline in my mind. Without that anchor, I found myself searching for older landmarks in order to structure a new orientation. It took some time to assemble the Wrigley Building, then the Chrysler Building, then the Empire State Building ? and after that, all the other smaller landmarks. Still the change in the skyline generates a real sense of loss.
The following morning: Murray Hill is a quiet residential part of town, but five blocks north is Grand Central and the busy, commercial area that surrounds it. The streets are crowded, but not as crowded as usual. What really impresses me is the new sense of calm ? a slightly slower pace to everything ? and an almost unearthly quiet, compared to what I expect in New York. The blaring of car horns is gone, for the most part. When an ambulance or a fire engine siren is heard, it literally splits the silence instead of merely raising the decibel level of the existing din. Courtesy is the order of the day. ?Excuse me? is heard everywhere, and people give each other space on the subway and wait patiently for riders to exit, before they enter the cars.
Met a friend, Marjorie. for lunch, after which we intended to get as close to Ground Zero as possible. Before I left California, I had no desire to go anywhere near the site. Then - during the drive in from the airport ? for some unknown reason, my attitude flipped, and I decided it was a pilgrimage that I wanted to make. Marjorie had been in touch with Richard, and he had been going down to the Red Cross Respite centers every day ? sometimes taking other celebs ? sometimes alone. We reached him on his cell phone, and he offered to take us down there with him.
We met at 14th Street and then took the subway as far as Houston Street (all the stations south of Canal St. have been inoperable, since 9/11). We then hiked downtown (zigzagging our way south west) toward Pier 40 on the Hudson River, where Richard had to make a stop. We began running into barricades many blocks from the pier, but Richard?s credentials and the two OEM (Office of Emergency Management) passes he had given us, got us past each checkpoint. Most of the uniforms we saw, at this point, were NYPD. Later, as we got closer to the Ground Zero, however, the diversity of uniforms increased, and one marvels at how all of these different ?troops? can remain organized in a coherent operation.
Pier 40, is the staging area for the New York City Highway Patrol. In charge is a woman named Kathy, who was a store manager for Cohen?s Optical somewhere in Massachusetts. She quit her job on ?day one? and has been a volunteer at this facility ever since. This distribution center is charged with delivering uncredentialed, but ?cleared?, equipment and vehicles to points within the Ground Zero perimeter. It is also responsible for providing ?escort? within the perimeter. Cameras came out all around, and appreciation for our visit got us a lift closer to Ground Zero in a patrol car. The thicket of checkpoints and barricades south of Pier 40 serves to narrow the streets to one lane, and the route towards Ground Zero becomes almost impassable. Water trucks work the streets constantly to keep as much dust out of the air as possible. HazMat (Hazardous Materials) crews with hoses stop every car and truck as they leave the area and wash them down.
We were dropped off at the Red Cross ?Respite Center?, (at St. John?s University). A row of hoses lines the walkway leading toward the entrance. Everyone who has been working at, or near, Ground Zero washes down his or her shoes, before entering the building. The Respite Center is a haven where anyone and everyone working in the area can come for ? that?s exactly it ? ?respite?. There is an entire room of donated Lazy Boy chairs, where search & rescue and security personnel can watch TV ? but we see most of them napping. There is another room with cots for sleep-deprived workers. Volunteer massage therapists and chiropractors are on hand, and food is available 24/7. There?s a 24/hour AA meeting available on an upper floor! The atmosphere is super-charged with both energy and exhaustion. Again, the appreciation for the visit was overwhelming. We are still quite a hike from our next destination ? The Spirit of New York ? one of the Dinner Cruise boats, which usually ply the Hudson. It?s docked two blocks from Ground Zero and serves as another Respite Center for the work crews on the southwest side of the site.
We are now one block west of Ground Zero, at North Cove -- a large promenade and Plaza that borders the river, where the Spirit of New York is docked.
There is only one row of buildings between us and the ?site?, and the ancillary damage to nearby buildings is in clear sight. A structure called the Winter Garden looms over the plaza like a giant transparent jukebox. Its steel structure, which resembles the triangular shapes of a geodesic dome, is completely sheathed in glass. Miraculously, the fa?ade facing the river is unharmed, while the one facing Ground Zero has been blown to smithereens. It is incomprehensible that this structure survived in any part! But the most incredible sight is the glass skyscraper immediately to the north, the right-angle corner of which is impaled by twisted and jagged steel beams - jettisoned from the imploding north tower, as it collapsed. Richard tells us that the largest one of these is (conservatively) estimated to weigh 40 tons, although it appears to be floating weightlessly in air like some beautiful contemporary sculpture.
