On Friday February 26th, 1993, it was a cold overcast day with some light snow. Marge's promotion party was scheduled for 7 PM at a Tribecca bar called R-Bar that The Crew frequented as they were my customers. They always gave us a great deal on food and drink, reserved us a great table, and many times would just shut down the bar (usually by 1:30 am) to let The Crew hang out all night while the liquor flowed freely, and many a joint would be passed around. Needless to say, this helped keep them in our good graces when their account was overdrawn and we would pay their checks, always knowing that they would come in with cash the next day to cover the overdrafts. Both the owners were great guys; ex-hippies from the 60s, one Italian and one Jew whose Mothers helped run the place, and yeah...they would party with us too.
The branch I worked in was located at the corner of Church and Thomas Streets, about an 8 block walk North of the WTC. We knew that this particular Friday was going to be rough, as it was a NYC Employee payday and the lines would looks like getting a loaf of bread in Moscow in January. We also knew that some serious partying was going to happen around 7 PM, and we were all looking forward to it...especially because it was for Marge.
Marge was a wonderful person, of Haitian descent who spoke French fluently, as did I. Her and I used to joke a lot in French, usually at other people's expense, and we had a good time of it. She was also stunningly beautiful, but for some reason she could just never find the right guy for a boyfriend. She was a great co-worker and loved by us all; and despite the fact that she got the promotion that I wanted, she deserved it. Her and I talked daily that first week of how her new job was, and how much she just loved working in the big branch and in the WTC.
One of that WYC Branch's customers was Dean Witter, a brokerage on the 44th floor of the South Tower. We had a special arrangement where their new employees would get free checking and preferred rates; and every Tuesday, a one or two employees would go to the new employee orientation and sign up a bunch of folks and get flat rate commission on their accounts. Another perk that the folks at Dean Witter used to give to the WTC Branch employees was permission to use their cafeteria, where the food was extremely reasonable and for a corporate cafeteria, quite good. In addition, you could take a window seat and watch the harbor while you were eating with that magnificent view. Marge had told me that she planned on going there all week, because she enjoyed the food and the view.
Somewhere in the early afternoon on Friday 2/26/03, we began to notice a larger amount of customers rushing into our branch than usual. A lot of them were shaking with ashen looks on their faces. We began to hear an unusual amount of police and fire activity rushing past us shortly before these customers were coming in, so we kind of figured something was up. I asked someone what had happened, and they told me that a bomb went off in the World Trade Center.
I ran out into the street and looked southward to see a black cloud of smoke coming from the Towers. We had two Branches there, and I had friends in both of them. My manager Pete (also part of The Crew and still a good buddy to this day) came over and told me when I got back inside that they had evaccuated both Branches, and were still taking headcounts to see who was alright.
My fiancee had called me to make sure I was alright, and I assured her I was, but we still hadn't heard anything about Marge. She told me she was meeting me at the Branch and would come in to NYC via Penn Station and take a subway down to meet me as (needless to say) the PATH was shut down (and probably would be for a while). I tried to dissuade her, but she insisted because she wanted to be with me, and she had gotten close with Marge and wanted to make sure she was OK as well.
About an hour later, we got the news that all were accounted for except for Marge and a co-worker named Karen. It seems as if they decided to have lunch on the 44th Floor when the bomb went off; and in the days before cell phones, the only way we knew she was OK was to simply show up at the Bar and wait for her.
After we closed up shop, The Crew all met at the bar...and we waited. We drank, and we waited...finally, in walk Marge and Karen, somewhat sooty and obviously shaken. It had taken them several hours to walk down 44 flights of stairs, in the dark, with not so much as a word as to what happened. Needless to say, they were shaken...and after a few rounds of hugs and kisses, Marge orders the biggest Martini she could, and begs me for a cigarette. This was not normal for Marge; she usually drank beer, and only smoked when she got a little tipsy. That night, she drank nothing but Martinis and I bought her a pack of cigarettes which she smoked all of.
Her and Karen told us of their ordeal, that they were fine...but there was something else there...something I wouldn't recognize until I saw it happen to me 8 years later.
She was shaking like a leaf, talking continuously and non-stop...and the light was gone from her eyes. I kept telling her she was OK and to be thankful...and looking back on it, what a callous bastard I was. I still feel guilty about this to this day. Unless you've experienced that kind of terror, you cannot possibly understand...and that time I didn't. My fiancee (who already knew Marge was in a state of shock) and Marge went to a corner table where the two of them talked and Marge just unloaded everything.
At the end of the night, we called a company car for Marge to get her home safely. Tess and I took the train back home to New Jersey, not exchanging a single word...and it was a good thing too: that morning, I found out that the Sales Manager for one of the WTC Branches was moving on, and I was first in line for the promotion.
