|
||
|
Long before the events of September 11, I knew it was my turn to write a piece for the Editor's Corner on our theme-Sacrifice. From the moment I drew that straw, I thought my piece would be about my parents taking in and raising five of my father's siblings after his mother died and then taking in his half-sister fifteen years later, when my grandfather's second wife died. But then the world changed... In song, New York has been called a "state of mind." And so it is, but that it is a mindset that not everyone finds comfortable. For each person, like me, who thinks New York is the epicenter of culture, finance and fashion there are a hundred, a thousand-even tens of thousands who dismiss it as too fast, too dirty, too rude and too dangerous. Still, on September 11, with satellites beaming real-time images of the crumbling World Trade Center around the globe, both her champions and her detractors wept. 
The cameras caught the horrific images of people leaping from upper-story windows rather than waiting to be consumed by the fire and I understood that immediately. There was a certain logic in these actions. The choice was not life or death. Hope headed the casualty list. Hell was lapping at their heels and they moved through the stages of grief to acceptance at the speed of light. At ground level, people had choices. At ground level, a person could run away, become immobilized with shock and disbelief or dart through falling debris and bodies in an effort to help. At ground level the ghost of hope beckoned to heroes. I have a friend whose brother-in-law worked at Building #7 of the WTC complex. Taking advantage of a clear, bright late summer day, he rode his bike in from the suburbs that morning and was still on the bridge when the plane crashed into the second tower. His first instinct was to help. He raced to the site and went inside. Soon enough, he was shouldering an injured man to safety. As they headed out of the building toward the emergency vehicles in the street, a piece of glass fell and killed a person just a few feet from where they stood. Relinquishing the injured man to medical personnel and his impulse toward heroism to rational thought, my friend's brother-in-law quickly reassessed his options. He chose retreat. Again, I understand the logic of that choice. Survival is the strongest instinct. We know now that hundreds of policemen and firemen died that day. I have a brother who has been a cop for thirty years. I speak from experience, when I tell you these men and women are bundles of idealism cloaked in the armor of a streetwise reality. They are tenacious in the belief that they can make a difference. At the risk of seeming cynical, theirs is a logic that I can't quite get my mind around. Nonetheless I am grateful for it. That undaunted idealism is exactly why they have become a symbol of heroism for the city of New York and the nation to rally around. In late October, I refused to be cowed by terrorism and took my annual trip to New York City. More than the skyline had changed. Still bustling by Midwest standards, the pace had slowed measurably. Although reticent to make eye contact, people looked where they were going and no longer hurled themselves into the fray with their heads posed as battering rams. And in front of every firehouse in the city, people congregated. They brought flowers, candles, pictures and gifts. They posted messages and read the ones left by those that preceded them. They signed guest registries and left checks for the relief fund. They talked to each other and to the firemen. The fire trucks were ready for action, but even these had vases of flowers affixed to the grill, and American flags flying from antennae and off the back of the rig. Visitors wept openly and unashamedly. On Eighth Avenue in the heart of the theater district, a simple wooden horse cart also drew crowds. A large bronze statue of a fireman, kneeling in grief or prayer, sat on the rear of the cart. In front of him, were two huge plaques displayed back to back. One was inscribed with the words of "America the Beautiful" and the other showed a fireman and a policeman escorting children away from a disaster. (Made by the Matthews Corporation for St. Louis, Missouri, these have been given to the city of New York.) I couldn't bring myself to visit Ground Zero though I initially planned a trip there as background for this piece. On the flight home, I realized that I have misused the word sacrifice all my life. Standing in front of firehouses and walking around a bronze statue, I came to understand that not every victim has made a sacrifice. Sacrifice is about a conscious choice between one's personal well-being and ideals. When ideals win, heroes are born. Heroes perform impossible feats. Heroes put the humanity back into a cold, indifferent and dirty world. Heroes make cynics weep. |
||
© 2001 by Roger Paris HOME | Archives | Submission Guidelines | Contributors | Links | Contact Us | ||
