I Don't Have Any Problems With God; It's His Fan Club That Pisses Me Off

OK...so here it is: the 21st Century.

We've developed our technology to the point where it is obsolete almost before it is applied. We've cured many diseases, sent a man to the moon, entire libraries of music can now be stored in a digital format on a music player smaller than the size of a pack of cigarettes. A lot of humanity is connected via their cell phone or personal computer to each other. The US Post Office is shitting a pill because no one writes anymore; all they're good for these days is delivering the goods you order on Amazon.com and delivering your tax forms every April

Information is thrown at you from every conceivable source: Cable Television, the Internet, Mainstream Media. Your kids know how to manipulate a mouse at the same age when you were just comfortable looking at a book with pictures with words you couldn't read or watching Mister Rogers.

Mankind has done some pretty incredible things (and some pretty nasty ones as well); but there is one thing most of us have in common. A belief that something greater than ourselves exists somewhere. Whether we call it God, The Universe, Allah, The Supreme Being...there is a belief almost instilled in our genetic make up that there MUST be something superior to ourselves, otherwise how can this all exist? For the purpose of this exercise, let's just to choose to call this being God, OK? (And for the record, in addition to being a Recovering Alcoholic, I'm also a Recovering Catholic)

Now, the God I believe in doesn't sit on a throne somewhere with a long white beard flinging lightning bolts at hapless people (although Martin Luther might have told you otherwise), nor does He talk to people via burning bushes and preaching hell fire and damnation. He doesn't get mad when I eat a rare steak on Friday, nor does he really care if I enjoy Pork Chops or clean my dishes with a certain type of soap because he prefers that particular brand; (although I'm sure he gets a good laugh every time someone uses a blowtorch to purify a catering hall kitchen to make it Kosher. He probably thinks we're wasting fuel, and with the price of fuel these days...)

Jesus doesn't hang out all day in a chair seated right next to Him either; after all, he's too busy burning his image on English Muffins to be sold for an exorbitant amount on eBay. He'd get pretty bored rather quickly (and Eternity *is* a *really* long time) , and probably a really bad case of cosmic hemorrhoids to boot.

So where's Mohammad in all of this...off with a scimitar sparring with Vishnu all day? (Hey...it's good exercise, especially against somebody with more than two arms). Well, we never really knew what he looked like because obviously the guy had a thing against mirrors...or maybe he couldn't sit still long enough for a sketch.

Oh yes, God gets a kick out of this because quite frankly, I firmly believe one very important thing about God:

He doesn't give a shit.

That's right Ladies and Gentlemen, he really doesn't care what you wear (although He probably would tell you to always make sure you have clean underwear on just in case...), what you eat, and is probably really tired of hearing people asking Him all day to save their sorry asses from some situation that they got themselves in. He's probably tired of hearing people ask for money to save their souls, and quite frankly God doesn't like being a member of a Political Party; he's an Independent.

He doesn't start wars, people do. He doesn't build faulty levies, people do. He doesn't cure disease, people do. He does not beset us with plagues, famine, destruction...the planet does that. He probably *does* expect us to find the resources and work together to overcome these things. God is like a "hands off" parent; let's you make your mistakes and move on from there.

In fact, my version of God is even simpler: God is the bus driver.

There's an old joke (just try this one with a friend): A bus starts off from its depot with 25 people heading east. It drops off 5 people and takes on two. It makes a turn, and goes North for about a block, takes on 10 people, and drops of 9. You go on like this for a few minutes, and the person you're telling the joke to is counting, trying to figure out the direction the bus is travelling in, etc. Then, after you think they've had enough...that they've got the answer to this puzzle all figured out...you ask them, "So...what's the name of the bus driver?"

God is a lot like that...He just drives the bus...and we're all on board, each with our own destination. We ring the bell, ask to get off the bus, do our thing, and get back on the bus and go to our next destination. The only thing that remains the same is the driver. The driver doesn't where you are coming from or where you are going...he just drives.

Sometimes, we even reach our stop and decide to stay. Many times, a lot of us have farther to go down the line than others. All God cares about is that we behave nicely on the bus, and you'll eventually reach your stop, because He's a very good driver and considering He still has a lot of time left before he collects his pension, he'll still be working tomorrow.

DING!

Oh...gotta go. This is my stop.

The Social Security Void-Comp Test

I'm a huge fan of just about anything Science Fiction oriented (and so is my wife), and one of our favorite movies is "Blade Runner", directed by Ridley Scott. It stars Harrison Ford as a "Blade Runner", an agent of a police force designated to hunt down and "retire" renegade "Replicants". A Replicant is an artificial being created to perform tasks and serve humanity in ways that might be dangerous (working in space, for example) or gratify (prostitution). They look human, and are virtually undetectable from human beings.

To aid in the detection of renegade Replicants, the Blade Runners devised a series of questions that make absolutely no sense at all and are designed to provoke some type of response that is unique to Replicants and not humans. This is measured by a device that measures pupil dilations, breathing patterns, etc in response to the questions. It is called the "Void Comp" test. Respond in a certain way, and you're Human...in another, you're a Replicant.

The questions asked are something along the lines of, "You're in a desert, and you see a tortoise lying on its back baking in the sun, do you help it?" or some other nonsense like that. It is with some irony that I watched this DVD on Wednesday evening, and I had my psychological exam for Social Security benefits yesterday...and they had their own version of Void-Comp to see if I was "worthy" enough to claim the tax benefits that I've been paying into for almost 30 years.

As I mentioned in previous posts, I have Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. I've also been diagnosed by one psychologist as being moderately bi-polar. In March of this year, I had to change psychiatrists because my wife was now working and my old shrink was not in the new medical network. So I was lucky enough to get my current Psychiatrist (who I'll call Dr H) whose specialty is PTSD and addiction. His Practice usually doesn't take on new patients because it's at capacity right now, and he doesn't usually take on new patients within the Practice because he is the head of Psychiatry at three hospitals and on the Board of Directors that run all three. He's also the Medical Director of this particular Practice.

My wife is a Registered Nurse, and she approached another Psychiatrist who she knows well from her job in the Hospital that is in that Practice to see if she would take my case. She said she'd see what she could do. It turns out that Dr H wanted to take on my case himself. After two sessions with him, he suggested that I apply for Social Security Disability benefits because (as he put it), "I wouldn't put you in any job right now, including one where you have to ask 'Do you want fries with that?' ".

So Dr H already confirmed what I already knew in my heart; that I have some serious issues that need to be addressed before (and if) I can go back into the workforce. Some of these issues include (but are not limited to) being unable to concentrate for long periods of time (including writing this blog), being in large crowds of people, "zoning out" mid-sentence, and driving long distances...especially on the highway.