Bomb or no bomb, there was no question in my mind that if the job was offered to me, I was going to take it.
After all, who would be stupid enough to try and destroy the World Trade Center again, and there was no way that our government would let that happen.
To be continued...
Wednesday, September 06, 2006
Memories Of Two Giants Struck Down Part 3
Somewhere in 1985, I left the wonderful world of Wall Street. This was for two reasons: first, I didn't feel comfortable working in corporate America anymore. I needed to take some time off, do a little traveling and soul searching, and try and reconnect with myself and re-think my life. Second was the fact that I had developed a huge cocaine problem, had done a thirty-something day stay in a rehab, and being around Wall Street was not good for me.
So, off I went on my merry way across the country by train for a few weeks. I stayed for a time with my Uncle, who is a Roman Catholic Priest, at at the time was running a Parish/School in Mississippi that was almost all African-American. I helped to rebuild the school's roof and painted the Nun's residence, and just basically helped my Uncle out while his assistant was on vacation. I also helped to dig new graves in newly consecrated ground for African-Americans who were being disinterred from their cemetary because there was no room left at the White cemetary, and they needed the space. Even in death, the South had its own Jim Crowe laws.
At this juncture, I need to tell you that this took place in Canton, Mississippi...which has a famous son named John Grisham, the author. I don't know Mr Grisham, nor do I know his philosophy on life, all I can tell you is that Canton was the most prejudiced place I have ever been in. The Whites hated me because I was working with the African-Americans (and CATHOLIC ones at that!); and the African-Americans (literally "from the other side of the tracks") hated me because I was working with working to middle-class Catholic African Americans. I was almost run down by a car, and was threatened at gunpoint...all because I tried to do some good in this world.
By the time I left there, while spiritually fulfilled, I was thoroughly convinced that General Sherman was right.
I returned to New York, in need of a job...and in the next few years I held a succession of them all locally on Staten Island. I did Sales for a family friend's Office Cleaning business; worked as an Insurance Salesman and Broker, and sold Cable Television. In February of 1988, I was hired by the old Chemical Bank as a Sales Representative selling bank products. I excelled at that, so I got promoted and was relocated to Lower Manhattan in 1991; it was also around this time I started to date my future wife. It was also around this time that I met a lot of great people in the other branches in my area. We were all in our late 20's-early 30's; we worked hard, and played even harder. Every Friday night without fail, "The Crew" (as we called ourselves) would meet at a few of our local drinking establishments (which also happened to be customers of our various Branches) and get absolutely plastered. The fact that the bars were also our customers helped, as we got many a free round (or ten) and food.
Life was good. My future wife (who was and is a Registered Nurse) was also part of The Crew. We had gotten engaged, and rented an apartment with a terrace on the ocean in Long Branch, NJ. She had gotten a job at a hospital two blocks from the apartment, and the train to NYC was right across the street from that. Perfect! One goal accomplished.
One of the other goals I had set for myself though: I wanted to be a Sales Manager, and I wanted to be the Sales Manager of the World Trade Center Branch. It was a prime spot which was (unfortunately) occupied by a woman who had been a fixture there since the Branch opened in 1975. It was also a promotion.
There was no way in hell I would get that job no matter how good my sales numbers were (I was one of the top sales people in the Bank); so I hoped that maybe I could get a lateral move at that branch and set myself up as a successor for the Sales Manager position. Well, two things happened...both of them within a few months of each other.
In July of 1992, Chemical Bank and Manufacturers Hanover Trust Company merged in what was then the biggest merger in US history, and started the ball rolling for other bank mergers in the next few years. This meant that some branches would be closed, but it also meant more opportunities for young eager sales people to get promoted. Oh yeah, we now had TWO Branches in the World Trade Center...and one of them happened to need a Sales Manager.
Well, things happen for a reason. The Sales Manager position at that Branch was filled by a banker at the other WTC Branch who dealt with high balance customers, same as I did; so that now left her position open. As it turned out, a friend of mine from The Crew (a wonderful girl named Marge) got that job, and as was our usual custom...anytime one of us moved on or got promoted, we threw a party for them.
We set her party for Februrary 26 1993, the Friday after her first day of work at the new job in the WTC.
It was also the day of the first bombing of the World Trade Center.
To be continued...
So, off I went on my merry way across the country by train for a few weeks. I stayed for a time with my Uncle, who is a Roman Catholic Priest, at at the time was running a Parish/School in Mississippi that was almost all African-American. I helped to rebuild the school's roof and painted the Nun's residence, and just basically helped my Uncle out while his assistant was on vacation. I also helped to dig new graves in newly consecrated ground for African-Americans who were being disinterred from their cemetary because there was no room left at the White cemetary, and they needed the space. Even in death, the South had its own Jim Crowe laws.
