Well it’s officially September 11.
Every year on this day I put up pictures of my neighborhood (Greenwich Street in NYC) and my home at 110 Greenwich Street and what it all looked liked. We, well mostly me, lived at what would become Ground Zero. My wife and child lived primarily at our house “out east”. When we returned to our building we were fenced in and had to show ID to both the United States military and NYPD to get in or out.
We also were met everyday at Rector Street by screaming, crying citizens asking stupid questions.Every year around this time I get a call from the World Health Organization asking if I’m still living and if I’m depressed, have mental health problems, or am a drug abuser. I tell them that I get depressed waiting on hold for 45 minutes every year so I can participate in the study. They actually call you and then make you wait. It really makes me want to abuse drugs.
The only thing that really annoys me are the twits that that tell me how they could smell it in Vermont on that day or how horrible it was for them in Wyoming on that day. It wasn’t a blue ribbon day for anyone, really.
The building with the awning was my house at 110 Greenwich Street NY NY 10006
The girder you see flew from the tower and hit my roof (note gas mask).
People ask me, sometimes, about what it was like during that time. I’m not being cavalier. I was only inconvenienced. I was able to live at my beautiful home on the North Fork of Long Island and commute to another state for work. It was just fine. I suffered not at all. I still feel horrible for the less fortunate who passed and the others who lost everything. I particularly feel for the firefighters (who played with my son and had an affinity for my two dumb dogs) at the corner who are all gone. I’m very happy that the Dachshund Elvis – who roamed Greenwich Street – (from Thunder Lingerie) made it out. There are many other great neighbors who didn’t do so well and we should all stop and think about people like that. The idea that there is no holiday to commemorate this event is mind boggling to me but I don’t have much mind to boggle. Anyway, This is my annual commemoration.
The burning street is Greenwich Street which many of us called “My Street”.
I moved back in to my place, in January 2002, along with my friend and neighbor Kevin. (Kevin saw everything as he battled through that mess to save his son who was in preschool in Tribeca. He also fought his way back down to our building to save his two dogs the next day. His family lived in Bloomingdales for a bit.) We just to give the bad guys the “finger” and let them know we weren’t getting pushed out. I stayed until the moron who was the head of Homeland Security told us about a possible attack and advised us to buy duct tape and plastic sheeting. Kevin and his family moved out as well and got a place “out east.”
The beautiful blue sky you see along with the great view of the top of the World Financial Center was made possible by the removal of the “Twin Towers.”
I lost no one. I lost nothing. However an emergency worker stole my Saint Christopher’s medal (the only piece of jewelry I’ve ever owned) off my night stand. I hope burned a hole in his/her neck when they put it on.We also got taxed, at over 50%, on grant money given to us to keep our businesses in the area. Chuck Schumer and Hillary Clinton told us at a meeting that they would fight to reverse that tax. They must be busy fighting as we haven’t heard from them yet. It’s okay I would have stayed anyway.
If I ever move back home to NYC I’ll move right back to Greenwich Street.