So after filling out a myriad of government paperwork that would make those forms in Terry Gilliam's "Brazil" simple to understand, faxing and re faxing (has anyone in Social Security heard of e-mail with attachments?), and a state government shut down in early July; they finally got around to me after 4 months of jumping through flaming hoops and spinning plates while "The Sabre Dance" plays in the background. ("...And next, we have Topo Giggio!"). They now have all the records of my latest physical, the hospital records from 9/11/01, both of my Psychiatrists' histories on me, and the insane forms that I filled out detailing why I think I'm worthy enough to receive my hard earned benefits.

So they want me to see their psychiatrist to see if Dr H (who has 31 years of experience and more letters after his name than some HTML programs) is correct in his assessment that I'm fucking crazy. So, off they send me to Dr Blade Runner (who only has half the experience of Dr H) armed with a letter telling me to report to his office at such and such a time and bring all of my current medications. So my wife drives me over there, then goes off to pick up my kids, and then will return to pick me up.

I knew this was going to be an interesting experience, because there was no receptionist in his office, only a sign that said "Push button next to who you are here to see and have a seat". I did that, had a seat and started to look for a magazine; needless to say every magazine on top of every pile was about the 5th Anniversary of the 9/11 attacks...not exactly my thing to read. (I was hoping to read FHM, but had to settle for a copy of New Jersey Weekly...much more my speed, but without the beauties on the cover) Another thing: why the hell would you even have magazines all over your office covering 9/11 when so many of us in the Northeast were affected by that?

A door opens, and out comes a smiling Dr Blade Runner wishing his last patient well. He sees me and obviously doesn't recognize me, but he sees the Social Security Letter and a zip lock bag with my meds in it. The expression on his face changed to one of, "Oh God...another Social Security case". Never shook my hand, never introduced himself...all he told me was he didn't even review my paperwork yet and had to get it in the file room. Like Garfield the Cat says, "This...is not good". After a few minutes, I see him thumbing through my documents from Social Security and he calls me into his office. (Cue up the Vangelis Soundtrack now, folks)

I'm going to give you a sample of what happened here: Dr Blade Runner's questions will be in italics, my answers will be in the standard font, and what I'm really thinking during the SS Void Comp Test will be in bold:

Did you drive yourself here?
No
If you read the papers, you would have known I have a bit of a problem with that.

How did you get here?
My wife drove me
I sprouted wings and flew

So what seems to be the problem?
I have PTSD

Do you know what PTSD is?
Yes, I've been in therapy for it for several years. I shake often, I have trouble concentrating, I'm uncomfortable with people.
So let me get this right, you have the MD after your name and you're asking whether or not I know why I'm fucked up.

Why don't you like people?
It's not that I don't like people, I'm a bit uncomfortable around large crowds and people I don't know.
Let's see...I was trampled on, injured, and running through the streets of Manhattan for my life...what part of this equation don't you understand?

I'm going to say three words to you, please repeat them back to me.
(He tells me the words, I ask him to repeat the question because I couldn't hear the second word, "tulip" and I repeat them back to him)
Ah...just like in Blade Runner last night...interesting!

Do you currently use drugs or alcohol?
No, I don't do either.
Ahhh...not lying here, he never asked me if I abused drugs or alcohol. Hey, that's why it's called Alcoholics Anonymous you idiot!

I'm going to give you a set of numbers, and I want you to repeat them back to me
(He gives me a set of numbers, and I get to about 6 or 7 digits)

I'm going to give you a set of numbers, and I want you to repeat them backwards to me
(He gives me a set of numbers, and I get about as far as 5 digits)
Oh, this is SOOOO Blade Runner!

What was your job prior to your illness?
I was a Vice President for a major Bank, I used to run a major incentive program with a $28 million budget. I also used to build databases for financial modelling and forecasting.
...and I was always on budget and could do complex calculations in my head; now I'm lucky if I could balance a checkbook you idiot!

I see you were prescribed XXX, that's usually for Bi-Polar disorder. Were you diagnosed as such?
Yes, moderately so. I was on a medical leave for a few months in 2004 before my job was eliminated after I became active again. I also worked full-time from home.
If you read the fucking reports, you would have seen that. Now, I'm starting to feel like a Replicant.

What happened in 2004?
Well, I launched off on my boss.

"Launched off"?
Well, I kind of had it out with him about something.

Did you assault him?
No...just a lot of yelling and screaming and lost my control
I actually wanted to throw the bastard out his plate glass window, but I didn't...otherwise I wouldn't be sitting here, I'd be worrying about dropping the soap in a correctional facility...

There were a few more questions, and then he asked me the final on:

Do you remember those three words I asked you before?
The only one I remember is tulip
...and that's only because I had to ask you to repeat the word twice already!

Then, he told me we were done...yes folks, your taxes at work!

The whole thing took about 15 minutes. He walked me out, told me that Social Security would be in touch with me. He explained that he just reports the answers to the standard questions that SS provides him and they'd be in touch with me. He just gets paid by SS, not me. He then put on that stupid grin again and called in his patient who was waiting...knowing full-well that he'd be getting full-price from private insurance rather than the US Government.

I went outside to wait for my wife and have a smoke. She arrived and asked me how it went, and what it was like.

I turned to her and said, "You're in a desert, and you see a tortoise..."

She smiled, and we drove off for home.

Causatum

Right after the events of 9/11, I sent an e-mail to an old friend telling him about what happened to me on that Tuesday, and attached the missive that I wrote in the days afterward (which I re-published yesterday). His only reply to me was this:

"...and what have you learned?"

Cryptic at best, insensitive at worst. I took it as the latter, and for a time, I did not speak nor write to my friend for a long time. I mean, we're talking about one of my oldest friends here, and all he could muster was that remark? I was furious and frustrated. This is a guy who knows me better than myself at times...and all he could do was send that?

Five years later, I'm beginning to understand what he meant by that. You see, for a long time I wasn't true to myself; I wasn't following a path that I should have taken. When I got out of school, I should have basically said, "Screw the $18K carrot, and do what you want to do with your life and teach". Instead, I opted for the money, the corruption of my ideals, and did what society expected me to do.

Society dictated that I was supposed to get a good job, get married, buy a house, have kids, and be the good little consumer I was supposed to be. I was supposed to pay my taxes and trust my representatives in Congress to do what was best for me. I was supposed to come home, have a few drinks to medicate myself, and watch the pablum that was fed to me on the Evening News. As long as I continued to do all of these things, my little corner of the world would be fine; I would reap the benefits of capitalism and a free society. After all, I was living in the greatest country in the world. I would never know a war on my own soil, nor would my government allow that to ever happen.

So for a few years, I sold out. I put my ideals on hold; my politics even changed. Whereas I used to be a caring individual (and one-time socialist!), I became less-caring and more concerned about me...my family and situation, and the hell with everyone else. My political pendulum swung to the right, and I voted the same way. I know a lot of people who did the same thing, so I just saw it as an "evolution"; a fact that perhaps I was growing up.