At this juncture, I need to tell you that this took place in Canton, Mississippi...which has a famous son named John Grisham, the author. I don't know Mr Grisham, nor do I know his philosophy on life, all I can tell you is that Canton was the most prejudiced place I have ever been in. The Whites hated me because I was working with the African-Americans (and CATHOLIC ones at that!); and the African-Americans (literally "from the other side of the tracks") hated me because I was working with working to middle-class Catholic African Americans. I was almost run down by a car, and was threatened at gunpoint...all because I tried to do some good in this world.
By the time I left there, while spiritually fulfilled, I was thoroughly convinced that General Sherman was right.
I returned to New York, in need of a job...and in the next few years I held a succession of them all locally on Staten Island. I did Sales for a family friend's Office Cleaning business; worked as an Insurance Salesman and Broker, and sold Cable Television. In February of 1988, I was hired by the old Chemical Bank as a Sales Representative selling bank products. I excelled at that, so I got promoted and was relocated to Lower Manhattan in 1991; it was also around this time I started to date my future wife. It was also around this time that I met a lot of great people in the other branches in my area. We were all in our late 20's-early 30's; we worked hard, and played even harder. Every Friday night without fail, "The Crew" (as we called ourselves) would meet at a few of our local drinking establishments (which also happened to be customers of our various Branches) and get absolutely plastered. The fact that the bars were also our customers helped, as we got many a free round (or ten) and food.
Life was good. My future wife (who was and is a Registered Nurse) was also part of The Crew. We had gotten engaged, and rented an apartment with a terrace on the ocean in Long Branch, NJ. She had gotten a job at a hospital two blocks from the apartment, and the train to NYC was right across the street from that. Perfect! One goal accomplished.
One of the other goals I had set for myself though: I wanted to be a Sales Manager, and I wanted to be the Sales Manager of the World Trade Center Branch. It was a prime spot which was (unfortunately) occupied by a woman who had been a fixture there since the Branch opened in 1975. It was also a promotion.
There was no way in hell I would get that job no matter how good my sales numbers were (I was one of the top sales people in the Bank); so I hoped that maybe I could get a lateral move at that branch and set myself up as a successor for the Sales Manager position. Well, two things happened...both of them within a few months of each other.
In July of 1992, Chemical Bank and Manufacturers Hanover Trust Company merged in what was then the biggest merger in US history, and started the ball rolling for other bank mergers in the next few years. This meant that some branches would be closed, but it also meant more opportunities for young eager sales people to get promoted. Oh yeah, we now had TWO Branches in the World Trade Center...and one of them happened to need a Sales Manager.
Well, things happen for a reason. The Sales Manager position at that Branch was filled by a banker at the other WTC Branch who dealt with high balance customers, same as I did; so that now left her position open. As it turned out, a friend of mine from The Crew (a wonderful girl named Marge) got that job, and as was our usual custom...anytime one of us moved on or got promoted, we threw a party for them.
We set her party for Februrary 26 1993, the Friday after her first day of work at the new job in the WTC.
It was also the day of the first bombing of the World Trade Center.
To be continued...
Tuesday, September 05, 2006
Building the World Trade Center (1983) - Documentary
| Building the World Trade Center Port Authority of New York and New Jersey (1983) 18 minutes | |
Memories Of Two Giants Struck Down Part 2
In May of 1983, I graduated from college armed with my Bachelors Degree in Journalism.
That's why I became a Management Trainee for the Bank of New York...doing the same type of work my Dad did at JP Morgan, in Corporate Trust...something I swore I would never do. You see, being born at the tail end of the Baby Boom (those of us born between 1959-1964), we really were too young for the Boomers, and too old for Generation X. So, as a "Tweener" (as we're now called) you kind of had to decide where you would fit in. Coming from a very Politics-oriented household where discussing current events at the dinner table was a way of life, I made my choice early on to side with the Boomers. My Mom was (and still is) extremely Liberal; my Dad was (and definately not so much anymore...but that's for another post) a Conservative.
I grew up in a time when daily body counts of our dead in Viet Nam were broadcast on the Nightly News, where I saw racial strife daily on the television, and was the first to tell my Mom that Bobby Kennedy and Martin Luther King were killed...all at the tender age of 7. All of this of course was mixed in with the original runs of Star Trek, Lost In Space, Speed Racer, and the Thunderbirds.
