I met my two colleagues in Penn Station and we took the subway down to Fulton Street. I remember the air was still dusty, and smelled stale. I never could describe what the air smelled like, but it wasn't healthy.
The aftermath of the buildings being hit, burning, and collapsing was hard to take in. Bruce Springsteen would soon write lyrics that described it as waking up "to an empty sky." The air was visibly dusty. I distinctly remember a female private security guard who was stationed at one of the sawhorses blocking anyone from crossing Church Street. She was visibly upset at being there. She was trying not to cry. This was the downtown atmosphere: empty and dusty.
The businesses in the area were just getting back to being open. They had spent days clearing the dust off their shelves, walls and floors. We had lunch at a favorite Chinese restaurant on Nassau Street which had managed to reopen. The city was coming back and was on one knee after an eight count.
Very soon after this trip downtown I read of a photo exhibit that was being held in a storefront on a street just east of the Trade Center. The exhibit was titled, "Here Is New York: A Democracy of Photographs," and consisted of photographs taken by professional and amateur photographers on 9/11 itself, and shortly thereafter. If the exhibit were held today that way it would be called a pop-up store/exhibit.
Notable, several of the photographers were dead, killed by debris falling from the towers. There were several Magnum photographers on the scene at the time of impact, and they reflexively aimed their lenses at anything they could. It cost some of them their lives.
My oldest daughter Nancy and I were interested in seeing the exhibit. She has just graduated college in 2000 and was working, but still living at home. The younger daughter Susan was away at Geneseo, and was the last to hear on 9/11 that I was okay. She reminds us.
Nancy and I had dinner at a bar/restaurant on Broome Street and found our way to the exhibit. It was open at all hours, and might have even been open 24 hours. It was staffed by volunteers and the walls and clothes lines were filled with 9/11 photos tacked to the walls, unframed
The city was coming back to life a bit and the store front was a bit crowded that evening. The prints had been quickly printed on printer paper and were for sale, with the proceeds going to some 9/11 fund.
I pointed scenes out to my daughter, explaining where things were, and where I was when I came out. There was a woman working there who obviously overheard my narrative and asked me if I was actually there when the planes hit. I said yes, and explained. I'll never forget he look on her face. Her eyes widened and she said they hadn't yet had anyone come in who had been there. I bought two prints, and one is nicely framed and still hangs in the house.
I was a little behind on reading the papers so I just yesterday got to the obituary for Alice Rose George, 76, a "dream editor for scores of photographers." I had seen the obit on January 13, but hadn't dived into it yet.
Yes, the wall of photos is familiar, and the story, like many obits, more than interesting. And the woman whose eyes widened when I told her I was there is the woman who the obit is about. She put the show together.
The obit mentions how popular the exhibit was. And it was. I forget how long it ran in that store front, but it was there a while. A book of course come about from it.
This September of course marks the 20th anniversary of 9/11. For someone like myself, this is hard to believe. I remember every detail of that day.
As a teenager I was in Paris in August 1964 with an uncle and cousin. The cousin was being treated to a European tour by his father before starting school in Athens. I was asked to tag along.
We stayed at the Scribe Hotel, near the Opera House. The hotel is still there, now a very luxurious
5-Star hotel. A much older distant cousin who was in the infantry in WW II and passed through Paris remembers the Scribe as a bit of a brothel.
It was August 1964 and one evening there was a tremendous fireworks display to commemorate the 20th anniversary of the Liberation of Paris on August 19, 1944.
When I think of a 20-year anniversary, I think of that one. And now 20 years removed from WW II is the additional the 57 years removed from 1964. It is hard to fathom
The Trade Center and 9/11 will be 20 years ago this September. It won't be commemorated with fireworks, but it will be acknowledged. My daughter Susan is a college professor whose students are now a crop that was born after 9/11. They have no direct memory of it.
And someday, there will be those who are 57 years from the 20th anniversary of 9/11. How high do the numbers go?
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