Let me clarify for the record here: I am a registered Independent. When I was in college in Vermont and Upstate NY, I was a registered Socialist. After college, I registered as a Democrat when I returned to Staten Island; I've been an Independent since 1992 when I moved and registered to vote in New Jersey. I have always pretty much voted with the candidate and not with the Party (except in college); it's just later on in my life I tended to vote Republican. Yes, I even voted for the current occupant of the White House, but only in 2000.

It was the biggest mistake I ever made in my life, and believe me...when you're a recovering alcoholic, you make a ton of mistakes in your life...but that single vote still haunts me to this day. Now I know how the Germans who voted for Hitler in 1932 felt. This was one of the things I have learned in the past 5 years.

After 9/11, there was also a period of time where I shut everybody out, including my wife and kids. Everything I had worked so hard for, everything that I believed had just come crashing down me. I didn't know who I was anymore. Was I that idealistic humanist of my teens and twenties or that self serving egotist of my thirties and forties? I had survived a terrorist attack...for what? So my life could go on just like it did before? My career meant nothing to me anymore...there had to be more to my life than that. I survived for a reason...but for what? I began to ask myself the fundamental questions of life, which were stated so eloquently by J Michael Straczynski in Babylon 5:

Who are you? What do you want? Why are you here? Where are you going?

I had no clue...none. So for a year after 9/11, I went to work two blocks from Ground Zero, and saw the wreckage of the South Tower every time I went outside for a cigarette. I would shake for no reason, have nightmares, and wake up drenched in sweat screaming in the night. The only way I could stop the shakes and put myself to sleep was to drink. Based on a few of my earlier posts, you've probably noticed that I liked to party, and yeah I did. But after my first daughter was born, I stopped smoking pot and outside of the occasional "long lunch" and a beer or two when I got home from work, I hardly went out at all anymore. After 9/11, all bets were off, and as we like to say in AA I was "off to the races".

Around the one-year anniversary of 9/11, something happened at home that I won't discuss here; I'm saving that for my 4th and 5th step...but it was enough to make me realize that I needed psychological help. So, I went out and saw a psychologist once a month for a few years who prescribed me some anti-depressants that worked to a degree...but since I continued to drink (and as alcohol is a depressant), I was kind of negating their effect. I also was seeing a therapist for a time, but that wasn't as often as it should have been because my boss was inflexible, to say the least. More on him in another post...I promise...but he became one of the reasons I had a breakdown in May of 2004.

I was a lost soul who was drowning himself in booze; I also started smoking a lot of pot again...after a 5 year layoff, no less! I sequestered myself in my basement in front of my nice large screen TV with the super-duper home theater audio system that I bought for the thirty pieces of silver that I had sold my soul out for. Believe me, Judas had it easier; I was dying a slow death and shutting out the world. It got even worse when I was downsized in December of 2004, and I got full salary and benefits for all of 2005. I drank every day, all day just to shut out the memories of 9/11 and the mess that had become my life...and got PAID to do it

Like I mentioned in my first post "Apotheosis Rebooted", in March I straightened out my alcohol problem. I will be sober 6 months on September 27th. I know, I promised that this would not be a recovery blog...which it won't, I promise...but it's necessary here to explain how I am still answering my friend's question. It also drives me to write this Blog in a coherent fashion and give it some direction and purpose to the original point of this Blog:

• My belief that if we as individuals change ourselves, our way of thinking, and our small part of the planet, we can affect change throughout the planet.
• In the process of doing this, we take the part of us that is God, The Universe, whatever you want to call it...and cast off that which binds us to the material and the earthly concerns of our daily lives.
• We can then affect the changes necessary to bring Humanity to the next phase of its evolution; taking care of ALL of Humanity in such a way as we can TOGETHER achieve that which is our true destiny as Human Beings.
• We will achieve oneness with that which created us in its image, we will fulfill the promise of our creation.

This all starts with understanding yourself first...so to answer my friend's question:

When you find out that you don't understand...that is when you begin to understand.

Keep Me Safe, Keep Me Warm, Shelter Me From Darkness

Prelude:

The title of this post is a short prayer I usually say when I find the need to get some comfort and understanding from God, the Universe...whatever you choose to call it. It's a very simple thing; almost like asking to be part of the cosmic womb and taken under the wings of an Angel. Today, 5 years after my life and thousands of others were changed forever...I find it appropreate to say that prayer for not only myself, but for all of us affected by that day.

Below is a reposting of something I wrote 5 years ago to get my feelings out in the only way I knew how. It has been posted on several web sites, it is in the Library of Congress, and I have recently given permission for a Professor at Temple University to use in a project about 9/11. I also posted it here last year, but now, I'm moving it up to the top of the post queue, and I'm going to add some further thoughts in a post script.

Dedication: This is for my brother, who watched two of his friends killed no more than 50 feet in front of him. To my knowledge, he has not sought guidance and understanding of the events of that day. He's also the guy who draged my sorry butt into a detox and helped to save my life from going down the drain in an alcoholic haze. Whether or not he realizes it, I love him dearly for that and hope that he can come to terms with what happened to him on 9/11.

This is also for my brother in law, who works for the NYPD, saw a few of his buddies die in front of him. He also worked at Ground Zero for a month to help clean up; and was just diagnosed with two "nodes" in his lungs; he never smoked a day in his life. All we can do now is wait to see what happens.

In addition, I would like to thank the members of the Voices of 9/11 Survivors Support Group who have been the proverbial port in the storm while I was battling both PTSD and alcoholism. This is also for the memories of Steve Lauria, a friend of mine from High School and Jimmy Murphy, my neighbor's brother who both passed away on that day.

(This was originally written by me on Thursday, September 13th 2001):

Phoenix Uncertain

CATHARSIS I: The Road to Damascus

I need to write all of this down right now, while the smells, sounds, and experiences of the past few days are fresh in my mind. I also need to do this now because I’ve gotten some clarity in the past few hours and I don’t know how long that will last for. I have alternated between disbelief, sorrow, confusion, and anger…and sometimes all of these simultaneously. On Tuesday, the man I was ceased to exist. The light has been extinguished from my eyes. I’ve tried to explain things to my wife and broke down every time. I cannot even begin to explain to my daughter Katie how lucky she is to have her Daddy around, nor can I explain to her why her Daddy screams in his sleep or why he shakes for no reason. I cannot explain to her why every time I head a loud sound or bang, I practically jump out of my skin. All I can do is try and take the medication that keeps me normalized and try and make some sort of sense of the whole thing. Now that I’ve just popped a “happy pill”, I’ve got 8 hours to write this all down, before I descend into my own abyss once again. In the past 72 hours, I have witnessed events that I never thought I would see with my own eyes. What you are seeing on your television is absolutely nothing…and I do mean NOTHING…like it actually was to be there. I keep telling myself that something or someone must have had a greater plan for me, and that is why I am alive today instead of being buried under a ton of rubble. Perhaps that plan just to write this document of my experience to share with others so that they may carry on the memory of those who survived like myself, and the memory of those who were lost. Perhaps it is to share with you that amidst all of the evil, I witnessed some of the finest moments of compassion and humanity that I have ever seen…an affirmation of a belief that I have always held: that we have greatness inside all of us. Perhaps it is about the redemption of my own soul, for like Saul on the way to Damascus, I’m slowly coming to the realization that my life has indeed reached a turning point. I also know that there is no going back to the person I was, and I just have to figure out just who the hell I am now.

