Friday, September 14, 2012

September 11, 2003



“By then I knew that everything good and bad left an emptiness when it stopped.”
Ernest Hemingway
The seemingly inextinguishable fire had long since been put out. The sickening smoke that drifted across the Hudson River to Jersey City (where I live) for at least six months had finally floated into the atmosphere.  The photocopied entreaties after lost loved ones that had once covered every lamp post and telephone pole in Manhattan were mostly in tatters.  The gigantic pit that was once the World Trade Center was clear of the remnants of absolute destruction.  Local trains were running on local tracks and express trains were running on the express tracks.  You could get on the west side highway and go all the way to the Holland Tunnel once again.  Our city, knocked to the ground for a long time, was on its feet once again, still a bit wobbly, but standing upright nonetheless.

In August we received an inquiry from the New York City Department of Cultural Affairs.  Could we provide some student musicians to play at the solemn September 11 ceremonies taking place at ground zero.  August is tough for us.  The summer session ends and the fall students are still scattered to the four winds.  However, we did find two wonderful players—a flutist named Elena Sandoval and a violinist named Joshua Rim.  They, along with many other student musicians from across the city, would play quietly in the background as the names of the nearly 3000 victims were read by family members and friends.  I would go with them to make sure everything went smoothly.  

We had to report to the intersection of Vesey Street and Broadway at 7:30 a.m. to check in and receive our credentials.  Both Elena and Josh were there on time.  We picked up our credentials (mine read “Guardian”) and we were led to a tent on the edge of the pit off of Vesey Street where we were asked to wait until they were to play. In the tent were folding chairs, a TV monitor tuned to the coverage of the ceremonies, and about 20 performers, parents, and guardians sitting quietly.  The atmosphere was pretty relaxed given the gravity of the event. We found out that Elena was going to be the first performer playing.  She was as calm as could be.  Shortly after, Josh’s father showed up and joined us.  He is a professor at Columbia University, a scientist.  

As the ceremony began, Elena, played (and was on camera on national television) and the first two family members began to read the list of names.  The reading would follow a pattern—Robert A, Sally B, Joseph C, and my beloved son...  In the meantime, Dr. Rim and I started talking about many things.  He really is an interesting man and we moved from topic to topic.  All the while people were swooping in and out of the tent.  Mayor Bloomberg stopped by and, in a very dignified way, thanked us all for being part of the day.  Assistant Commissioner Kathleen Hughes came by to ask my advice about something.  Governor McGreevey of New Jersey stopped by briefly.  Performers were coming and going and all the while the names continued, “my loving husband, my wonderful sister, ...how we miss you.”

As the hours rolled on, the situation was starting to seem a tiny bit surreal to me.  Everyone was going about their business, keeping things organized.  We were just a few feet from where people were performing and where family members were reading a very long list of names and despite that proximity, we saw absolutely nothing that we couldn’t see if we stayed home and watched it on TV.  I’m chatting away energetically with Dr. Rim on subjects far and wide.  

Finally, Josh played, really well as he consistently does, and we could leave. I said good by to Joshua and his dad. It was nearly noon when we left.  The whole area was heavily secured.  Police were everywhere.  Everyone seemed busy, even as I moved away from the immediate vicinity.  I walked the rest of the way across the island and caught a ferry to Jersey City.

When I arrived in Jersey City, I suddenly felt exhausted.  I sat down on one of the benches facing the Hudson River and I started to cry.  

And I could not stop.