My heroes growing up were astronauts...THE ASTRONAUTS...the Original 7, The New 9 et al. Al Sheppard was (and still is) one of my heroes, because he was FIRST, he was Chief Astronaut and nothing like a little Menuere's Disease was going to prevent him from going to the moon. I wanted to be an Astronaut; I wanted to attend the Air Force Academy or West Point. I wanted to do *something*, because above all else, no matter their political differences, my parents instilled in me a love of country...and that has still not abated to this day; it's just a lot truer now and not some talking points memo from the Right or the Left. Back in the late 60s and early 70s though, you had to take a side on everything from the Viet Nam War to what to wear, how long your hair was, and what music you listened to.
There was no in-between; there was either Right or Left, Conformist or Non-Conformist, Rock and Roll or Ray Connick. I grew up in a house that had all these things going on at the same time; it's no wonder I'm fucked up.
So here I was in 1974, on the cusp of puberty and finally realizing that things were pretty messed up in America. Sure, we finally ended that travesty in Viet Nam, and had landed on the moon. I was knowing "peace" for the first time in my life after knowing nothing but body counts throughout my youth. Things were looking good...until August 1974, when the rug was pulled out from under me, my blind love of country was shaken, and I took a side and a stand for the first time in my life.
Our President resigned in disgrace after a scandal that shook the very foundations of our Nation, and still reverberates to this day. On that day, I decided that I could no longer look at our way of life blindly; that those who were in charge of things were just in it for themselves. I no longer had a desire to go to any of the Military Academies. I questioned everything I knew, and began to rebel against everything; especially my Dad. After all, if anyone ever represented the Establishment, it was my father...who went to work in a suit and tie day in and day out, living the same mundane lie that millions of others did.
1974 was the year I kissed my first girl, smoked my first cigarette, got drunk for the first time. (The girl is happilly married with several kids, I'm a recovering alcoholic, but I still smoke. Hey, I need at least one vice!).
From 1975-1979 I attended an all-boys Catholic High School run by the Irish Christian Brothers; not the guys who made the Brandy, but the other guys who drank enough of the stuff, and also let you hang out and drink and smoke with them occasionally, usually the younger Brothers in their late 20s-early 30s. In a manner of speaking, I was somewhat being a conformist (had to wear a tie and jacket daily), but half the fun was breaking the rules, not getting caught, or even going to class high. We had quite a liberal education, and it was never mandated that you attend Church services, although you had to take 4 years of religious education. This was great for me, because by that time I had divorced myself from the Catholic Church and was an agnostic. So I still had a chance to rebel, in my own way.
So why in the hell would I place myself in that environment? Because it was one of the three best private High Schools in NYC with a graduation rate of 99% with 95% of the students receiving some sort of schollarship to college.
So off I went to college; grew my hair and beard really long; marched in any protest that I could; became a registered socialist; joined (and eventually ran) my college radio station; wrote exposees for the campus newspaper; and partied...A LOT.
So, along comes an offer for a steady job of (at the time a great starting salary) $18,000 per year. So, the hair gets cut and I finally see what my face looks like after keeping a beard for the better part of 4 years. The paychecks come in, and since I'm living at home, I could spend it all.
A friend of mine who was also a Management Trainee for another Bank once told me that the first year of being a Trainee was like a 5th year of college. Oh boy, was he right!
And this is where my beloved Twin Towers come back into my life.
One of my favorite watering holes was the Market Bar, just inside PATH Square, which was an area that surrounded the escallators that went down 6 stories to the trains. Great food, and they were one of the few places at the time that had Bass Ale on tap. A few of us would go there for lunch quite often, especially in the winter. NYC women don't go outside in the winter unless they have to, and they used to come into this bar like the Red Chinese Army marched across the Yalu River for lunch and after work. In my youth, I was quite the rake and I had my share of conquests. One of the things I found out about from a few of the ladies was a great beach town at the NJ Shore called Manasquan where you could rent a house that was meant to hold 8 people and cram 32 people in there, with each one buying a "share". A full share guaranteed you a bed and full use of the house all summer; all the way down to a partial share which would guarantee you a spot on the floor on the occasional weekend.
A few friends and I got together and got full shares in a house just two blocks from the beach in Manasquan; across the street from a 24 hour newsstand, a dry cleaner, and two of the most popular bars and a liquor store around the corner. I was living in Staten Island at the time, except for the weekends, when my Friday went something like this:
That's why I became a Management Trainee for the Bank of New York...doing the same type of work my Dad did at JP Morgan, in Corporate Trust...something I swore I would never do. You see, being born at the tail end of the Baby Boom (those of us born between 1959-1964), we really were too young for the Boomers, and too old for Generation X. So, as a "Tweener" (as we're now called) you kind of had to decide where you would fit in. Coming from a very Politics-oriented household where discussing current events at the dinner table was a way of life, I made my choice early on to side with the Boomers. My Mom was (and still is) extremely Liberal; my Dad was (and definately not so much anymore...but that's for another post) a Conservative.