CATHARSIS II: Abnormal Normality

TUESDAY, September 11th, 2001: 7:22 AM, Little Silver Train Station, NJ
Kissed my wife and daughters good bye as they dropped me off at the station. Took my coffee, laptop, and briefcase…bought a copy of the NY Daily News. Thankfully since the NY Giants/Denver Broncos game ended late, I don’t have to read about how my team was defeated. Read through the paper all the while sipping my coffee on the one hour ride to Newark NJ, where I will catch the PATH Train (a subway between NJ and NY) to the World Trade Center, just 3 blocks from my office at 1 Chase Manhattan Plaza.

8:20 AM, Penn Station, Newark, NJ
Board the PATH train…and actually found a seat! I consider this a good omen for the rest of the day, especially as I was lugging around a very heavy laptop PC in addition to my regular briefcase. It was for this reason that I decided NOT to listen to my CD Player today…it would be just too awkward carrying around a CD player strapped to my waist as well as a laptop and briefcase. I close my eyes to catch a few winks on the 22-minute ride into Manhattan. 8:42 AM, World Trade Center, New York, NY Leave PATH train for the ride 6 stories up a series of escalators to the street level. I decide that my laptop is sitting awkwardly on my shoulder, and that I would fix it when I reached the top of the escalators.

8:45 AM, WTC Path Square (located in the center of the WTC Complex, 1 story Below Ground, where there’s a Shopping Mall)
Reach the top of the escalator, and begin to fix my laptop. As soon as I get myself situated…something happens…a sound…something different. Sounds like a crash at first…then a low rumble…then a “whoosh” throughout the complex. People are starting to run, and once others see people running, they too scramble for the exits. At this point, I think it’s a good time to get the hell out of there, and start to run toward the exits as well. Someone, in his or her haste to get out, knocks me over. I’m falling face first toward a plate glass window in one of the shops. Somehow, I manage to contort my body so that I land on my left knee pretty hard, but my face hits the floor. I’m dazed…compose myself for a minute…and realize I have to get out no matter what just happened. My knee is killing me, but the endorphins take over, and that pain is quickly gone. I feel something warm on my chin, and realize that it’s blood. My fall knocked one of my front teeth into my lip, putting a nice gash in it. I wipe some blood away, and follow another crowd into the lower level of the Border’s bookstore, which also has an exit to the streets…it’s much less crowded, and a calmer exodus of people. I reach the street and exit into the air. There is a burning smell…I’d never smelled anything like it. There are thousands of papers falling from the sky in a quiet procession of calm amidst the chaos. A paper rain, much like one of those party favors that you might have had when you were a kid…you know, the fake champagne bottles filled with confetti. I start to walk across Church Street. I can see smoke, but because I’m so close to the tower, I can’t really see anything. I begin to walk westward toward Broadway past St Paul’s Chapel. As I walk, people are looking up at the North Tower, then looking back down at my blood stained face. I see their eyes are filled with confusion. When I reach the corner of Broadway and look up I can finally see what happened. There, at the top of a building that is approximately ¼ of a mile long is a HUGE hole…several stories in length…plumes of smoke and flame billowing higher into the air. I can only stand there, watching in disbelief as I realize that what we had all feared had probably taken place: a bomb had gone off in the World Trade Center.

CATHARSIS III: Another Ulysses

APPROX. 9:00 AM, Broadway
It’s funny how the mind operates. You know, kind of like when you see a magic trick, you can’t believe what you saw…or when your team makes a triple play…or when you witness a birth. You know you’re seeing something, but your mind sends signals that it’s just not possible, but there it is. From out of the Tower, I’m seeing debris fall…but it’s coming in very irregular intervals. Usually, debris falls in a pattern as a structure is weakened, and at the same rate of descent. This debris was sporadic, and it wasn’t just falling in a straight line from the Tower…it was arcing. I saw it happen once, twice…but on the third time, I saw what I thought was debris MOVE, I thought I saw arms move…and I realized that debris cannot move, nor could it have arms. I had just seen people throw themselves from the North Tower to escape the consuming flames. I began to shake, began to shout “No F***ing way!” and “Oh my God” at the top of my lungs. Someone came over to me and put their hand on my shoulder and asked me if I was all right. I think I said something to the effect I was, but they offered me a bottle of water and some tissues to wipe the blood off my face. I accepted and I asked if they had seen the explosion…and that’s when they told me it was a plane that had crashed into the North Tower. They also told me it was an airliner. The brain couldn’t register that one really…except for the fact that I thought it was a terrible accident, and thank God it wasn’t a bomb. Another person in the crowd came up to me and asked if I needed help getting to where I was going. I realized that my hands were trembling and couldn’t hold either the tissues or water steady and my knees felt weak. Brain kicks in again: yeah, take this guy up on his offer. It turned out he worked for my company but at another location. We began to walk toward my building, and I notice some debris along the way. About a block from my office, right in front of the Federal Reserve Building I see some debris that catches my eye: some tacky looking upholstery that looks like it came from an airline headrest. It was then that I saw a seat cushion and an armrest…THANKFULLY empty.

APROX 9:12 AM, 1 Chase Manhattan Plaza
I walk one block further south to my building, and reach the Plaza. Just as I’m about to turn to enter my building, I hear the whine of jet engines. I look down the block at the South Tower, and see a fireball engulfing the building, showering flaming debris across the skyline, arcing outward and in my general direction. There is a low, rumbling sound, very much like what I had heard earlier…a sound that grew as the flames spread and debris rained down upon Manhattan. The crowd begins to run frantically toward the east, away from the falling debris. I overhear someone say that it was another jet that collided into the South Tower. It was then I realized that this was no accident, that my greatest fears were realized: we were under attack. It was at that moment, I knew that I had to somehow survive this…get the hell out of there…and get home to my family. I had just become a modern day Ulysses.

