Jennifer and the World Trade Center
BROOKLYN HEIGHTS, NY, November 1, 2001,
I've already been on a bus, two trains, and a subway today. It's 1 p.m., and having exited at Clark Street, I should be near my destination. Instead, I'm wandering with no sense of direction. At least, it's a warm, sunny day. At least, I'm up and about and out of the trains. Then, lo and behold, I see two brand new Brooklyn phone books on the top of a brick fence. As I page through the L's, a man emerges up to the patio below.
"If you want, you can take the phone books," he says.
"No thanks. I'm looking for a restaurant-- Luigi Tree. Have you heard of it? I'm lost. I haven't been here for ten years."
"Restaurants come and go. Most of them here last three or four years."
I find a Luigi Pizzeria, but Luigi Tree was a Chinese restaurant. I don't recognize the street address. Just in case, I struggle to memorize 765 Fifth Street. Jennifer liked pizza. Could my memory be this bad? I look up from the phone book.
The man speaks, "We get a lot of people coming back. Just last week, a lady came to see 168 Willow, across the street. See the awning? She said she lived here in 1945. The husband was going to medical school. They had no money. Now she has all this money and she comes back. This was the happiest time in her life. She brought a picture. The building looked exactly the same in 1945, except no awning.
As I nod, I notice that the man is elderly. He himself may have lived here in 1945. The man continues, "I was outside watching when one of the towers crumbled to the ground. There was dust and papers everywhere. The Trade Center was exactly 1.3 miles away. I stayed inside for weeks; the air was so bad. You see the dust on the air conditioner? That's Trade Center dust. That's what everything looked like. It was thick. The bridge was closed and everyone came here. They brought candles and flowers. There are still candles here, but they are no longer lit. The flowers are dying. It's a good thing. We're getting past this. First they said on the talk shows that there were 5,000 orphans, 10,000 orphans, 15,000 orphans. Now we are down to 2,700 victims and not one child missing both mother and father. None. And, we keep bombing that airport in Afghanistan. Every day, we bomb that airport. It must be bigger than JFK airport. And, we got the Red Cross building twice.
I nod. He continues, "Reminds me of Vietnam. We're there. We've got control of the air space. Now we don't know what to do. When do we stop? Do we bomb sixty countries? How many more camels do we kill with our million dollar bombs? We should worry about our own problems. How many murders do we have each year in our country? I'll tell you. It's a lot more than died in the World Trade Center. Our federal prisons hold 65,000 drug offenders. The gross national product of Afghanistan? They don't calculate it. It's zero. We control the air space of that country. What do we do with it? Did Afghanistan replace Vieques as the place where we do our bombing practice? You should go two blocks to the promenade and see the candles and dead flowers.
"Now, anthrax is the big thing. If I fall over, do not recessitate. Are you sure you don't want a phone book?"
"No thanks...Luigi Tree. It was a Chinese restaurant. Now, I'm not even sure about that. Maybe it was a pizza place? Ten years is a long time."
"There are a bunch of restaurants on Montague, three blocks ahead. Chinese restaurants keep putting flyers on my door. Maybe that's what you are looking for. I'm going to read my mail now. Have a good day."
"Thanks," I respond. The man moves with difficulty into the dwelling below.
Montague is familiar ground. I reach the Court Street subway station. Now I remember that Jennifer used to live by the Clark Street station. Was she at the St. George Hotel that looked so familiar? Then, she and George moved near Court Street. Now, I'm close.
I see the pub where they had the wedding reception, but the name has changed. I look down at 162 Montague and am startled. Lichee Nut! Not, Luigi Tree. It was Jennifer's favorite place. Lichee Tree is still a Chinese restaurant.
I order the beef and black bean lunch special (very tasty) and purchase a disposable camera at the place on the corner. I take a picture of Lichee Nut and of 100 Remsen. Was that where Jennifer and George lived, before Jennifer died in the plane crash several years ago?
I walk to the promenade with camera in hand. I take a picture of the Statue of Liberty. I also take a picture of the tall buildings, densely packed. Behind me are the dead flowers and the candles, no longer lit.
I walk back to Willow. I am ready to take a picture of that air conditioner with the famous World Trade Center dust. But, aside from a few pumpkins ready to be tossed, the neighborhood is spotless. There is no dust to be found.
I retrace my steps, but can't locate the old man. Instead, I see a woman spraying the patio with a hose.
