A solemn day.
I can't help feeling that if we go through this day somber, then the little rat-fucks that did it won.
I was working only 30 miles from the city at the time. A beautiful crisp early fall day. Neighboring towns had a lot of people that commuted into the city. A number of which worked in the towers. Guess it affects me differently. Somber and respectful is not the same as crippled and fearful. That slime will never win.
* Tony lives even closer and was probably working in the city at the time.
I was working in Brooklyn at the time and my wife was doing an audit at #7 World Trade (3rd building to collapse but luckily without human casualty). We went to Europe on vacation and watched the surreal happenings unfold on CNN from our hotel in Capri. We both personally knew many who met their demise that day. I'll never forget them.
To my knowledge, no one I personally knew lost their lives that day - though it is completely possible I'd met people who did. I just don't remember all the names and faces of students I taught in New York. I expect there were at least some, perhaps a significant number.
If my statements offend you, Tony, because you knew so many that were lost, I apologize. That was not my intent.
I promise I do not minimize or disregard those we lost. I simply choose to remember them with jubilance, and celebration, rather than mourning.
I'm sure I've told it before, but I think often of the bootblack I used to visit when I taught in lower Manhattan. Is bootblack now a pejorative, racist term? I hope not. Surely it is more respectful than "shoeshine boy." He wasn't a boy. He called me "boss." He called everyone who visited his stand "boss." I told him I was nobody's boss. He agreed to call me "teach," but the next time I was there we had to have the same discussion.
He worked outside the south tower. I do not remember his name, and I regret that. He always remembered me, or convincingly pretended he did. So many passed him by, perhaps saw him as an anachronism, or were uncomfortable having a black man do such "servile" work for them. I didn't see it that way. He was earning a living, providing a service my grandfathers had taught me was important. Clothes don't necessarily make the man, but the condition of his shoes are a keen indicator of his priorities, responsibility and attention to detail. I could have shined my own damned shoes, but then I would have been depriving him of income that IBM was providing. My outdoor mentor, an ex-Green Beret medic, taught me later that you always protect your feet. Nothing is more important. The rest of the body depends on the feet.
So when I was in lower Manhattan, I visited his stand for a shine, and I tipped generously. What I remember most is that he didn't use an applicator to apply polish. He got his hands into it. There's no particular reason to do that. It's just what I remember, and it seems to me distinctly human.
He was the first person I thought of that day. I have no way of knowing whether he survived that day unscathed. I hope he did.