CATHARSIS IV:The Silence before the ROAR

APPROX 9:20 AM, 1 Chase Manhattan Plaza
I’m pretty superstitious. I usually sit in the same seat for a baseball or football game if my team is winning. I never pick up a penny “tails up”, and I don’t walk under ladders. In some convoluted manner, the Universe played a trick on me, for I work on the 13th floor of my building. It never bothered me before, but on a day like Tuesday, there was just no way I was going to go up into my office…so I decided to go downstairs to the Branch to use the phone to call my wife to let her know I was OK. (A footnote here and an important one because it’s going to come into play later: The Branch is an underground structure, kind of like a rectangular “donut”. It is just below the Plaza, with a circular glass enclosure in its center containing a fountain. There is an opening at the top of this enclosure to the Plaza to let light in. From the Plaza level, there is a circular wall that allows viewing of the fountain from the Plaza, and it’s quite beautiful when viewed from inside the branch at the level of the fountain.)

Just before entering the Branch, I meet up with a co-worker who sees me and is pretty amazed at my condition at this point…I can only imagine: A deer in the headlights look accompanied by a bloody face. I try and tell him what’s happened so far. It turns out, he’s not going to his floor either…and he helps me into the Branch. Needless to say, the Branch had been closed to all but employees with ID. I also know the Branch Manager, Assistant Branch Manager and many of the staff well because I’ve worked with them directly when I was in the Branches myself. I got in there; they sat me down and got me some first aid as well as some water. I called my wife, told her I was OK and told her of what I was going to do next: try and take the Staten Island Ferry and get to either my parents or my in-laws and have them drive me home. I just wanted to get the hell off Manhattan as soon as possible, especially with the thought that there were two ¼ mile buildings a few blocks away that had the possibility of collapsing. I called my parents and told them of my intentions as well. Needless to say, I’m pretty shaken up at this point. I decide to sit a few minutes to try and relax, collect my thoughts, and move on. A woman named Maxine (who I’ve never met before) sat with me and comforted me. She also spoke with my wife during my phone call and said she was taking care of me. God Bless her…she was a BIG help. We turned on the radio to listen to the news, to see exactly what had happened, and it was just as we feared: two jet liners were hijacked and were rammed into the World Trade Center…and one other thing that hit us all like a ton of bricks…the Pentagon was also attacked the same way. Nothing was the same anymore.

CATHARSIS V: No World Order

APPROX 10:15 AM 1 Chase Manhattan Plaza
Some people talk about a “New World Order”. At this point in my life, there was definitely a New World, but anything but order. I had finally calmed down, and was about to make my way toward the Staten Island Ferry when the unthinkable happened: That ROAR happened again…that ungodly Roar that still was imprinted in my head from the last few hours… …And then I saw the debris and smoke fill the glass enclosure around the fountain. The ground shook, and we all began to rush toward the escalators that would take us to the vault sub-basements in the Plaza. We arrived down there followed by a cloud of smoke and dust…we made our way through passages that led to the underground cafeteria where security told us to go. My first thought was that my building was attacked, but something completely unexpected happened. We had just found out that one of the icons of the New York Skyline, one of the World Trade Towers had crumbled to dust…and that rubble had spread across Lower Manhattan, washing across the Plaza. We were told to stay put…it was safer here, and there was NO visibility AT ALL outside. More people started to file into the cafeteria…all of them covered in dust…stark white ghosts with terrorized eyes peering from the rubble that had been strewn onto their bodies. Among them were two people who worked in my department. I rushed up and the three of us hugged and held onto each other. We got a table in the cafeteria; got some of the water and wet rags they were handing out to help us breathe. …And we sat…for two hours…and waited for news of when we could leave the building. In the meantime, there was another dull roar in the distance…THAT ROAR… …And the other Tower had fallen. …And God only knew what the rest of the world outside looked like.

CATHARSIS VI: A Hole in the Sky

APPROX Noon, 1 Chase Manhattan Plaza
Now I know what my cat feels like when I let him out of his carrier after we bring him back from the vet. He always wants to get the hell out, and yet he steps out gingerly, unsure of what he can expect. I kind of felt that way as I exited our building after we were told to head toward the East River. I also felt like a B-Movie actor on one of those bad 50’s “Day After…” movies, the ones usually used for cannon fodder on “Mystery Science Theater 3000”. There was dust everywhere, and it looked like it was snowing in September. There had to be two inches of dust and debris on the streets as CJ (one of those guys I mentioned earlier who worked with me) and I made tracks for the South Street Seaport. We’re wandering around, towels around our faces like some post-apocalyptic version of TE Lawrence and The Shadow trekking across the Nafud, or Paul and Jessica across Arakis in “Dune”. We looked back where the Twin Towers had been…the same two towers CJ and I came through every day from the PATH (she’s from North NJ)…the same two towers that had dominated the skyline since we were children (we’re both 40, born a month apart). There was nothing. Absolutely nothing…except for a huge black cloud where those beautiful towers once stood gleaming in the sunshine. It was as if you used a photo program on your PC, highlighted the Towers, deleted the image and filled the blank area with smoke. It hurt to breathe (and I’m a smoker, so I can just IMAGINE what a non-smoker would have felt). The dust stung your eyes and skin. It was raining dust…a horrible snowfall on a late summer day…a snowfall that contained pieces of building, asbestos, paper, jet fuel, and God only know what else. I was reminded of Good Friday for some reason… We finally got to the River, and began to follow the exodus uptown toward God knows where. All CJ and I knew was that we had heard there were ferries still running to NJ (the SI Ferry was shut down at this point, so my first plan was abandoned) and we had to catch one. The air was clear, and I decided I REALLY needed a cigarette at this point (NOTE: A martini was my first choice, but the bars were closed). I offered one to CJ…who hasn’t had a cig in 10 years…she took it, we lit up and moved on.

CATHARSIS VII: Dorothy and The Scarecrow

EAST RIVER ESPLANADE: Approx. 12:30 PM
I’m thoroughly convinced that The Universe has a sense of humor. CJ and I stop and look out at the river just below the Brooklyn Bridge. We can see hundreds of people walking across the Bridge to Brooklyn, the same for the Manhattan Bridge in the distance. It’s actually a beautiful day; there are no clouds in the sky…there are people just sitting on benches on the esplanade looking out at the water…some are fishing…some are making out. Order amidst chaos. We had just come from chaos into one moment of perfect beauty. I think to myself that this is really a beautiful day, and I imagine myself at the Shore or in my backyard with my kids…and then it hits me… …No beach to walk on unless I get home. No backyard and no kids and wife unless I get home…and God only knows what else happens on this day. Snap back to reality…we’ve got to get home. CJ and I meet a Police officer who says ferries are leaving from Pier 11 for NJ and directs us Uptown. Just a slight problem…Pier 11 is just South of us a few blocks, so CJ and I are headed in the wrong direction. Like I said, the Universe has a sense of humor…

SOMEWHERE ON THE LOWER EAST SIDE: Approx., 1:00 PM
CJ and I have walked for a while. I’m still carrying the laptop and briefcase, and I really can’t feel the pain in my knee yet, but at least my lip has stopped bleeding. Needless to say, both my shoulders are killing me. We walk around trying to find Pier 11, just Dorothy and the Scarecrow trying to find Oz. We walk through neighborhoods that we would never walk through regularly, and people are coming up to us and asking if we are OK (we’re covered in dust at this point). They give us water and comfort. We see others helping people…a woman in a wheelchair giving directions and a bottle of water to two people…four people hugging in the middle of a street glad to find each other…Police Officers with their arms around people offering them comfort as well as direction. I realize at this point what my Dad always said about the blackout of 1964 (he was trapped in the subway) that New Yorkers are people who put all differences aside when in a crisis. We finally find a cop who points us in the right direction…we head back downtown.

