The NYC Diaries- Day 3 (continued): Too Low For Zero

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Walk up to the former site of the World Trade Center, and if you don't know the backstory or somehow just beamed down to Earth, it would look like just another construction project in a city teeming with construction -- just another big hole in the ground. The Freedom Tower will rise here someday.

For now, crowds gather along the fence separating construction from curiosity, and as you mill around, pieces of the past come out to meet you.



Downstairs, in the WTC subway station, you see an art exhibit from children who lost a relative on 9/11. Colorful images of flags and the twin towers line a wall against a painted backdrop of clouds. One child draws an angel. Another, a firefighter's badge. Another draws a British flag: "Born a Brit, died an American!" I wander back upstairs.


Panels telling the 9/11 story hang on the fence in the odd hybrid of memorial and renewal. Several observation areas have been set up for the masses, who snap pictures and try to get the best view they can through the iron grating. I hardly see any workers. Maybe it's because it's the day after Easter. But I do see a steel cross they've erected.


I walk over to another observation deck. Memories of what happened the day the towers fell are creeping back now. I spot an anonymous note scribbled on a wooden pathway: "Yo, New York. I hope you are feeling better. I see that nasty scar is starting to heal... a... little... I will always pray for your losses. Stay strong. You are still the greatest city in the world. I love you."

On another wall, a poem titled "The Road To Heaven."

While traveling along,
It's never too late
Take the road that leads to love
Not the one to hate
Hate is what took these buildings down
With love is how we'll remember those no longer around
Take the right road and you will see
How much sweeter life will be
The road may be uphill and strewn with stones
So get rid of the weight
And lighten the load
At the summit there is
A beautiful view
All of God's peace
Open to you
--A police officer, NYPD

I can't take this any more. I'm heading for heartbreak, just like the week of 9/11 when the emotion finally caught up with me several days after the terrorist attacks, all at once, like pouring out a bucket filled with water... or tears. I have to get out of here to preserve my emotions. On the way, I pass by another bit of graffiti wisdom: "The problem is not the problem. Your attitude towards the problem is the problem."

Attitude. Attitudes of others. Attitudes of people who dance in the street when 3,000 people are killed in moments. Attitudes of politicians who co-opt tragedy to settle unconnected scores. Attitudes of zealots who say they are ridding the world of infidels and who will not be satisfied, even in the tremendously unlikely event they are successful.

It's as mad as the words spouting from the mouth of a man who was riding three seats down from me on the subway to the WTC:

"The government dispatches squads if they detect somebody is happy."

"When all primary targets have been destroyed, the squad will move on to the next operational area."

He sings the "Imperial March" from Star Wars: "DAH-duhduh-DAH, duh-de-dah, duh-de-DAH!"



I walk nearly all the way to John's Pizza in Greenwich Village. Thin crusts, cheese and tomato sauce... heavenly... amazing... mmm.