I grew up in a time when daily body counts of our dead in Viet Nam were broadcast on the Nightly News, where I saw racial strife daily on the television, and was the first to tell my Mom that Bobby Kennedy and Martin Luther King were killed...all at the tender age of 7. All of this of course was mixed in with the original runs of Star Trek, Lost In Space, Speed Racer, and the Thunderbirds.
My heroes growing up were astronauts...THE ASTRONAUTS...the Original 7, The New 9 et al. Al Sheppard was (and still is) one of my heroes, because he was FIRST, he was Chief Astronaut and nothing like a little Menuere's Disease was going to prevent him from going to the moon. I wanted to be an Astronaut; I wanted to attend the Air Force Academy or West Point. I wanted to do *something*, because above all else, no matter their political differences, my parents instilled in me a love of country...and that has still not abated to this day; it's just a lot truer now and not some talking points memo from the Right or the Left. Back in the late 60s and early 70s though, you had to take a side on everything from the Viet Nam War to what to wear, how long your hair was, and what music you listened to.
There was no in-between; there was either Right or Left, Conformist or Non-Conformist, Rock and Roll or Ray Connick. I grew up in a house that had all these things going on at the same time; it's no wonder I'm fucked up.
So here I was in 1974, on the cusp of puberty and finally realizing that things were pretty messed up in America. Sure, we finally ended that travesty in Viet Nam, and had landed on the moon. I was knowing "peace" for the first time in my life after knowing nothing but body counts throughout my youth. Things were looking good...until August 1974, when the rug was pulled out from under me, my blind love of country was shaken, and I took a side and a stand for the first time in my life.
Our President resigned in disgrace after a scandal that shook the very foundations of our Nation, and still reverberates to this day. On that day, I decided that I could no longer look at our way of life blindly; that those who were in charge of things were just in it for themselves. I no longer had a desire to go to any of the Military Academies. I questioned everything I knew, and began to rebel against everything; especially my Dad. After all, if anyone ever represented the Establishment, it was my father...who went to work in a suit and tie day in and day out, living the same mundane lie that millions of others did.
1974 was the year I kissed my first girl, smoked my first cigarette, got drunk for the first time. (The girl is happilly married with several kids, I'm a recovering alcoholic, but I still smoke. Hey, I need at least one vice!).
From 1975-1979 I attended an all-boys Catholic High School run by the Irish Christian Brothers; not the guys who made the Brandy, but the other guys who drank enough of the stuff, and also let you hang out and drink and smoke with them occasionally, usually the younger Brothers in their late 20s-early 30s. In a manner of speaking, I was somewhat being a conformist (had to wear a tie and jacket daily), but half the fun was breaking the rules, not getting caught, or even going to class high. We had quite a liberal education, and it was never mandated that you attend Church services, although you had to take 4 years of religious education. This was great for me, because by that time I had divorced myself from the Catholic Church and was an agnostic. So I still had a chance to rebel, in my own way.
So why in the hell would I place myself in that environment? Because it was one of the three best private High Schools in NYC with a graduation rate of 99% with 95% of the students receiving some sort of schollarship to college.
So off I went to college; grew my hair and beard really long; marched in any protest that I could; became a registered socialist; joined (and eventually ran) my college radio station; wrote exposees for the campus newspaper; and partied...A LOT.
So, along comes an offer for a steady job of (at the time a great starting salary) $18,000 per year. So, the hair gets cut and I finally see what my face looks like after keeping a beard for the better part of 4 years. The paychecks come in, and since I'm living at home, I could spend it all.
A friend of mine who was also a Management Trainee for another Bank once told me that the first year of being a Trainee was like a 5th year of college. Oh boy, was he right!
And this is where my beloved Twin Towers come back into my life.
One of my favorite watering holes was the Market Bar, just inside PATH Square, which was an area that surrounded the escallators that went down 6 stories to the trains. Great food, and they were one of the few places at the time that had Bass Ale on tap. A few of us would go there for lunch quite often, especially in the winter. NYC women don't go outside in the winter unless they have to, and they used to come into this bar like the Red Chinese Army marched across the Yalu River for lunch and after work. In my youth, I was quite the rake and I had my share of conquests. One of the things I found out about from a few of the ladies was a great beach town at the NJ Shore called Manasquan where you could rent a house that was meant to hold 8 people and cram 32 people in there, with each one buying a "share". A full share guaranteed you a bed and full use of the house all summer; all the way down to a partial share which would guarantee you a spot on the floor on the occasional weekend.