CATHARSIS VIII: Just Click Your Heels Three Times…

PIER 11, New York, NY: Approx. 2:00 PM
We found OZ. No emerald city here, just a bunch of ferries that were going back to New Jersey. CJ and I parted company here. She headed back to Jersey City and one of the few remaining trains that were running out of Hoboken. I got on a high-speed ferry bound for the Highlands on the Jersey Shore, about 10 miles northeast from my house. I decided I’d worry about how to get home from there…I’d walk if I had to. The Police search our bags before we get on… The ferry is VERY comfortable, complete with bar that is, unfortunately closed…it costs approx. $18 each way, about twice my cost for the trains (which were NOT running at this time), but they were ferrying everyone at no cost. They gave us water, and there were two clergymen on the boat, a Catholic Priest and a Minister, both Chaplains of the Highlands Fire Department. A call comes over the loudspeaker asking for 50 volunteers to take the next boat. People get up and leave, willingly with no problems. I see the Priest and yell out, “Father, are you riding this boat?” He says yes. I decide to stay.

NY HARBOR, Approx. 2:20 PM
The boat leaves, and the Scarecrow decides to look back at the Emerald City. The Towers are gone. The Black Void is still there. The Scarecrow loses what Brains he had left and breaks down. Like the Towers, I’ve just crumbled into a pile of rubble.

IN TRANSIT THROUGH NY HARBOR AND THE ATLANTIC: The Minister sees me and comes over to talk. He was in Viet Nam for two tours of duty. I tell him what I’m feeling, and he tells me what happened to him. He’s describing what I’m feeling to a “T”. I’m amazed that someone else can describe what I feel…and realize just how fragile we really are as humans…and I also realize at this point, I’m not the same person who woke up that morning. We both pray publicly. It is my first time praying in public since I was 14. Like I said, the Universe has one hell of a sense of humor.

CATHARSIS IX: …And Say ‘There’s No Place Like Home’

HIGHLANDS, New Jersey Approx. 3:00 PM
We arrive in New Jersey The Minister walks me off the boat and asks if he can do anything else, and I tell him he did more for me than anyone in a very long time. I follow the crowd off the gangplank. We are told that we will have to present ID. We are also told that if we are covered in dust we will have to be decontaminated. I am told to go to the “left” line. By belongings are put in a bag; my laptop and briefcase are scrubbed by men in isolation suits by hand. I am told to stand forward a man with a fire hose that then proceeds to spray water on me from head to toe. As he is doing this, I can see the NYC skyline in the background. What two gleaming towers, had once dominated, was now dominated by a huge cloud of smoke and a gaping hole where the towers should be. I was told to turn around so they can spray my front. They do so…and I have been baptized into the New World. I’m handed my belongings, and a Police Officer takes my statement as he was informed that I was in the WTC when the first plane hits. It’s the second time that day that I’ve told my story…but this time more emotions are coming out…and I find I cannot look anyone in the eyes when I talk to them… I’m directed toward a bunch of vans, busses, and private cars where I’m told that someone would drive me home. I walk slowly, drenched…laptop and briefcase still present…away from the water and toward a parking lot. All I can do is stare straight ahead and make no eye contact with anyone. I feel like I’m there (here) but somewhere else. A woman named Doreen asks me where I’m going, and I tell her. She says she volunteered to give rides to people, and really has nothing to do…mainly because she was just laid off from Nike the day before. She offers me her cell phone to call my wife…it’s the first time we’ve spoken my phone call in the morning. I tell her I’m coming home in a few minutes. Doreen assures her I’m shaken, but OK. We drive off to my home.

CATHARSIS X: Who Says You Can’t Go Home Again?

We arrive at my house…and I run to my wife (holding our month-old daughter) and my 4 year old daughter, Katie. Everything comes back to me in a big rush…I break down. We all thank Doreen, and I give her a big hug goodbye. In the next few hours, I try and explain things to my wife…and some of them I can…most of them I cannot. We call my doctor who tells me to go to the ER at the Local Hospital for a chest x-ray and some tests…apparently the stuff I was exposed to may have contained asbestos…and God only knows what else. While getting tested, they had me speak to a Psychologist…just like others who were coming in. I told my story the best I could, and she was a HUGE help for my family and me. I needed to talk and I did…and I realized that there is a lot I still have to deal with.

CHARTHIS XI: Phoenix Uncertain

I’m hanging in there as best as I can…and for the past five hours, I’ve been spilling my guts out for those of you I know, and those of you I do not. This has been my story, and there are thousands of others such as I. I mentioned before that I am not the same person I was when I woke up on Tuesday. Quite frankly, I’m not sure who the hell I am anymore…but these things I do know: *I am a Father of two beautiful girls *I am a loving husband of, quite simply, the most amazing woman on the planet AND THOSE THINGS ARE THE ONLY THINGS THAT ARE MY LIFE! Please…just take the time to hug your kids, wife, partner, loved ones…NEVER take them for granted! Hold on to your friends and keep them close…chances are that this has touched us all in one way or another.

We have all been transformed in one way or another by this event. We are all filled with a plethora of emotions…I certainly know I am.

Let us work together to seek justice for those who have been killed or injured. Let us offer a hand to those who need it, whether or not they have been there first hand. Let us all show the strength of humanity and compassion that we are all capable of. Let us rebuild our city, our nation, and our fragile planet.

Let us go forward with one voice that says we shall never allow this to ever happen again.

God Bless You, Your Families, The United States Of America, and our Beloved Planet.

Arkangel3 BORN: Mar 14, 1961 DIED: Sept 11, 2001 REBORN: Sept 11, 2001

Postscript:

The past 5 years have not been easy for me, but they are a part of who I am. I cannot change the fact that I witnessed those events, any more than I can change the fact that I am a recovering alcoholic, or have blue eyes and greying hair. It's much easier to get new contact lenses that could change my eye color (which I don't) or touch up my grey hair (which I do). I've accepted the fact that I cannot drink again, just for today.

