Bright Lights
A romantic view of the WTC, from 1999
30-31 March 1999: Bright
Lights
Every few months my company
has a conference/exhibition and I usually go. I spent the better part of these
two days down at the show, which was held at the hotel that's at the World Trade
Center. In fact, it was the one that suffered damage during the bombing in the
early 1990s.
I found out while in the
office that I could spend the night down in the hotel, which is convenient,
since I am not a good morning person, and waking up where I had to be is a major
benefit.
Six of us went up to Windows on
the World. It was the first time I had ever been there. Seeing New York at night
is far superior to seeing it in the daytime, especially when you are that far
up. It's always wonderful, seeing New York lit up like a living map. Seeing the
bridges and Brooklyn beyond, at night, is spectacular. It's hard to imagine the
human effort that goes into building such tall buildings. It's hard to believe
people can build such large and wonderful things, but cannot manage to get
along.
So after a very good dinner, I
took the subway home and got a change of clothes. I really didn't feel like
taking the subway back, so I took a cab. It was 1
a.m.
The cab went down the FDR Drive. We
went under the Queensboro Bridge. We passed the United Nations. We passed the
Chrysler Building and the dimmed Empire State Building. We followed the road as
it hugged the coast of Manhattan, which gets wider at 14th Street and passes
Alphabet City. We went under the Williamsburg and Manhattan Bridges. I think
about how some of these high rise project we pass on the right stand where my
grandfather's first home in the US stood. Even the street he was on is gone,
gobbled up in urban renewal. We passed all of downtown and the Brooklyn Bridge
and we went into a tunnel around the Battery. We emerged from the tunnel right
near the hotel.
It might seem silly, but
I almost think that cab ride was the most glamourous moment of my life. It's
hard to explain it. It was late, so there was no traffic. We took the FDR, so
there were no stop lights. I almost felt like I was floating downtown. It was so
effortless. I just stepped out of my house and hailed a cab and I was suddenly
floating downtown. Just floating by all those landmarks, and all those lights.
Just like that. From my messy apartment to a spotless (but sterile) hotel. And
soon after getting to the hotel, I lay asleep in that hotel under those two
silent towers. I just drifted off to sleep with absolutely no
effort.
The next day, I got up early. I
managed to shower before the water main break deprive many others of their
ablutions. I watched the news. The crisis in Kosovo continued. Here at home, the
police had a demonstration of their own, declaring the Diallo shooting was "A
tragedy, not a crime." I won't even start here about how nonsensical the
fraternal fidelity of the boys in blue is. Let's just say that the cops have a
real knee-jerk reaction when it comes to their own. One idiot cop even said,
"Those guys are heroes!" Apparently, just being a cop makes you a hero. The very
risk of the job makes you a hero? Shooting someone 19 times is
heroic?
Heroism usually involves doing
something daring with no regard for your safety, or getting paid for it.
Diallo's wallet was found on the ground near his dead body. He thought he was
being mugged by these four cops, who were not in
uniform.
By all means, let's call them
heroes.
It's a shame, sometimes, that
morning comes and the magic of the night has to disappear. I don't drink, I
don't smoke, I don't do drugs. I sometimes think being a nocturne is the best
vice of all.
Posted: Fri - October 28, 2005 at 02:19 AM