I cancelled my piano lessons for the day. Another miserable cold and fever problems forced me to stay in bed. The morning was pressing on and I thought of getting out of bed but the sun was so nice coming into my bedroom window and directly onto my bed that I just lay there, enjoying the warmth and the silence which was so comforting.

Suddenly, my windows rattled and I heard a rumbling which seemed quite a distance away. The last time I had heard a sound like this which rattled my windows was the 1973 bombing of the WTC. In the pit of my stomach I knew something really bad had happened. I got up. Put on the television and learned, or so I thought, what had happened. A second window rattling explosion made me nauseus as, on the television at the same instant another huge explosion could be seen in the other tower. Continued replays of it made me sicker, that I had to turn it off and go outside. Then, a new, horrific realization: my city, New York City, the city I was born and raised in, the city I still lived in, of old black and white movies with Fred Astaire, or William Powell, the elegant tuxedo'd New York, glittering, sparkling, yet gritty and filthy, a place to come to forget your problems, and live in a fantasy of lights and entertainment, of Broadway and museums, the place I had always felt safe in--would never be the same.

***

The following days in my neighborhood were the strangest I’d ever known. I live on Sixth Street in the East Village, and all traffic below Fourteenth Street was halted: no cars, buses, cabs, trucks, nothing. Only ambulances or police screaming their sirens to more than usual horrifying effect. When the ambulances were gone, there was only silence…an eerie, disturbing silence that bespoke a lack of being fully consciously aware of what was going on: it seemed an awful dream; people walked around in a daze. Many stores were closed, many were opened but empty. American flags could be seen everywhere when normally only a few could be found on the Fourth of July.

What place is this? What had happened to my world? What was normally a bustling, loud, busy neighborhood was in a fog of shock a dizzy, disconcerting, and utterly unfamiliar atmosphere. Above all, lingering like a ghoul over everything was a smell, a putrid smell of fire, oil, and other things. One dared not think of it. If the wind was right, it was unbreatheable, not for lack of oxygen but for it’s revulsion and repulsiveness. I sealed my windows and purchased a air purifier. It helped. A little. I know my lungs and sinuses have not been the same since.

Worst of all was just walking the quiet streets with their now odd atmosphere and coming past an apartment building where a photo would be placed, hung or framed on the ground, surrounded by flowers, candles, and notes all from passersby. It was chilling to the bone, really beyond my ability to express. Sorry.

***

After a week or so, I worked up enough courage to go down to ground zero, as it was now called. I could not get very close but from Robert Wagner Park, near the southernmost tip of Manhattan I could see a bizarre and disturbing sight; a large steel “girder” is how I described it, was sticking out of the American Express building like a pin in a pin cushion. I couldn’t make sense of it. What kind of amazing force caused this damned building to collapse which could cause this giant girder to shoot out, fly across the street and lodge itself deep in another office building? It was lodged there, it did not hit it and bounce away. I went right into it like I said, a pin in a pin cushion.

Otherwise, there was nothing out of the ordinary, I thought. Just lots of activity, lots of trucks, and an enormous amount of security: police and national guardsman, armed to the teeth with automatic guns of every imaginary kind in full battle gear. I laughed to myself at the absurdity of that scene. People walking their dogs, a hot dog stand selling poisoned hot dogs to tourists, and this armed-helmeted man, brandishing several weapons, grenades, pepper sprays, and a taser or two, ready to save us from who? A litterbug? Was he going to zap a jaywalker? What were they expecting? An invasion? What was everyone so frightened of? Wasn’t the worst over?

***

Three years passed and I gave little or no thought to the events of the day. It was too painful. However, in the back of my mind was a lingering doubt. We were at “war” now, a phony war, we all well knew, but 9/11, what was this about? I knew from years of just being alive that the surface story is rarely the truth whether it be politics, war, personal relationships, religion, or sports. There always seemed to be hidden forces or elements of force at work.

I let it stand. But standing led to simmering. Finally, I found a Youtube video of the collapse of Building 7. No explanation, no dialogue. Just a short 10 second or so shot of collapse. I laughed out loud—the kind of laugh that was not a result of humor but from sudden, unexpected revelation, a realization that seemed so obvious a child could see it: building 7 was brought down intentionally by what is known as “controlled demolition.” I had seen hundreds on TV. Who hasn’t? It was obvious. It was beyond doubt. Soon after, I found scientific evidence in support of this conclusion.

And so, as a result of this personal epiphany, and a realization that my long buried doubts had some basis in truth, I, my life, like my city, would never be the same.

I have committed part of my life and life’s energy to the spreading of the word, as best as I can, and to speak out against the lies, wherever and whenever I can. God bless America. More than ever.

NYCguy
New York, NY
April, 2010.