In the beginning of the piece I alluded to Saul on the Road To Damascus, where he was blinded for a time until he saw what he believed was his salvation and accepted the teachings of the Christ. In a way, the past five years I have been blinded by PTSD, depression, alcoholism...but only now am I beginning to accept what happened to me 5 years ago. Only now am I slowly beginning to remove the veil from my eyes and begin to accept not only the person that I've become, but the core of my being that was always there...and one other thing...

I am becoming.

"After all, your Soul will still surrender. After all, don't doubt your part, be ready to be loved..." -"To Be Over" words and music by Yes

Finally, a message of hope for all of Humanity...one of my favorite poems of all time; may you find as much peace in it as much as I have over the years.

God Bless All Of Us On The Good Planet Earth,

Arkangel3

Desiderata

Go placidly amid the noise and haste,and remember what peace there may be in silence.

As far as possible without surrender be on good terms with all persons.

Speak your truth quietly and clearly;and listen to others,even the dull and the ignorant;they too have their story.

Avoid loud and aggressive persons,they are vexations to the spirit.

If you compare yourself with others,you may become vain and bitter;for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.

Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.

Keep interested in your own career, however humble;it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.

Exercise caution in your business affairs;for the world is full of trickery.But let this not blind you to what virtue there is;many persons strive for high ideals;and everywhere life is full of heroism.

Be yourself.Especially, do not feign affection.Neither be cynical about love;for in the face of all aridity and disenchantmentit is as perennial as the grass.

Take kindly the counsel of the years,gracefully surrendering the things of youth.

Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune.But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings.Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.

Beyond a wholesome discipline,be gentle with yourself.

You are a child of the universe,no less than the trees and the stars;you have a right to be here. And whether or not it is clear to you,no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.

Therefore be at peace with God,whatever you conceive Him to be,and whatever your labors and aspirations,in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul.

With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams,it is still a beautiful world.

Be cheerful.Strive to be happy.

Max Ehrmann, Desiderata, Copyright 1952.

Memories Of Two Giants Struck Down Part 7

August 12th, 2001:

Our second daughter Grace was born at 10:45 PM by Cesarean section; something that was completely unexpected. My wife delivered our first daughter Kate vaginally, but my wife had some complications, and she almost died. This time, the baby was a week overdue and not only that, sometimes my wife would get contractions, and other times not. Our OBGYN told us to get to the hospital ASAP, where we found that the baby's heart was reacting negatively with each contraction; we were in danger of losing our child.

As they wheeled my wife out to the Operating Room, she was gripping my hand...and all I could see was the sheer look of terror on her face. Up until 9/11, it was the most frightening moment of my life. All I could do was stand by helplessly and pray that everything would turn out OK...which it did.

I took my two weeks Paternity Leave, helped out around the house while my wife healed and Katie was getting used to being a big sister. I went back to work in Manhattan the last week of August, at which time Flakjacket's wife delivered their second child and he was now talking two weeks leave. So that left me and Jack in charge of our Department for a few weeks. We had just wrapped up a heavy portion of or business cycle, and all that remained was for me to run a program on my laptop on Friday, and the last of the work would be done. Needless to say, our lunches were longer, and we were taking the whole staff out with us!

My plan was simple: run the program on Friday September 7, validate and download the data on Monday and Tuesday September 10 and 11 while working from home.

(Just in case you're wondering what I used to do for a living, I was in charge of a $28 Million budget that would pay our Branch personnel their semi-annual bonuses.) I developed and designed a database that would automate most of the process, but human intervention was needed to validate and download the data to payroll. This was the first time we were using this database to do this, and I needed to be sure that everything proved to the penny, and that's why I needed to work at home for those two days. I could smoke like a chimney in my home office in the basement, and drink gourmet coffee all day. Plus, I could spend a few more days with the family and our newest addition.

Well, you know what they say about the best laid of plans. Jack was called into a meeting for most of the day on Tuesday the 11th, so someone had to run the place. I told him if I got the work done on the 10th, I'd be in the office on the 11th. If not, I'd still work from home and run the place via mobile.

On Friday, September 7th 2001, I left my office, hopped on the PATH train to Hoboken, picked up a newspaper and an oil-can of Fosters, and sat down on the train. I even ran the damned payroll database on my laptop while I sat drinking a beer and reading the Sports pages. I thought to myself that that in itself was quite humorous.

I had a nice weekend. I worked from home on Monday the 10th; if fact I put some extra hours in so that I could finish my work and get into the office on the 11th. All the data looked pretty solid, and by 8 PM I had finished everything.

I would definitely be in my office on Tuesday, September 11 2001...two blocks from the World Trade Center.

Memories Of Two Giants Struck Down Part 6

In March 2001, I turned 40.

We were expecting our second child in August of that year, and because my wife and I lived pretty far from our families, I had made arrangements with my boss to work from home starting July 1st, and take two weeks Paretnity Leave after the birth, which was supposed to be August 5th.

My boss' name was Mike, and without a doubt was probably the coolest guy to work for. He would occasionally join me and my co-worker Jack for those long lunches I mentioned earlier. He was also a guy who would never use the intercom to talk to you or ask you to stop by his office; and if he did, it usually was serious business. He always stopped by your cube. He realized that his group worked hard and played harder, so if we blew off a little steam with a long lunch here or there he was fine with it. So it was understood that when Jack turned 40 in November of 2000, and I turned 40 in March of 2001, we were gone for the day after noon. In fact, he'd probably join us after 5 for a few hours at The Full Schilling which had become our favorite watering hole in the Wall Street area.

We used to joke that we were a lot like the guys on MASH; I was Hawkeye, Jack was Trapper John, and Mike was Henry Blake. We were good at what we did, very unconventional, and loved to party...all of us with wicked senses of humor. Well, Mike got promoted in February of 2001, and Jack and I were just hoping that the new boss would be Colonel Potter.

Instead, we got Frank Burns, only with no Hot Lips Houlihan on board to keep him occupied while chaos reigned around him.

His name was Tom...he was Greek with one of those last names that sounded like a social disease and gave Chinese take-out guys fits. We knew we were in trouble the first day he arrived and asked us how to use the intercom. His nickname became "Flackjacket", mainly because it kind of rhymed with his last name. He was a Gen Xer, about 7 years younger than us, and was one of those guys who would gladly (and surrepticiously) slice your nuts off a full 10 seconds before you started to sing like a member of the Vienna Boys' Choir just to advance his career.

The guy was also a neatness and control freak; a guy who would loom over you and tell you how to write an e-mail all the while slathering his hands with Purell hoping not to catch whatever germs you might me carrying. While my desk looked like a pre-Marshall Plan Berlin after World War 2, Flackjacket's desk was a thing of pristine beauty, a never ending field of organized rows of wheat in the Midwest. To say that we were polar opposites was an understatement; we were more like matter and anti-matter...and we all know what happens when you combine those two.

