Wednesday, 12, 2001
9:00 a.m. EDT, Manhattan,
Sad Tales From The City, Day Two.

Rayberry ©

Most New Yorkers were up late into the night, many topping three a.m. like me. We were talking to friends
worldwide on the phone with disbelief and nervous laughter as the constant sounds of distant sirens
blared,  the only sounds in the night in an extremely silent city.

Our local television news crews just kept playing the violent video tapes over and over as we watched a
scene of our city that seemed unreal on tv, but did not match our emotions and personal visuals in our too
hot memories of our actual day.  Millions of people in Manhattan, Brooklyn, and New Jersey, could still see
the smoke out their windows and the altered skyline as the tv turned it into a surreal scene from a bad movie
that seemed to be mysteriously detached- someplace else, but in reality was here.  The emotional balancing act
just would not settle in your mind, and everyone I talked to seemed to find them self wishing this was just
a bad dream and we were actually asleep.

You cannot live in this great city without your own personal memories of the World Trade Towers that
surfaced  throughout the day when talking to friends, or from the scenes on tv triggering hidden experiences
you thought you had forgotten.  This hot file in one’s memory banks became active.
I remember, I remember, I remember when. Everyone was saying.

My Two Most Favorite Memories Of The World Trade Center

1) A few summers ago I went to the open air observation deck at the World Trade Center alone one
day to take the sun and read a book. I sat there all afternoon, watching the tourists from the four corners
of the earth, speaking every language in awe as they watched our fair city from the sky on a cloudless day.
 The children were constantly amazed as they saw the small airplanes and helicopters on the harbor actually
below their feet in the air.  I spoke so proudly about my beautiful city with so many foreign people, as I
pointed out the different boroughs, and told stories about our wonderful town.

I also thought that day about the awesome accomplishment of man, actually building such a massive
structure that kissed the sky.  But what impressed me the most was the grand American spirit.
This amazing nation composed of every race which had built such a magnificent city over the last three
centuries, a city that is so compacted and huge, which actually functions very well.  As I sat there that
day, literally on top of the world I gained a deeper respect for the ingenuity and dreams of the American
spirit and our cherished way of life as I stared at the great American symbol, our Lady Liberty so small
in the grand harbor below.

2) About five years ago my God Child, Helana, came to visit me from South Carolina. She had never been
North.  I planned a wonderful Manhattan day for her. I picked her up at the Port Authority Bus Station,
grabbed her hand and took her underground to a downtown subway immediately before she had seen a
thing. When we emerged in the concourse of the World Trade Center we zipped up the elevator to the open air
Observation Deck. When we walked out, I turned to Helana saying, “This is my city,” as she gasped!
What a perfect way for me to show her the city, and explain its layout.
She nor I will ever forget that wonderful day and special moment on top of the World.

As the morning settles in small emotional increments we cannot get past the fact that thousands of people
downtown are dead in the rubble. Nor can we get past the knowledge locally that so many other buildings in
the financial district are destroyed also.  Stock Houses, Banks, Insurance Companies, Medical Companies.
We all knew people who worked downtown and we still have very little information. We really are not
getting much “new” news. We are hoping for more survivor stories to lift our spirits.

The lower half of Manhattan below 14th Street is closed to all pedestrians unless you live downtown.
Midtown, where I am is silent. No traffic, no noise. The sirens have stopped, except occasionally, piercing
the silent state of emergency like a stab to one’s soul. An ice skating rink near my apartment on the
Chelsea Piers where I enjoy going in the heat of the summer has been turned into a temporary morgue and
triage center to treat the injured fireman and policeman by the hundreds.  A visual scene I just
cannot fathom.  Many businesses in midtown are open with skeleton crews of Manhattanites who literally
didn’t know what else to do but go to work this morning. The access points, bridges and tunnels are
still closed to incoming traffic.  We are still a city in a state of emergency.

I live in the Chelsea Art District in midtown near the Hudson River where there are many art galleries,
.coms, and fashion houses.  This “was” Fashion Week in Manhattan, Spring 2002! Two massive garages on my
street had been transformed by Monday into Fantasy Palaces for Major Designer Shows. Huge trucks with
external generators sit quietly on my street, not supplying energy to the  fancy white tents filled with
dying orchids and tropical flowers which sit empty and silent. These ironic fantasies remain frozen in time.
No matter where you are in the city you are being touched today in the most local way.

Late yesterday afternoon about six, I saw a group of my homeless friends on the street which I have known
for years in this industrial district. They travel the city and collect scrap metal with huge carts which
contain their entire worldly possessions, as they scratch out a living.  I went to the corner store and
got a six pack of Colt 45 beer and some cigarettes to share stories and sadness.  We sat on some steps for
an hour as I was captivated by their awesome hot stories from the street. These men who most people do
not see are intelligent, sincere, amazingly informed, and have rich feelings about America, our President,
and the topside of what most consider to be the world.
 
One guy named Gene said, “On the street we all knowd this was gonna happen sometimes soon. We knowd it.
With what happened in the election and with some other nations hating us now as being a lie. And the American
government making so many people around the world so mad so fast and just telling them what should go down.
 We knew somebody would hit New York soon. On the street we could smell it. We could just smell it.”

Another homeless guy said, “ I tell you. I was on the street in front of Macy’s early this morning, you see
that’s my honey pot for making money, and all of a sudden we heard someone was bombing New York and
downtown was on fire. Immediately the gates came down on Macy’s. I mean the frigging “Gates Came Down”
and they started throwing people out of the store. People was saying if Macy’s is closing their gates at nine
thirty in the morning it must be the end of the damn world!”

Warships are heading for the New York harbor they are reporting on tv to protect us if we are attacked again.
I cannot digest this information at this time.

In closing, the silence in the city is deafening on the day after.  This city is about sound.
Without sound it seems like one is sitting quietly inside of a huge funeral chapel before the service begins.

More tomorrow.
Thank you all for the hundreds of kind emails I have received.
I am very touched by your sincere support and friendship.
 

Take care and remain patriotic!
 

Rayberry  ©, Manhattan Artist