I've already been on a bus, two trains, and a subway today. It's 1 p.m., and having exited at Clark Street, I should be near my destination. Instead, I'm wandering with no sense of direction. At least, it's a warm, sunny day. At least, I'm up and about and out of the trains. Then, lo and behold, I see two brand new Brooklyn phone books on the top of a brick fence. As I page through the L's, a man emerges up to the patio below.
"If you want, you can take the phone books," he says.
"No thanks. I'm looking for a restaurant-- Luigi Tree. Have you heard of it? I'm lost. I haven't been here for ten years."
"Restaurants come and go. Most of them here last three or four years."
I find a Luigi Pizzeria, but Luigi Tree was a Chinese restaurant. I don't recognize the street address. Just in case, I struggle to memorize 765 Fifth Street. Jennifer liked pizza. Could my memory be this bad? I look up from the phone book.
The man speaks, "We get a lot of people coming back. Just last week, a lady came to see 168 Willow, across the street. See the awning? She said she lived here in 1945. The husband was going to medical school. They had no money. Now she has all this money and she comes back. This was the happiest time in her life. She brought a picture. The building looked exactly the same in 1945, except no awning.
As I nod, I notice that the man is elderly. He himself may have lived here in 1945. The man continues, "I was outside watching when one of the towers crumbled to the ground. There was dust and papers everywhere. The Trade Center was exactly 1.3 miles away. I stayed inside for weeks; the air was so bad. You see the dust on the air conditioner? That's Trade Center dust. That's what everything looked like. It was thick. The bridge was closed and everyone came here. They brought candles and flowers. There are still candles here, but they are no longer lit. The flowers are dying. It's a good thing. We're getting past this. First they said on the talk shows that there were 5,000 orphans, 10,000 orphans, 15,000 orphans. Now we are down to 2,700 victims and not one child missing both mother and father. None. And, we keep bombing that airport in Afghanistan. Every day, we bomb that airport. It must be bigger than JFK airport. And, we got the Red Cross building twice.
I nod. He continues, "Reminds me of Vietnam. We're there. We've got control of the air space. Now we don't know what to do. When do we stop? Do we bomb sixty countries? How many more camels do we kill with our million dollar bombs? We should worry about our own problems. How many murders do we have each year in our country? I'll tell you. It's a lot more than died in the World Trade Center. Our federal prisons hold 65,000 drug offenders. The gross national product of Afghanistan? They don't calculate it. It's zero. We control the air space of that country. What do we do with it? Did Afghanistan replace Vieques as the place where we do our bombing practice? You should go two blocks to the promenade and see the candles and dead flowers.
"Now, anthrax is the big thing. If I fall over, do not recessitate. Are you sure you don't want a phone book?"
"No thanks...Luigi Tree. It was a Chinese restaurant. Now, I'm not even sure about that. Maybe it was a pizza place? Ten years is a long time."
"There are a bunch of restaurants on Montague, three blocks ahead. Chinese restaurants keep putting flyers on my door. Maybe that's what you are looking for. I'm going to read my mail now. Have a good day."
"Thanks," I respond. The man moves with difficulty into the dwelling below.
Montague is familiar ground. I reach the Court Street subway station. Now I remember that Jennifer used to live by the Clark Street station. Was she at the St. George Hotel that looked so familiar? Then, she and George moved near Court Street. Now, I'm close.
I see the pub where they had the wedding reception, but the name has changed. I look down at 162 Montague and am startled. Lichee Nut! Not, Luigi Tree. It was Jennifer's favorite place. Lichee Tree is still a Chinese restaurant.
I order the beef and black bean lunch special (very tasty) and purchase a disposable camera at the place on the corner. I take a picture of Lichee Nut and of 100 Remsen. Was that where Jennifer and George lived, before Jennifer died in the plane crash several years ago?
I walk to the promenade with camera in hand. I take a picture of the Statue of Liberty. I also take a picture of the tall buildings, densely packed. Behind me are the dead flowers and the candles, no longer lit.
I walk back to Willow. I am ready to take a picture of that air conditioner with the famous World Trade Center dust. But, aside from a few pumpkins ready to be tossed, the neighborhood is spotless. There is no dust to be found.
I retrace my steps, but can't locate the old man. Instead, I see a woman spraying the patio with a hose.
posted by David Rasmussen at 4:43 PM
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