So why am I bringing this guy up? Well, let's just say that into each of our lives there comes a person who brings out the worst in us, and no matter how hard we try and get along, we just can't do it. Call it Karma or whatever you will, but Mr Flakjacket would be playing a significant portion in my breakdown a few years later and in the immediate aftermath of 9/11...but that's for another post.

So on March 14, I celebrated my 40th Birthday; in fact, Jack and I TOLD Flakjacket that we weren't coming back for the rest of the day. We didn't invite him either. (We probably would have had a much better time with Josef Stalin and Vlad The Impailer bellying up to the bar.) So, with great fanfare, many pints and drams of good Irish Whiskey, we celebrated. I planned on leaving the bar around 4 PM to catch an early train home; but I wound up having to leave earlier...there appeared to be a severe smoke condition in the PATH Station at the WTC which stopped the trains. My two options were to walk to the World Financial Center (across from the WTC right on the Hudson River) and take a ferry to Hoboken, or hop on a subway and go to Penn Station by subway and take a train home from there. I opted for the former.

Like I said, I used to drink for America and the rest of The Free World and do crazy things. When I got to the ferry pier, there were hundreds of people queing up just to get on small ferries to carry them across the river to Hoboken. Well, it was my birthday damnit, and nothing was going to ruin it. So the Brooklyn in me kicked into overdrive (the one thing Brooklynites hate is lines and will do anything to cut them). Rather than wait with the rest of the Red Chinese Army to get into a boat, I followed the suit of several others who decided to walk on the edge of a bulkhead on the river and climb up a ladder into the terminal.

I had no fear; after all, I'm an excellent swimmer. So like a drunken Wallenda, I walked the bulkhead, climbed up to the terminal, and just made a boat that would connect with one of the last trains on my line out of Hoboken. I was proud of myself; I hadn't done anything that daring (or stupid!) since college. I was 40, and I felt like I was 19 again. All in all it was a good birthday; that is until I told my wife and my mom what I did and was met with, shall we say "extreme disapproval".

Oh hell, I might was well be honest here...the exact words were "Are you fucking crazy?"

How prophetic, because six months later I would be.

To this day, I still wonder about that smoke condition in the PATH that caused all that chaos; it was never revealled what had happened, never reported in the papers, never discussed in any of the PATH newsletters. Ironically, it took place almost six months to the day that changed the face of the world.

To be continued...

Memories Of Two Giants Struck Down Part 5

March 1993:

Things couldn't be better. I had just turned 32, I was getting married in July, and I aced the interview for that promotion. I was now a Sales Manager at one of the two World Trade Center Branches of the "new" post-merger Chemical Bank.

My new Branch Manager was one hell of a great guy, an ex-Marine who fought in Korea, was about 6'6" tall and had to weigh close to 300 pounds. He was "old school", which meant he pretty much took customers out to lunch daily (which usually meant a few of the local Irish pubs that were our customers) and never really came back to the office. It also meant I usually went out with him, because he was the one who signed my corporate card, and we'd split the expense. So the food and the booze flowed freely almost every day, and we'd be doing amazing business...In fact, we became the top producing branch in our market. I attribute that to two things: I had a great staff that I worked with and a liver that could keep up with my boss'!

Another thing our Branch had going for it was the fact that we had an exclusive deal to handle the Bank accounts of a major brokerage. In fact, right around Christmas time, these brokers would come in with huge bonus checks...And I mean HUGE. I think the smallest check I ever saw was for $125,000; the largest was on the order of a few million dollars. I got to know a lot of those brokers, and while some were great guys who I helped to finance their Mortgages, Home Equities, and kids trust accounts; others were just arrogant bastards...Especially their CEO.

God, that man thought he walked on water and could part the Red Sea at the same time. He would insist with dealing with no one below the title of a "Manager" and would throw his banking business on your desk while you were with another customer, and hover over you like chopper leaving Saigon for the last time until you stopped what you were doing and handled his business. I had the unfortunate experience of dealing with him on a number of occasions, and had asked a broker or two about this guy. Turns out he kind of pulled off an office coup a few years before and ousted the founders from the board. They didn't particularly like him either, but he paid his staff well. I'm not speaking ill of the dead here, because the CEO survived the 9/11 attack.

The brokerage was Cantor Fitzgerald, and they lost over 700 employees on 9/11, including my neighbor's brother.

I had the position and promotion, I was finally working in the WTC. I was making a name for myself, and my career was on the fast track. All my hard work was finally paying off; I could now proudly say that I had a career, a wonderful woman who I was going to marry in a few short months, a great group of friends that always got together every Friday night.

And I was working in my beloved Towers...Finally! Well...Not exactly in the Towers, but one of the smaller office buildings (5 WTC to be precise) of the complex. I could go to lunch in the huge plaza between the towers on a warm spring day, sit by the fountain with the huge globe-like statue at the center of it, and hear bands play. I was in my glory...And you know something, I never thought twice about that first bombing ever again (until 8 years later). A month after the bombing, the PATH trains were running again, repairs were being made, and things started to go on like before. Just like the typical New Yorker, I carried on as if nothing had ever happened. (Even though I live in New Jersey now and consider myself a NJite, when people ask me where I'm from I will always say Brooklyn...Even though I moved to Staten Island when I was 5!)

What I didn't realize, and never did realize until after 9/11, that my wife was absolutely terrified that I worked in the World Trade Center. In fact, she never expressed any of her fears to me until after 9/11. So, while I was blissfully going on my merry way every day from 1993-1995...My wife was petrified that the unthinkable would happen again.

It never entered my mind...In fact I used to make a joke about it that the Bank thought so much of me that when they promoted me they made me the Sales Manager at a WTC Branch. Funny, now that I think back on it, my wife never laughed at that joke.

As I mentioned earlier, with the Merger would come some Branch closings, so they decided to close our WTC Branch.

I was again promoted, this time to Columbus Circle Branch. So in early 1995, I once again left my beloved Towers behind, occasionally returning to visit old friends and former customers, but for the next 4 years I would be working in Midtown Manhattan

Two more promotions followed; the last one being on a Staff Position. This basically meant that I was away from dealing with an impatient general public in the Branches, to dealing with impatient Senior Vice Presidents sequestered in their glass and ivory towers of Midtown Manhattan.

In 1996, Chemical Bank had merged (yet again!) with Chase Manhattan Bank; this time we took the Chase Brand name as it was more recognizable. It was also decided to move all the Retail Bank Support Staff positions from the various Midtown offices to 1 Chase Manhattan Plaza, the second tallest skyscraper in The Financial District right after the two World Trade Center Towers. It was two blocks east of the South Tower, and that meant an easier commute for me and I'd be back where I belonged: right near those Towers I had watched being built, commuted through, and worked in.

The date we moved into our 13th Floor offices was September 10th, 1999. I was finally back home.

To be continued...