A few friends and I got together and got full shares in a house just two blocks from the beach in Manasquan; across the street from a 24 hour newsstand, a dry cleaner, and two of the most popular bars and a liquor store around the corner. I was living in Staten Island at the time, except for the weekends, when my Friday went something like this:
- Recover from Thursday Evenings drinking and debauchery, pack my weekend bag, pop two asprin, and hope to God that the hangover wouldn't last all day.
- Walk up 5 blocks to the WTC and have Hair of the Dog at Market Bar at lunch
- Finish the day, go to Market Bar for two pints, and then hop on the PATH Train to Newark and change trains for the ride to Manasquan...this of course after stopping in the Newark Station liquor store for two "oil cans" of Fosters Lager for the ride.
- Walk to the house; get changed, drop my suit off at the cleaners for Sunday afternoon pickup.
- Party all night Friday, and all day and night Saturday and Sunday.
- Get dressed early in my newly pressed suit on Monday Morning, hop on the train and catch a few hours sleep, and get back on the PATH to the WTC again.
- Repeat every Friday.
I loved the Shore, always have. I said to myself that one day I was going to move down there; it was better (MUCH BETTER) than Staten Island, the girls were prettier (and looser), and the commute was just slightly longer than it took me from my Parents house. Plus, I would always come in and out of NYC through that magnificent gateway that was the WTC.
And something else...I said that one day I was going to work in the WTC; the sheer fact that I could work in one of the largest buildings on the planet, go to my favorite bar, and have a commute where I would never have to go outside in bad weather was just one hell of a great idea.
It would take a few years...but I would achieve these goals. It would take a few years before my life would change forever, and just like the dust scattered upon the wind on that horrible Tuesday, all that I could do to pick up my life was to simply watch hopelessly as the dust slipped through my fingers.
To be continued...
Monday, September 04, 2006
Memories Of Two Giants Struck Down Part 1
This time 5 years ago, I was enjoying myself at a local BBQ. My second daughter had just been born 3 weeks earlier, I was almost ready to come back from Paternity Leave and go back to my office in Manhattan two blocks from the World Trade Center.
Because our families lived over 50 miles away (and that was my daily commute by train also), my company allowed me to work remotely from home since July 1st. Quite frankly, I was looking forward to getting back to my office, the hustle and bustle of NYC, the great restaurants and bars, and a few close friends I had on the job. It was also going to be a great week because my boss was just going on Paternity Leave himself, and that usually meant *extremely* long lunches at our favorite watering holes The Full Schilling or Jeremy's Ale House.
The Schilling had one hell of a Cajun Chicken sandwich and made one of the best burgers around, especially with a couple of slabs of good thick Irish bacon. They also had two of the cutest twenty-something girls tending bar. Jeremy's had something like 40 different beers on tap and was just a block from the old Fulton Fish Market, so the seafood was always fresh and the Spicy Muscles Marinara were to *die* for. On a nice day, my buddy Jack and I would sit on the outside patio at Jeremy's which was just in the shadow of the Brooklyn Bridge and girl watch all the while sucking down the suds.
Often we would marvel at the fact that life was pretty good: at the time we were both 40, lived in the suburbs with the nice house and loving wife and kids. We were both professionally very successful having worked our way up the ranks to Vice Presidents. What's more, we worked in the greatest city in the world.
Things we often took for granted, we saw every day. The Statue of Liberty was in the middle of the harbor and just a 10 minute walk away was Battery Park where we could take in the view (the Statue and the ladies, of course!). One block south of us was Federal Hall, the place where George Washington took the oath of office as the First President of The United States. It was also the place where our Congress, Senate, and the Supreme Court first met. One block to our north was the Federal Reserve Building, where a good portion of the nation's gold supply was kept in vaults deep underground. The NY Stock Exchange was three blocks to our south.
And two blocks to our west were the Twin Towers of the World Trade Center.
I have always had a unique bond with those towers. My Dad used to work across the street from what used to be called Hudson Terminal, a railroad terminal for the old Hudson & Manhattan Railroad, which was a subway that ran under the Hudson River between Manhattan and New Jersey's other Railroad Terminals and major cities of Jersey City, Hoboken, and Newark. It was also an office building that contained shops, restaurants and bars.
Somewhere in the early 60s, the H&M Railroad went bankrupt and was bought by the Port Authority of NY and NJ and renamed PATH (Port Authority Trans Hudson) who took over (and still maintain) operations of the line. They did this mainly because they wanted the Hudson Terminal property, tear down the old building, and put up not only the tallest building in the world...but TWO of them. The PATH would have a new terminal; there would be huge amounts of office space, and an underground mall with shops, bars, and restaurants.
