IANAPF
UH-60M Black Hawk (medevac variation), flying 1K feet over residential areas east of Seattle. Took off from Bellingham International.
3 UH-60M's in the area. One flying north from Portland.
E pluribus unum. Part 1 of 2
(this is not me below)
Hey,
I have hopefully just attended the last of the long, grueling series of
wakes, funerals, sittings of shiva and just plain old, empty yet
profound 'memorials' (the result of the following three when you cannot
find a body), and I feel like I have been through more rites of mourning
by the age of 27 than I ever thought I'd have to go through in a
lifetime.
I'm not sure how I feel. I still feel a cold, unending fury, yet I am
hopeful, sorta, about the sense of union that this evil act has
engendered among my fellow Americans, and around the world. Part of me
still thinks, half-heartedly, yet still, that had these murderous
barbarians not targeted Washington, and only New York, mots of America
would simply shrug, throw some anthems in our general direction, and say
"well, that's what happens in New York."
However, I an encourages by the galvanizing fury among my fellow
Americans, and our siblings, the British, and even the sight of Jacques
Chirica grabbing Mayor Guiliani by the arm and saying "we stand by you,
brother." The fact that President Chirac was a big city mayor helps
explain his affinity for Rudy, but the fact that the French, the
difficult, contrary French, have decided once again to hitch their wagon
to our horse is a reassuring gesture, as was the heartfelt expression of
sorrow by the Japanese PM, and even the gestures of fraternity by
President Putin.
Now, time for some unrelated, general thoughts.
"Code Black"
The FDNY (Fire Department of New York) brass shouted 'code black' into
their communication systems during the attack - a horrific, catastrophic
attack on a peace-time nation, something potentially beyond our
abilities to contain and thwart. I urge every American to think of the
emotional punch of that. Not merely a 'code red,' an intense crisis that
will require our every effort to overcome, but 'code black' Black,
engulfing our efforts at containment, at rescue at survival, something
that cannot be contained, cannot be defeated, will wreak death upon us
all. This is what we dealt with on September 11, and we will have to
live with for the next decade.
"Beth Pettrone."
Mayor Guiliani's executive assistant (read 'secretary') is a newlywed,
married to a tall, handsome and aloof Fire Dept. officer. Met at some
random affair, they became enamored, and they married.
He was killed. 9/11. He was one of the most heavily decorated members of
the FDNY, and his death was a wound to us all. Yet as Ms. Pettrone told
the mayor (irreverently known as 'hizzoner') that he husband was slain,
she also announced that she was pregnant.
"The Wedding."
I spent last weekend at a maudlin, drunken, ebullient and frenetic
wedding celebration. A long-time friend of mine was to be married on
Saturday. Raised together in the weakening yet still enveloping parish
system, I knew the bride, her family, the groom, his family, and all the
families who were represented. It was a boisterous, sloppy affair, with
the bag pipes that have come some associated with death belting out
tunes of joy. Yet, the wedding was chilled by the absence of several
ushers (FDNY members at Ground Zero), and the recent death of the father
of one of the bridesmaids. This is New York these days - we all knew
someone.
"The Secretary with a Plan"
I don't speak with my father very often, our schedules rarely coincide,
and I haven't lived with him since high school (when I moved in with my
mother and stepfather), and he's not the most sentimental and expressive
of guys. Today, I called, and he sounded, I dunno, like a man weakened,
and not at all like my father, full of arrogance and wit.
I found out why. About twelve years ago, my father had a secretary whom
he adored, a bright, sunny girl who had a plan. She went to school at
night, invested shrewdly, got married and moved on. She eventually
landed herself a Vice President's job at a small brokerage located in
WTC Two. She had also gave birth to a happy, vociferous son, less than
eight months ago. She went to work at her desk, and she died. It's a
pall over every conversation. My father hadn't thought of her in years,
now we'll think of her for years to come. Everyone I speak with knows a
person like Lindsay.
Part 2 of 2
"Angie."
On the other hand, everyone has story like "Angie." Angie is a friend of
one of my sisters, she was eight months and several months pregnant,
scheduled to go out on leave any minute now. She waddled to work, and
rode the elevator to the 53rd floor. When the attacks came, and mass
panic followed, she ran to the stairwells. Random strangers, generous
strangers, suspecting the mass deaths to come perhaps, lifted her and
propelled her down over thirty flights of stairs, carrying her down the
flights hand over hand, head over head, like a crowd surfer at a rock
concert, passing her down the stairs. She escaped, and a few days later
had a daughter, whom was named "Hope."
"Trinidad."
In one of the papers, I learned that one of the victims murdered 9/11
was a woman who worked in Windows on the World (a gitzy restaurant at
the very top of one of the Towers, former home of thousand of power
lunches, breakfast meetings, holiday parties by wealthy firms, and those
of up-and-coming firms hoping to make a statement). I cannot recall her
name, but this woman, an immigrant from Trinidad (NYC is a beehive of
Caribbean immigration) worked at this glamorous restaurant as a
-seamstress-. A seamstress, using her skill with a needle to making sure
that the waiters looked crisp and smart, and that the drapes hung at
elegant folds. She was not a tycoon, a captain of finance, an American
seigneur of industry. A Trinidadian woman, who came to this country and
city armed only with her needle and thread and for that was marked a
casualty of war. Is this who you thought you'd slaughter, Mister
Terroirst? A mother and seamstress, new to America? How about the
firemen, or the hundreds of receptionists, perhaps the clerks in the
Borders bookstore downstairs, the kids in the myriad file rooms, the
citizens of France, India, Mexico, the subjects of Britain, or the the
Zimbabweans, the Congolese, the Australians? Were you prepared to wake
the world against you?
"E Pluribus Unum"
This has become my new credo, my new motto, and I have adopted it into
my .sig. Without being preachy, I would like to encourage everyone to
adopt the phrase, and its - meaning- into their lives. As Mayor Guiliani
said while addressing the U.N General Assembly scant miles from 'Ground
Zero," Americans are drawn from every nation, yet are united by our
passion for freedoms. America is more than the sum of its parts, and may
our foes realize that soon enough, and realize it too late. E Pluribus
Unum.