Tuesday, September 11, 2012

Remembering . . .


Larry and I were privileged to serve with the Salvation Army in the aftermath of the World Trade Center attack of 9-11.  Returning to our room each night, I submitted a column to the Canton Repository, helping the folks at home to connect with the devastation and hope in New York.  The following was my first submission (10-3-01).  Seems like yesterday . . .
The images of our first day in New York post 9-11 both assaulted and comforted us.  The assaulting images hit as we arrived in New York City late Sunday night, with our first sight a grave reminder of September 11.  That grand old lady of the city, the Empire State Building, stood alone, abandoned by her bookend rivals.

The Salvation Army headquarters on 14th Street was our destination, with a brief orientation as to what we would be expected to do.  Our first day included stops at the medical examiner’s office; Worth Street, the one-stop social service office for displaced workers, families and airline employees; and Ground Zero.

Heading downtown, we could see the dust and smoke as we approached the site and passed through the checkpoints staffed by police and military.  The access to “the zone” was very limited, but our Salvation Army credentials got us through, and we worked with a team to evaluate the needs of the feeding sites and to plan a reorganization and cleanup effort that lasted until midnight.

Even the constant television coverage since the attack had not prepared me for the totality of the devastation.  Beyond the tangled mass of rubble that had once proudly graced the sky, the blocks surrounding the World Trade Center site were bombed out, an empty Borders store staring at me from the destruction.

Yet amid the horror, there were images of hope.  Neighborhood fire stations, with their altars of flowers and pictures.  Incredible stories of the workers.  Letters from children from all over the world hanging from Salvation Army and Red Cross canteens.  The man who drove to Manhattan from New Jersey in a rented truck with snack bags packed by the children in his school, each one with a crayoned message of hope for those who serve. 
If the terrorists managed to destroy the buildings on West Street in lower Manhattan, it is obvious that they were unable to destroy the spirit of the people of New York – or of America.

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