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New York April 9-15, 2006 Arriving at our residence for the week,
Embassy Suites on North End Street, downtown Manhattan, we checked into
our room, number 1104. When we opened our drapes in the eleventh floor
room Ground Zero sprawled below us in eerie silence. It was an
unexpected view and I wasn’t sure I appreciated being assigned this
room by the hotel clerk. I would come to appreciate it as I experienced
New York as I never had experienced it before. The four of us were exhausted from our red-eye flight that started at 11:00PM Sunday, the 9th. We welcomed the comfort of our hotel room when we arrived there after Noon on Monday. Kathi and Brendan preferred to rest while Allison and I charged back out the door to beat the street. We walked east on Vesey Street skirting the north
side of the former World Trade Center site. The vacant six-story hole in
Manhattan made my eyes wet with grief and my jaw tighten with disdain
for the barbarous insanity of the religious fanatics. If ever I had an
enemy in my lifetime it was they and their compatriots. The Soviets hadn’t
been my enemy, nor the Vietnamese, not even the American theocrats and
right-wing demagogues of current fashion and prominent threat. The Soviet threat was distant and probably embellished; the United States injected itself into Vietnam for unrevealed purpose; the right-wing threat can be met politically; but the Islamist fanatics have no boundary of behavior or of national allegiance. They are not guided by reason or morality but by a demented view of humanity that justifies whatever means to satisfy their perverted and superstitious view of life and afterlife. It’s been said that their attack was in response to the onslaught of globalization and the foisting of Western culture upon their culture, political system and religious belief. While the motivation may be understandable, the method is unacceptable. Allie and I rounded the corner at Broadway and started north. The sidewalk was teaming with people of all descriptions: colorful, multi-lingual, slow paced, frenzied, friendly and rude, smelling of spice and sweat, loudly on the phone, oblivious and aware. Approaching City Hall Park we noticed police and barricades. Curiously, we crossed Broadway to take a closer look. In the park stood at least forty uniformed officers bunched together like penguins on the ice. Each eyeing us as we looked at them. Their visored caps cast midday shadows over their eyes. We were flanked on the opposite side of the walkway by a stream of media trucks parked by the curb, bumper to bumper, each with its electronic mast reaching for hovering satellites. Other police officers surrounded the park waiting for orders. They chatted about the duty and about their plans after work. I wasn’t sure if the palatable excitement in the crowds was the typical New York frenzy or if it was due to a special event. People sitting on park benches gabbed in various languages. There were obviously affluent persons displaying sparkling fingers, brilliant footwear. And there were folk of considerably lesser means unselfconscious of smudged face or tattered sleeve. Some appeared to be college students, others giggling high school age. Families with strollers and kids with skateboards mingled in the park. The event, it turns out, was an organized protest against recent legislation to make unauthorized immigration, more illegal. The legislation passed by the House but not yet by the Senate had instigated spontaneous protests nationwide for over a week. The House version of the bill would make felons of the estimated twelve to fifteen million undocumented citizens. Furthermore, anyone helping these individuals in anyway would be guilty of a crime. Church groups, medical providers, teachers all would be guilty of a crime in fulfilling their professionally mandated functions. This day was to be the first organized national manifestation of people’s concern and anger over the legislation. I was eager to participate but Allie was tired and bored. After indulging in a slice of New York pizza we returned to our hotel room. I invited my son Brendan to return with me to the protest. He agreed to do so with the condition that he get a slice too. He had been interested in joining protests the previous week at his high school in San Diego but the principal had threatened to suspend any students who participated. Fellow students had asked him why he wanted to join-in when he was neither an immigrant nor Hispanic. Ultimately the principal opened a room for the protesters. He required each to be photographed as she entered in order to document those students attending for the purpose of suspending them. Does this sound strange only to me? An orderly procession of protesters crossed Broadway undulating like a Chinese New Year dragon. They held signs that identified them as Laborer union, local 78. Other signs read, “We cleaned Ground Zero” and “America was built by immigrants.” While many protesters were of Hispanic/Latino ancestry, there were many races and nationalities present. Chants of “Si se puede”, it can be done, echoed from the skyscrapers. U.S. flags waved over the crowd. Double-decker tour buses flanked the barricades. Foreign tourists leaned over the bus railings on the top deck and snapped photos. Other groups flowed into the blockaded sidewalks from other meeting places until the crowds swelled to an estimated 50,000 protesters. http://www.playitagainsd.com/nycimma.html Brendan and I left to find his slice. He consumed it with the haste of a half-starved cat. We talked about the injustice of the proposed immigration policy considering the significant labor and social contribution that the migrant workers had bestowed on our fiery economy and our great immigrant nation. Their social security withholdings, which the Social Security Administration estimates are paid by 75% of undocumented workers, have for years buoyed the ledger balance of the retirement system from which few of them will ever benefit. The sidewalk trembled with the passing of a
subway train below us. During the ensuing five days we would spend much
of our time underground shuttling from one end of the island to the
next. 5 for 4 Monday evening we took our first subway ride.
China town was our destination and 5 for 4 was our goal. http://www.playitagainsd.com/nyctrain1.html Brendan’s high school band was in New York three
weeks earlier to march in the st. Patrick's Day Parade. Kathi, my wife, accompanied the
band as a chaperone. Their group discovered a Chinese restaurant in
China Town that featured five menu items for $4. They were impressed by the
fresh food and frugal fare. After a sumptuous meal of steamed rice, orange chicken, kung pao, wok vegetables and egg roll –the roll was aggressively promoted by the cashier--we hit the street and headed north into Soho (south of Houston Street). Going north on Broadway we encountered quirky shops and quaint food vendors dotting the businesses along the street. We wandered into a place called Yellow Rat Bastard. The walls were stocked to the ceiling with tee shirts & denim. Lots of unusual oddities filled the cases. Skateboard shoes, clothes, and skateboards bulged from alcoves-lots of stickers too. http://www.yellowratbastard.com/shop/index.aspx. The security gate was half lowered by the time we realized the shop was closed. We ducked under and entered Broadway again. By then virtually everything was closed except an ice cream shop further north. A cone or specialty drink was a great way to cap our first day of New York adventure. Using my pocket map of the subway system we easily found an entrance. The subway entrances tend to blend into the environment for new visitors. They appear as a three railings shaped in a “U” on the sidewalk. They are not apparent as entrances to the unfamiliar eye until one approaches the open end of the “U” and the sign states the letters or numbers of the trains and indicates direction by calling it Uptown or Downtown. Stairs descended into the subterranean passages of the city. We left the E train and emerged from the
subway via the World Trade |
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(c) 2006-2007 TJ
Western
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