We are now walking along the water toward the two ?shrines? which have appeared spontaneously at the southern edge of the promenade. The first is very small and shielded from the elements by a makeshift tent. It contains mounds of flowers, pictures of fallen firefighters, policemen, and Port Authority personnel, as well as burning candles, badges, copious notes and mementos from police and firefighters from NY and the rest of the nation. The profusion of images is chaotic and forces one to take time to focus on one photo, note or bouquet at a time, before the impact of the personal loss is felt. It is a place of immeasurable sadness. There are two men in uniform crouching to read the notes and view the mementos. Their grief can be read through their backs. We feel our intrusion and round the corner where a very long granite wall backed by a three foot, still-green, hedge has become a more public shrine. Along the wall, and resting in the hedge, is a sea of teddy bears ? most of which have been sent from Oklahoma City. Again, there are bouquets of flowers three and four deep, in various stages of wilt. Pinned to them, and to the wall behind them, are more notes from children of all ages. It is here that the enormity of the human sacrifice and concomitant grief becomes overwhelming.
It is a short one-block walk to Ground Zero, and we approach it through one last Marine checkpoint ? trying to keep a very low profile. Access is extremely restricted, and we are astounded that we are actually being allowed to approach the site.
It appears suddenly ? as if we?ve turned a corner into some huge Italian Piazza. The area is vast (16 acres), and the frenzy of activity is evidenced only by the clouds of dust that rise around the huge cranes and grapplers, which pepper the site, and which dwarf the crews working beside them. They stand precariously on piles of rubble like tinker toys, and the jaws at the end of their huge arms could easily hold two dozen men. At the southwest corner of the destruction, where we are standing, the hugest of the cranes towers over us. This one, we are told, arrived on 42 flatbed trucks. It weighs 1.5 million pounds, can lift 1000 tons (2 million pounds), and took one week to assemble on site! But most amazing of all are the remnants of the World Trade Center that still stand ? steel structures which do not relate to the flat, modern lines of the towers from which they came, but are reminiscent of the gothic arches seen in the medieval cathedrals of Europe. The simile is undeniable, and the result is an eerie spirituality that envelops the sight and leaves one with a deep sense of awe. We stand there speechless. Denial breaks down, and we ?feel? as well as ?know? that we are standing at the edge of a mass grave. No images on television or in print can capture the physical and emotional devastation and the absurd beauty of the complete scene. I long for a camera (forbidden, of course) ? ache to capture those religious arches that stand in two semi-circles, and seem to embrace the rubble-strewn space and the men laboring to clear it. Is there no wide-angle lens that can capture this sight? ? Or has my avoidance of the media frenzy simply ?missed? the best images?
Slowly, we become aware of the incongruity of our presence; our standing amidst those who ?belong? there. We turn tail and head back toward the Spirit of New York, where we will await ?The Screamer? ? a high-speed boat that ferries the volunteer shifts between Ground Zero and the Chelsea Pier upstream. We board the ship to save us the long hike out of the area. The ?spines? of the two interior main cabins are long steam tables ? constantly supplied with food, drinks, deserts and candy. Rows of catering tables, at right angles to the windows, have replaced the more elegant ?dining tables?, which usually seat tourists. The weary crew of the shift just ended is quietly eating. At the bottom of the semi-spiral staircase, which ascends to the observation deck, is a sign reading ?Massage and Chiro upstairs?. My mind is so numb that I make no connection between ?Chiro? and ?chiropractor? and have to ask Marjorie what it means! There is very little conversation. The young volunteers manning the catering tables are emptying the chafing dishes in preparation for the re-supply coming with the next shift.
