What was it like?
Some friends are in town for a few days, and while arranging some Theatre tickets for them, one asked me what it was like to be here on September 11th.
Few who have not lived here know what the World Trade Center Towers really were. Born of David Rockefeller, built out of a mixture of spite and ambition by the Port Authority, humanized by a Frenchman by the name of Philippe, the Twin Towers became the icon of New York. A symbol of the world economy, headquartered in the city of the same. Whether built out of dumb luck, or amazing foresight, these two buildings allowed for the explosive growth of New York City over the last thirty years. Through it, the economy of the United States and the World. The Towers were the symbol of the global culture given birth by America.
In their three decades of life, a representative of virtually every nation on the planet visited the Twin Towers. Every sort of person, every race, creed and belief visited and worked in those buildings. Tourists and Immigrants looked to them as icons of American success. Brutish in their styling and elegant in their design, they said something about the American way of life. For millions of people, they were a symbol of hope and achievement. A representation of the American dream; No matter who you are or where you came from, you can work hard and succeed.
They were another kind of icon for those mired in shame, hate and envy. For those who live under oppression and tyranny, they were not a symbol of success. They were a stark illustration of the failure of their beliefs, leaders, and very way of life. Those who do not believe all men were created equal, and all should enjoy freedom with no bias to race or religion hate what the Twin Towers represented. They wanted to destroy them, predicting the American way of life would be destroyed along with them.
In 1993, we saw the first attack against those two symbols. While the technology era began to swell and American Culture continued to grow in popularity, fifteen hundred pounds of explosives were detonated under the towers, killing six and injuring over a thousand people. The New York Times would later receive a letter claiming responsibility for the bombing "in the name of Allah". We did nothing to root out the cause of this terror, nor those who support it. Five years later, our embassies would be bombed in East Africa, killing 224 men, women and children. Again, we did nothing. Two years later, the USS Cole would be attacked, murdering 17 sailors. Still, our elected officials did nothing of consequence, assuming a strategy of appeasement and ignorance would somehow make the problem go away.
Eight years after the first WTC bombing, we paid the price, and the towers which rose above the clouds came down. With them, nearly three thousand people died. Four of them, dear friends. Three young financial analysts, one of which had ambitions of one day becoming an actor. One father, whose daughter would never see him again. One little girl on a plane who I never knew, but can imagine, being told by her parents that everything would be okay.
I remember every second of that day as if it happened only yesterday, and I will for the rest of my life. It was a perfect September morning. Summer was nearly over, but the warmth and sunlight hung in the air. I was meeting a friend for breakfast near Washington square. The next two hours would bring images of horror that one should never have to see. Images which struck a knife into the heart of every New Yorker. Burning, twisted holes in the city's tallest buildings. Fire, smoke, and debris. At first, one didn't know what to think. A terrible accident, but what could cause such a thing? Then the second plane hit, and the world changed forever. Those of us who felt the fire, tasted the smoke, and saw innocent people jumping a hundred stories to their death will never escape those memories. If you were here, you knew it. You felt it and you lived it. If not, you will never know it. You can watch the videos, look at the pictures and talk to the people. But you will never understand the pain, sorrow and emptiness that we felt.
That night, my eyes and lungs still stinging, I walked up the Great White Way. It's a section of road to which all others like it are measured, one which has made audiences laugh and cry for over a century. Tonight it was dark, but many of us came anyway, unsure what to do or say. We heard stories of the Pentagon, and the Heros who died in a Pennsylvanian field. It all felt far away, surreal, impossible. We heard Air Force jets overhead, and what seemed an endless cry of NYPD and FDNY sirens through the night, while we fought shock and horror.
Giuliani said more would be dead than we could bear, and he was right. For months I walked these streets, and I saw photos of tens of thousands of people. People feeling grief that not even I will know, as their husbands and wives, brothers and sisters, and their children-- some who had only begun to live-- were slowly pulled from the wreckage or consigned to forever be a part of it. I look back on that first night, and the day that preceded it, and all I want is my friends back, my neighbors back, and my towers back. I want them, but I can't have them, nor can I ever have the same New York that I grew to love. In the weeks and months that followed, we cut the steel which for thirty years had symbolized our great City. We buried our friends, our neighbors, and our innocence.
As an actor, one learns to cry. One finds something horrible, concentrates upon it, and allows the emotions do the rest. Often, it is needed for one to pull on those feelings, growing them as a role may require. In the days and years since, it is now a different battle. It's a battle to keep those tears back. Some of you who will read this live here, some were here that day and think back. What we saw changed our lives, yet it also gave us hope. The term "New Yorker" is often used to describe indifference, cynicism, and toughness. That day, and in those that followed, the world discovered that it meant much more than an attitude. We didn't see a few hundred Heros, or a few thousand. We saw thirty million. Our brothers and sisters, our friends and neighbors did not run away in fear, they ran towards danger out of compassion. Many paid the ultimate price for their Heroism.
In the days and years since, we have grown as a City, as a People, and as a Country. We have not only hunted down and exterminated terror wherever we have found it, we have liberated a people who for thirty years feared for their lives much as we did that horrible September morning. Instead of blind rage, we have shown the world steadfast resolve.
I look to the future, and I still want what I can't have. I still want to go back to the days before two years now past, when I was a different person. I want it, but even if I was offered it, I would not take it. The cost we paid is beyond measure. The lesson we learned beyond value. New York has proven to be indestructible, as well our great Country. We didn't run from danger, nor shall we run from the past. We learned from it. We are stronger because of it, and because of it, we shall never be defeated.
We are a strong country, with the power of the mightiest destruction tempered by the greatest compassion. We are different, now, our innocence removed. But we will always be what we are. We are the free, we live in the home of the Brave.
... that's what it was like.
posted by Mr. Lion
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