My Dad used to work for JP Morgan for some 37 years, but during the early 60s, he used to do a lot of overtime just to make ends meet. That usually meant a lot of nights and weekends where I wouldn't see my dad, except of course for Sunday...when we would attend the Latin Mass in the Lower Church (this was just after Vatican II) and come home and watch our beloved NY Giants play football. Once in a while however, Dad used to take me to work with him on a Saturday. On those days, he would be at his desk, and I would spend the hours watching the construction of the World Trade Center.
I watched them dig the "bathtub", the whole time suspending the tubes that the PATH ran in (and kept running in!) as they worked around them putting in ramps, parking garages, plumbing, etc. I would watch for years as they began to erect the structure of the North Tower, the welders just outside my Dad's desk. After a while, I couldn't see the construction anymore except from the street. I didn't quite understand it then, but I was watching a miracle being created before my eyes.
Years later after the Towers were completed; I finally got my first look inside and on top of those magnificent edifices. Huge glass lobbies where elevators would whisk you floors in mere seconds; a shopping mall that had a couple of very cool bookstores and record shops; a great restaurant and bar called the "Market Bar" (best damned chili burger I ever had) that I often met my Dad for lunch at.
Oh, and then there was the observation deck...TWO of them in fact.
The decks were located in only one building (South Tower, iirc); an inside one and one outside at the very top. The inside deck had huge glass windows with etchings of buildings, roads, railroad terminals, bridges, and other points of interest on the glass so you knew what you were looking at. There were also the usual green binocular viewers that you put a quarter in and were able to see things up close with.
If the weather was nice, you just had to go outdoors to the top observation deck. It was a square placed safely in the middle of the roof for safety reasons. Not only on a clear day could you see forever, but you could actually see the curvature of the Earth.
I watched those Towers go up; I even worked in them for a few years. I commuted every day through them. They became my friends, reassuring and always there; they were beacons of hope, a gateway to the wonder of my beloved NYC, or a guarantee of a safe passage home after a long day.
And I watched them come down...and my entire world with it.
To be continued tomorrow...
Because our families lived over 50 miles away (and that was my daily commute by train also), my company allowed me to work remotely from home since July 1st. Quite frankly, I was looking forward to getting back to my office, the hustle and bustle of NYC, the great restaurants and bars, and a few close friends I had on the job. It was also going to be a great week because my boss was just going on Paternity Leave himself, and that usually meant *extremely* long lunches at our favorite watering holes The Full Schilling or Jeremy's Ale House.
The Schilling had one hell of a Cajun Chicken sandwich and made one of the best burgers around, especially with a couple of slabs of good thick Irish bacon. They also had two of the cutest twenty-something girls tending bar. Jeremy's had something like 40 different beers on tap and was just a block from the old Fulton Fish Market, so the seafood was always fresh and the Spicy Muscles Marinara were to *die* for. On a nice day, my buddy Jack and I would sit on the outside patio at Jeremy's which was just in the shadow of the Brooklyn Bridge and girl watch all the while sucking down the suds.
Often we would marvel at the fact that life was pretty good: at the time we were both 40, lived in the suburbs with the nice house and loving wife and kids. We were both professionally very successful having worked our way up the ranks to Vice Presidents. What's more, we worked in the greatest city in the world.
Things we often took for granted, we saw every day. The Statue of Liberty was in the middle of the harbor and just a 10 minute walk away was Battery Park where we could take in the view (the Statue and the ladies, of course!). One block south of us was Federal Hall, the place where George Washington took the oath of office as the First President of The United States. It was also the place where our Congress, Senate, and the Supreme Court first met. One block to our north was the Federal Reserve Building, where a good portion of the nation's gold supply was kept in vaults deep underground. The NY Stock Exchange was three blocks to our south.
And two blocks to our west were the Twin Towers of the World Trade Center.
I have always had a unique bond with those towers. My Dad used to work across the street from what used to be called Hudson Terminal, a railroad terminal for the old Hudson & Manhattan Railroad, which was a subway that ran under the Hudson River between Manhattan and New Jersey's other Railroad Terminals and major cities of Jersey City, Hoboken, and Newark. It was also an office building that contained shops, restaurants and bars.
Somewhere in the early 60s, the H&M Railroad went bankrupt and was bought by the Port Authority of NY and NJ and renamed PATH (Port Authority Trans Hudson) who took over (and still maintain) operations of the line. They did this mainly because they wanted the Hudson Terminal property, tear down the old building, and put up not only the tallest building in the world...but TWO of them. The PATH would have a new terminal; there would be huge amounts of office space, and an underground mall with shops, bars, and restaurants.