For some reason, the Screamer is not arriving, and we decide the ?hike? will get us uptown faster. We are leaving the pier when Richard spots a NYPD Harbor Patrol boat. A moment of ?hi? and shaking hands gets us a lift upriver. The view from the river, minus the twin towers, again grabs at the stomach and boggles the mind! Marjorie finally starts snapping pics. Some of the buildings, which have not been destroyed but have been damaged beyond repair, are marked for demolition with a sheath of red mesh. Another, less damaged, sports a huge American flag, which defiantly faces the river. We are mid-river when Richard asks the three crewmen if they could run us farther upriver than the Chelsea pier. They offer to take us to the 79th Street boat basin. On the way north, we pass two Coast Guard speedboats - each one hardly bigger than a dinghy -- with 50 caliber machine guns mounted on the bows!
Lots of pictures accompany the goodbye and thank you at the Boat Basin. We ascend to Riverside Drive along the bucolic paths of Riverside Park , hardly able to believe where we?ve been and what we?ve seen. The emotional and physical exhaustion is indescribable!
AFTERTHOUGHTS:
I have no recollection of the rest of this day or evening ? none, in fact, until the Weizmann Weekend begins the next morning.
I am, of course, tempted to write something profound or witty (or both) as a fitting conclusion to these recollections. But they stand alone in my mind and heart, and I have no cogent explanation for how I feel ? then or now ? about what I saw and felt. I only know that I am glad I got there ? that my empathy lies with the workers at the site who will never ?integrate? the horrendous things they are seeing ? and with the children who lost parents and the parents who lost children. Their grief will be renewed every holiday season for the rest of their lives.
This morning I awakened at 4am ? a time without defenses or denial. For one moment the depth and breadth of the tragedy again hits me full force. It is always the same ? the noose around the diaphragm and the sob still unreleased.
Minor additions and corrections made on October 30th - with many thanks to Richard Masur for his ?fact check?!
I feel compelled to record my impressions of my first evening and day in New York (October 3 and 4) ? in order to remember the images, which I cherish, and which are sure to fade with time. I have not watched television since the first days after 9/11 ? preferring to read the eyewitness accounts and emotions emailed to me by friends, which seemed much more immediate and ?real?. To these, I am now adding my own.
I realize that my personal reactions are filtered through my five-year experience with the Victims of Pan Am 103 ? perhaps making my emotions more raw ? but I can?t imagine anyone not reacting with deep emotion ? and some concurrent denial ? to an event so overwhelming and awe-full.
The ride from JFK to 37th Street and Lexington Ave. (usually a 40-minute drive) took about 20 minutes! The night was clear and warm ? Indian Summer at its best. My driver was a Sikh, and his appreciation at being treated like a human being was palpable. God knows what abuse many NY cab drivers have suffered since 9/11. As we approached the City, the view of the skyline was more disorienting than I had expected. I never loved the architectural ?monotony? of the twin towers, but eventually they must have become the anchors by which I ?constructed? the skyline in my mind. Without that anchor, I found myself searching for older landmarks in order to structure a new orientation. It took some time to assemble the Wrigley Building, then the Chrysler Building, then the Empire State Building ? and after that, all the other smaller landmarks. Still the change in the skyline generates a real sense of loss.
The following morning: Murray Hill is a quiet residential part of town, but five blocks north is Grand Central and the busy, commercial area that surrounds it. The streets are crowded, but not as crowded as usual. What really impresses me is the new sense of calm ? a slightly slower pace to everything ? and an almost unearthly quiet, compared to what I expect in New York. The blaring of car horns is gone, for the most part. When an ambulance or a fire engine siren is heard, it literally splits the silence instead of merely raising the decibel level of the existing din. Courtesy is the order of the day. ?Excuse me? is heard everywhere, and people give each other space on the subway and wait patiently for riders to exit, before they enter the cars.
Met a friend, Marjorie. for lunch, after which we intended to get as close to Ground Zero as possible. Before I left California, I had no desire to go anywhere near the site. Then - during the drive in from the airport ? for some unknown reason, my attitude flipped, and I decided it was a pilgrimage that I wanted to make. Marjorie had been in touch with Richard, and he had been going down to the Red Cross Respite centers every day ? sometimes taking other celebs ? sometimes alone. We reached him on his cell phone, and he offered to take us down there with him.
