9/11:A Running Commentary

September 11,  2001  Clinton Hill, Brooklyn.

Past Present Future

Taking heed from the moment by moment breaking news about what has occured in lower Manhattan this morning; that's still unraveling and  unclear as to who and what done it, I walk over to Myrtle Avenue, the shopping strip in my neighborhood. There I will  buy candles, water, canned tuna, sardines and other canned  goods that can be eaten out the can at the Korean Bodega and to withdrew money from the bank. These precautions are  in case everything goes down. In the meantime, my neighbor downstairs has rushed over to another part of Brooklyn where her son and my grandson go to school to bring them home.

I was born in the mid 1940s and grew up in 1950s. It was a time of Senator Joe McCarthy a right-wing Republican's  witch hunt for Communists  hiding under the bed, the A-Bomb Scare and watching black and white World War Two movies, starring Audey Murphy Yellow and black signs indicating bomb shelters are "Here",  I am well informed about what to do when you're under attack.

Given the circumstances of the day that continues roll out in undulating shock waves of horror and stagnatingly awesome  truth, I  suggest to my landlord that he unlock the door to the basement in our building.  "We might have to go down there for shelter,"  I reason  He chuckles. 

While shopping for supplies to hold us over until this 'thing' blows over,  in a sudden burst of inspiration, like birds set free from a cage,  out of my mouth flies,  "Did you know that the end of Manhattan Island has bad vibes? I can feel it when I am there?. I am  directing my opening line and eyes to a woman -- a virtual stranger whose the only other person in the store besides me. She's  standing near the dairy section,   The owner, is in the front of the store, gaurding his cash register.

I continue. " It was once a place of terror. It was African Slaves  whose white owners had them build a wall to  keep the Indians out, so they couldn't attack them and  steal their money ? That's where the name Wall Street comes from." 

My unsolicited history lesson rings out in the store like a shot in the dark, and begins to fall  like mist spraying over the bunches of collard greens, kale,  spinach  and mound of red cabbage.  The woman now gives me an indicipharal nod, a juandice eye and twist of her mouth, as if to say,"What are you talking about lady? She moves on and begins  picking over tomatoes on the vine.

Between her quizzicle look , and the owner's happy smile, which supplants for his limited knowledge of the English language, I wedge in, "They shouldn't put office buildings there anymore. A park for peace to redeem the area's dark past, would be a better idea, I believe."


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