My Dad used to work for JP Morgan for some 37 years, but during the early 60s, he used to do a lot of overtime just to make ends meet. That usually meant a lot of nights and weekends where I wouldn't see my dad, except of course for Sunday...when we would attend the Latin Mass in the Lower Church (this was just after Vatican II) and come home and watch our beloved NY Giants play football. Once in a while however, Dad used to take me to work with him on a Saturday. On those days, he would be at his desk, and I would spend the hours watching the construction of the World Trade Center.
I watched them dig the "bathtub", the whole time suspending the tubes that the PATH ran in (and kept running in!) as they worked around them putting in ramps, parking garages, plumbing, etc. I would watch for years as they began to erect the structure of the North Tower, the welders just outside my Dad's desk. After a while, I couldn't see the construction anymore except from the street. I didn't quite understand it then, but I was watching a miracle being created before my eyes.
Years later after the Towers were completed; I finally got my first look inside and on top of those magnificent edifices. Huge glass lobbies where elevators would whisk you floors in mere seconds; a shopping mall that had a couple of very cool bookstores and record shops; a great restaurant and bar called the "Market Bar" (best damned chili burger I ever had) that I often met my Dad for lunch at.
Oh, and then there was the observation deck...TWO of them in fact.
The decks were located in only one building (South Tower, iirc); an inside one and one outside at the very top. The inside deck had huge glass windows with etchings of buildings, roads, railroad terminals, bridges, and other points of interest on the glass so you knew what you were looking at. There were also the usual green binocular viewers that you put a quarter in and were able to see things up close with.
If the weather was nice, you just had to go outdoors to the top observation deck. It was a square placed safely in the middle of the roof for safety reasons. Not only on a clear day could you see forever, but you could actually see the curvature of the Earth.
I watched those Towers go up; I even worked in them for a few years. I commuted every day through them. They became my friends, reassuring and always there; they were beacons of hope, a gateway to the wonder of my beloved NYC, or a guarantee of a safe passage home after a long day.
And I watched them come down...and my entire world with it.
To be continued tomorrow...
Saturday, August 05, 2006
Apotheosis Rebooted!
Greetings Fellow Travelers...it's been a while.
I think you can tell from the dates on this blog, it's been a while since I posted...and when I did previously, it was usually sporadic at best. The wheel turns, the universe moves on as it should, and changes and events happen for a reason...although we may not understand their purpose at the time and perhaps never will. If you guessed that some serious stuff has happened in my life in the past few months, congratulations! You've just won the Grand Prize (tell them what they've won, Johnny!). If you guessed incorrectly, we have a year's supply of Creamettes Pasta and the home version of the Apotheosis game for you!
Without getting too much into the nitty gritty, it seems like I had a bit of a drinking problem. Check that...a major drinking problem. Let's just say that up until a few months ago, I used to drink for the United States Drinking Team and the rest of the free world. (My competitive specialties were the 12 to 16 ounce curls, and the Free-Style Vino Biathalon.) Back in March I was unceremoniously shipped off to a detox to get rid of all that nice wine and vallium from my system. After 7 days of shaking, throwing up, passing out in my mashed potatoes at dinner, and copius doses of pharmacuticals (and this was at detox mind you), I was released back into the world.
And scared shitless.
I've been sober since March 27th, and haven't had a drink or drug since then. I attend Alcoholics Anonymous meetings on a daily basis. My relationship with my wife is being repaired after years of neglect, and my kids finally have a father in their life, probably for the first time. What's more, I finally feel like a father again. I still have my marraige and family, drivers license, my house and my cars. Like someone told me at an AA meeting one time, I'm lucky that I haven't lost everything like a lot of folks have.
So why do I feel so damned angry and empty?
Is it the fact that the 5th anniversary of 9/11 is coming up and I just want to jump out of my skin? Is it the fact that every day I see innocents being bombed, killed, maimed, and displaced and my government literally encourages it to go on? Is it because supposed Men of God preach hatred and intollerance all the while ignoring the basic tennants of their religion?
Yup.
Like the title says in the post, the blog is rebooting. No, this will not become yet another "recovery blog". You will not hear my voice preaching about "demon alcohol" and how the twelve steps saved my sorry ass. There is a time and a place for that, just not here. Perhaps one day (if it's appropriate) maybe I'll give you a bit more of my story...but there are more important matters to write about.
My posts will still be about what we can do to achieve the Greatness that I believe is the destiny of the Human Race...but I have a determination now that I didn't have before, and a clarity of thought and purpose that was usually drowned in alcohol. Oh, and I promise to update at least 4 times a week, OK?
I have faith and an unshakable belief in not only Humanity, but in myself as well. For as a character on "Babylon 5" once said, "Faith Manages".
I may be an alcoholic, that I cannot change; but I'll be damned if I can't try and change the world, even if only a small part of it. At least I can go to my grave knowing that I spoke out and tried.
Ladies and Gentlemen...I'm back.
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