We met at 14th Street and then took the subway as far as Houston Street (all the stations south of Canal St. have been inoperable, since 9/11). We then hiked downtown (zigzagging our way south west) toward Pier 40 on the Hudson River, where Richard had to make a stop. We began running into barricades many blocks from the pier, but Richard?s credentials and the two OEM (Office of Emergency Management) passes he had given us, got us past each checkpoint. Most of the uniforms we saw, at this point, were NYPD. Later, as we got closer to the Ground Zero, however, the diversity of uniforms increased, and one marvels at how all of these different ?troops? can remain organized in a coherent operation.
Pier 40, is the staging area for the New York City Highway Patrol. In charge is a woman named Kathy, who was a store manager for Cohen?s Optical somewhere in Massachusetts. She quit her job on ?day one? and has been a volunteer at this facility ever since. This distribution center is charged with delivering uncredentialed, but ?cleared?, equipment and vehicles to points within the Ground Zero perimeter. It is also responsible for providing ?escort? within the perimeter. Cameras came out all around, and appreciation for our visit got us a lift closer to Ground Zero in a patrol car. The thicket of checkpoints and barricades south of Pier 40 serves to narrow the streets to one lane, and the route towards Ground Zero becomes almost impassable. Water trucks work the streets constantly to keep as much dust out of the air as possible. HazMat (Hazardous Materials) crews with hoses stop every car and truck as they leave the area and wash them down.
We were dropped off at the Red Cross ?Respite Center?, (at St. John?s University). A row of hoses lines the walkway leading toward the entrance. Everyone who has been working at, or near, Ground Zero washes down his or her shoes, before entering the building. The Respite Center is a haven where anyone and everyone working in the area can come for ? that?s exactly it ? ?respite?. There is an entire room of donated Lazy Boy chairs, where search & rescue and security personnel can watch TV ? but we see most of them napping. There is another room with cots for sleep-deprived workers. Volunteer massage therapists and chiropractors are on hand, and food is available 24/7. There?s a 24/hour AA meeting available on an upper floor! The atmosphere is super-charged with both energy and exhaustion. Again, the appreciation for the visit was overwhelming. We are still quite a hike from our next destination ? The Spirit of New York ? one of the Dinner Cruise boats, which usually ply the Hudson. It?s docked two blocks from Ground Zero and serves as another Respite Center for the work crews on the southwest side of the site.
We are now one block west of Ground Zero, at North Cove -- a large promenade and Plaza that borders the river, where the Spirit of New York is docked.
There is only one row of buildings between us and the ?site?, and the ancillary damage to nearby buildings is in clear sight. A structure called the Winter Garden looms over the plaza like a giant transparent jukebox. Its steel structure, which resembles the triangular shapes of a geodesic dome, is completely sheathed in glass. Miraculously, the fa?ade facing the river is unharmed, while the one facing Ground Zero has been blown to smithereens. It is incomprehensible that this structure survived in any part! But the most incredible sight is the glass skyscraper immediately to the north, the right-angle corner of which is impaled by twisted and jagged steel beams - jettisoned from the imploding north tower, as it collapsed. Richard tells us that the largest one of these is (conservatively) estimated to weigh 40 tons, although it appears to be floating weightlessly in air like some beautiful contemporary sculpture.
We are now walking along the water toward the two ?shrines? which have appeared spontaneously at the southern edge of the promenade. The first is very small and shielded from the elements by a makeshift tent. It contains mounds of flowers, pictures of fallen firefighters, policemen, and Port Authority personnel, as well as burning candles, badges, copious notes and mementos from police and firefighters from NY and the rest of the nation. The profusion of images is chaotic and forces one to take time to focus on one photo, note or bouquet at a time, before the impact of the personal loss is felt. It is a place of immeasurable sadness. There are two men in uniform crouching to read the notes and view the mementos. Their grief can be read through their backs. We feel our intrusion and round the corner where a very long granite wall backed by a three foot, still-green, hedge has become a more public shrine. Along the wall, and resting in the hedge, is a sea of teddy bears ? most of which have been sent from Oklahoma City. Again, there are bouquets of flowers three and four deep, in various stages of wilt. Pinned to them, and to the wall behind them, are more notes from children of all ages. It is here that the enormity of the human sacrifice and concomitant grief becomes overwhelming.
It is a short one-block walk to Ground Zero, and we approach it through one last Marine checkpoint ? trying to keep a very low profile. Access is extremely restricted, and we are astounded that we are actually being allowed to approach the site.
