email617.xml

email617.xml

born-digital

email

unknown

yes

2002-08-28

Well, everyone has their own story about today's tragic events. My story
isn't personally horrifying, but I thought I'd share it anyway.

For starters, thanks to those who have called or emailed inquiring as to
Cathleen and my safety. We are fine. As for those who haven't called or
emailed, we have long questioned your love for us and are now cutting you
from our holiday card list. Shucks, not really.

So, today started innocently enough. Woke up. Voted in the primary
election. Took the subway up to the Bronx to work. When I arrived at my
office, the security guard outside my office asked me if I had heard about
the plane that had crashed into the World Trade Center. I had not, and
quickly went upstairs to find out more information. But we don't have
televisions at Bronx AIDS Services, our phones were down for the day
(coincidence), and our pathetically slow internet server wasn't allowing me
to access any websites. We listened to the radio and heard the terrible
facts trickle in.

My brother emailed me, and through him I was able to get out info to
Cathleen and my mom that I was, indeed, in the Bronx and miles from danger.
As luck would have it, the one place you want to be when terrorists strike
is in the middle of urban blight, cause there's nothing there to strike.

Sitting around in my office, hearing about each new attack, I became
concerned that Cathleen might be at risk. We live a stone's throw from the
Empire State Building, which seemed like another likely target. Given my
limited access to news and my lack of phone contact, I permitted my mind to
wander this way for a couple of minutes before relaxing. But then after
listening to our not-so-quick legal secretary ask questions like "what's the
pentagon?" and "why would they attack us? We're not at war with Iraq," I
decided that it was time for me to go home. I knew that Manhattan had been
sealed off, but I figured that if I could get close enough to a bridge, it
was likely that I could walk across it and hoof it the rest of the way home.

I walked a few blocks over to Bronx AIDS Services' other office and picked
up my coworkers, Jen and Avalena, for the trip. At the other office, I
managed to call Cathleen. She and her brother Sam were planning on heading
up to the Citicorp building to give blood. Jen, Avalena and I tried for
about 20 minutes to catch a bus, but they were few and far between, and
those that came by were packed. So we finally hailed a livery cab and asked
him to take us as close as possible to the Third Avenue Bridge.

As we drove downtown through the Bronx, we passed by the Cross Bronx
Expressway which, although never known for its free-flow, was at a complete
standstill. Eighteen-wheelers had pulled off of the expressway and were
lining the nearby streets with no place to go. We finally made it to 138th
Street and Willis Avenue, at which point the streets were sealed off. We
got out of the car and walked about four or five blocks to the Willis Avenue
Bridge. By now, we could clearly see the pillar of smoke that was billowing
up into the otherwise pristinely-clear sky.

A steady stream of people were crossing the bridge, but in the opposite
direction. They were all leaving Manhattan, and we were heading in. It
felt weird, and stupid, to be walking against the flow of the mob.

We entered Manhattan at 125th Street and walked down 1st Avenue. All of the
sidewalks were crowded with people -- everywhere it seemed like 5th Avenue
during Christmas. At the same time, the streets themselves were almost
empty, save for the occasional emergency vehicle that would drive by. Every
once in a while an air force jet fighter would fly by overhead, a sight
we're not used to seeing in the big city. At 118th street I heard an
elderly man exclaim to another, "you know whose fault this is? The Jews!"

I was not really dressed for the long walk home. I chose the wrong day to
wear black cotton pants, and I was trekking in my dress shoes. My feet were
already a little tired and sore from a weekend of playing ultimate, and from
my having spent two hours last night campaigning in Harlem for my friend
Mark Levine (HC '91) who is running for City Council.

Given the state of my feet, I was excited to see an operational bus at 97th
Street and 2nd Avenue. We boarded the bus, but it was packed and Jen and I
had to stand in the stairwell in the front (Avalena departed to head to the
west side). We traveled in the bus for 30 blocks, but at each stop new
people were cramming on and I literally felt that my physical well-being was
being compromised, so we got off at 67th Street. Jen departed at 60th to
cross the Queensborough Bridge, hoping to catch a bus in Queens home into
Brooklyn, while I kept hiking downtown.

After a more than three and a half mile walk, I finally made it home and
began watching the horrifying images on television. We can lean out of our
living room and see the pillar of smoke where the twin towers once stood.
It is surreal.

Cathleen was unable to give blood, as the lines were (to New York's credit)
incredibly long. They were only taking blood from universal donors (O-neg),
and they could only do 20 people in an hour. She was walking the dogs when
disaster struck. She thought she heard an airplane roaring overhead,
remarkably close by, but didn't think much more of it. When she returned to
the apartment building, our doorman informed her that the World Trade Center
had been hit.

So we're hanging out now, watching the news with the rest of the world.
Sirens continue to wail, at intervals, in the background. As I write this,
7 World Trade Center collapsed. It is no easier to relate to the tragedy
here than it is to wherever you are now. Cathleen and I are pretty sure
that we don't know anyone who works in the World Trade Center, except for
our former landlord, Nori Ishikawa, and I am hoping that he is safe.

until later,
Rick

9/11/01

Rick's Take