Posted on 09/12/2001 9:14:00 PM PDT by toupsie
I live in the Soho section of Manhattan, about 1/2 to 1 mile away from what was the World Trade Center. I left this morning on my bicycle at 7 am (there are no subways in lower manhattan) to see what services were available and correct the broken items at my office in Midtown. No matter how difficult it was to restore my company's communications, it pales in comparison to the man I met tonight.
Once I had set a game plan with my Atlanta office for restoration of network services for our national company that were destroyed by the collapse of building 7 of the World Trade Center (thank god for linux, a spare 1997 Compaq gathering dust in a closet, a floppy disk and some creative programming), I rode by bike down the empty avenues of NYC (the last time seen at the blizzard of Jan. 1996) to my home.
I encountered a military checkpoint at 14th Street. I kept an RCN cable bill with my address on it just in case I needed ID to show I lived below the blockade of 14th Street. I still keep my Texas drivers license even after five years of NYC living. Its better to be pulled over in NY State with a Texas drivers license than a NY State drivers license in Texas. Common sense you know. After explaining the whole Texas license vs. NY State license to the National Guardsman and showing the RCN bill I got through. Fortunately local cops were blocking Houston Street (Where there was a mile long string of Dump Trucks down the avenue) and knew me as the "Greg Allman" guy -- I have long hair and a beard. I got through and walked my bike to my apartment.
After I got home (the only Internet connection I have been able to use) and fixed servers in our Atlanta office to run our services, I walked out of my apartment to go to the only open restaurant in my neighborhood to eat -- Miladys. Down the street going to the restaurant, I walked into a man with a green shirt, blue jeans the color of kakis, a hard hat and welders goggles. He was walking in circles -- very wobbly. I walked up to him. He was a union man. The emblem over his heart said so. He was ruff. His arms were covered with tatoos. You could tell by looking at him, he had been working hard.
His eyes meet mine, raccooned by dust. He asked me for a cigarette. I just gave him my whole pack. He took it. Grabbed a cigarette out for himself and handed one to me. I lit his cigarette with my lighter then mine. He tried to give me the pack back. I told him to keep it.
We didn't talk beyond courtesies. He was quiet. He just told me one thing before walking away.
"I can cut the steel. It's what is between. I can't..."
That was it. I thought he was going to cry right before me. Instead, he just turned away from me after one puff of his cigarette and walked up Sullivan Street towards Houston Street. I never got his name or even his local. I wasn't shaking yesterday from the tragedy, after I met him, I have been.
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