It appears suddenly ? as if we?ve turned a corner into some huge Italian Piazza. The area is vast (16 acres), and the frenzy of activity is evidenced only by the clouds of dust that rise around the huge cranes and grapplers, which pepper the site, and which dwarf the crews working beside them. They stand precariously on piles of rubble like tinker toys, and the jaws at the end of their huge arms could easily hold two dozen men. At the southwest corner of the destruction, where we are standing, the hugest of the cranes towers over us. This one, we are told, arrived on 42 flatbed trucks. It weighs 1.5 million pounds, can lift 1000 tons (2 million pounds), and took one week to assemble on site! But most amazing of all are the remnants of the World Trade Center that still stand ? steel structures which do not relate to the flat, modern lines of the towers from which they came, but are reminiscent of the gothic arches seen in the medieval cathedrals of Europe. The simile is undeniable, and the result is an eerie spirituality that envelops the sight and leaves one with a deep sense of awe. We stand there speechless. Denial breaks down, and we ?feel? as well as ?know? that we are standing at the edge of a mass grave. No images on television or in print can capture the physical and emotional devastation and the absurd beauty of the complete scene. I long for a camera (forbidden, of course) ? ache to capture those religious arches that stand in two semi-circles, and seem to embrace the rubble-strewn space and the men laboring to clear it. Is there no wide-angle lens that can capture this sight? ? Or has my avoidance of the media frenzy simply ?missed? the best images?
Slowly, we become aware of the incongruity of our presence; our standing amidst those who ?belong? there. We turn tail and head back toward the Spirit of New York, where we will await ?The Screamer? ? a high-speed boat that ferries the volunteer shifts between Ground Zero and the Chelsea Pier upstream. We board the ship to save us the long hike out of the area. The ?spines? of the two interior main cabins are long steam tables ? constantly supplied with food, drinks, deserts and candy. Rows of catering tables, at right angles to the windows, have replaced the more elegant ?dining tables?, which usually seat tourists. The weary crew of the shift just ended is quietly eating. At the bottom of the semi-spiral staircase, which ascends to the observation deck, is a sign reading ?Massage and Chiro upstairs?. My mind is so numb that I make no connection between ?Chiro? and ?chiropractor? and have to ask Marjorie what it means! There is very little conversation. The young volunteers manning the catering tables are emptying the chafing dishes in preparation for the re-supply coming with the next shift.
For some reason, the Screamer is not arriving, and we decide the ?hike? will get us uptown faster. We are leaving the pier when Richard spots a NYPD Harbor Patrol boat. A moment of ?hi? and shaking hands gets us a lift upriver. The view from the river, minus the twin towers, again grabs at the stomach and boggles the mind! Marjorie finally starts snapping pics. Some of the buildings, which have not been destroyed but have been damaged beyond repair, are marked for demolition with a sheath of red mesh. Another, less damaged, sports a huge American flag, which defiantly faces the river. We are mid-river when Richard asks the three crewmen if they could run us farther upriver than the Chelsea pier. They offer to take us to the 79th Street boat basin. On the way north, we pass two Coast Guard speedboats - each one hardly bigger than a dinghy -- with 50 caliber machine guns mounted on the bows!
Lots of pictures accompany the goodbye and thank you at the Boat Basin. We ascend to Riverside Drive along the bucolic paths of Riverside Park , hardly able to believe where we?ve been and what we?ve seen. The emotional and physical exhaustion is indescribable!
AFTERTHOUGHTS:
I have no recollection of the rest of this day or evening ? none, in fact, until the Weizmann Weekend begins the next morning.
I am, of course, tempted to write something profound or witty (or both) as a fitting conclusion to these recollections. But they stand alone in my mind and heart, and I have no cogent explanation for how I feel ? then or now ? about what I saw and felt. I only know that I am glad I got there ? that my empathy lies with the workers at the site who will never ?integrate? the horrendous things they are seeing ? and with the children who lost parents and the parents who lost children. Their grief will be renewed every holiday season for the rest of their lives.
This morning I awakened at 4am ? a time without defenses or denial. For one moment the depth and breadth of the tragedy again hits me full force. It is always the same ? the noose around the diaphragm and the sob still unreleased.
Collection
Citation
“story688.xml,” September 11 Digital Archive, accessed January 1, 2025, https://911digitalarchive.org/items/show/15402.