Lucianne Goldberg

NEW YORKERS ARE A RELATIVELY impatient lot. Each of us has our own agenda. Our general reaction to changes in our environment is "What's in it for me?" and if it looks like something worth having, "Can I get it yesterday?" Around the World Trade Center where the dust is thick and heavy enough to hold graffiti for more than an hour, someone has written "War"and "God Help Us" and of course, untypeable obscenities as comments on the changes that took place on Black Tuesday. But we are a goal oriented group as well. On the wall at the epicenter someone has scrawled this suggestion on how to proceed. Rescue, Recover, Revenge. This shows our grim love of priorities. Save lives, recover the dead and then support a fire storm from hell to rain down on those who have to savagely tried to destroy us. We are still in the first two phases and very busy.

In order to understand the quiet ferocity under which we are currently living you have to know that New Yorkers are junkies about their city. Mainliners and stoners so hooked on the excitement, the people, the chance to change one's life that this great city promises and delivers, that they die a little when they have to be away from it for too long. New York is their White Lady. Their drug of choice and they cannot, will not live without it. This is why our Mayor cries when he talks of dead fire fighters. They die for this city and for us.

Today I got an E mail from a non-New Yorker whom I love a lot. A good and abiding friend who is not from here but from some bosky southern glen that drips moss and musk, where men say ma'am, still wear hats and tip them and ladies still use fans and talcum powder. He said this has all been too much, too horrible, too scary. He and his lovely southern wife and Bottecelliesque child want to leave - go anywhere where he can make a living - just go - get out of hell on earth where buildings blow up in the shimmering morning sun and snot-nosed teen-age cretins beat up innocent Arab American grocers on Atlantic Avenue.

Last night, he writes, he and his wife stopped in for a bite to eat at a local cafe. There was a firemen at a table. My friend's toddler recognized a hero and offered him his "sippie" cup. The most valuable thing the baby owned.

I wrote my friend that even though he was not a native New Yorker he shouldn't leave, that a child with that kind of judgment deserved to be raised here. Bring up a different kind of kid. One who doesn't cut and run when the going gets dusty and bloody and scary.

LAST NIGHT my older son Josh spent the night in the "hole" at the World Trade Center. They gave him a respirator, an iridescent flash vest, a hardhat that a falling steel beam would crack like a robin's egg, water and as many sandwiches as he had time to scarf down. Because he is a street level working New Yorker, he had the right shoes. This is a town where having proper foot gear can mean everything.

When the crew boss decided Josh was about to collapse with fatigue they told him to go lie down on one of the cots set up in the American Express building (later evacuated. It too, was about the go down.) On his way to a cot he noticed that other workers never made it to the building with the cots. They just sank down on the rubble and slept. Sometimes they fell down in puddles and slept. It didn't matter. When your bones weep, sleep is sleep.

The nightly news showed Clinton on the street here in New York. He was in front of Curry in the Hurry on Lexington Avenue miles from the scene or carnage. He had his arms around a comely, crying brunette holding a picture of a missing loved one. He was feeling her .....pain. Doing something for himself, not New York. Sorry, that may be crass but my loathing for his man requires medication. What, dear God, is he doing here in the first place?

Josh returned from his labors around 2 this afternoon. He had walked most of the way from downtown. He reported that as he dragged his dust covered body passed the loaded cafes, people applauded. A bartender was hanging out a flag in the Village. Josh had strength enough to remind him to fly it at half staff. He got home, showered, changed his crusted shirt and at 5 p.m. he went back downtown.

It is morning now and Josh has not returned from the "hole" where the biggest job is sorting body parts. Matching a leg to another leg, a hand to an arm. If he finds something he gives it to a medic who takes it to be logged. He and thousands are working like this hour on end. They are too old to own and offer a "sippie" cup. Their heart and spine is all they have to give. These are New Yorkers. They don't quit (Fuggetaboutit), they are tough (Wanna make somethin' of it?) and unforgiving (You gonna pay for that, man)

Rescue, recover....that's for now. Revenge?

Hey, bin Laden! Yo momma!

-- Anonymous, September 14, 2001

Answers

I'll raise my 'sippie cup' to honor the victims and those that are working to locate the less fortunate so they may have rest.

-- Anonymous, September 14, 2001

OG, I wasn't going to cry today, but this article did it.

-- Anonymous, September 14, 2001

Lucianne's son, Jonah Goldberg, was married about a week ago, I think it was. This, then, is his honeymoon.

-- Anonymous, September 14, 2001

Here's something from Jonah and his dog, Cosmo. Maybe he wasn't the one who got married. You know how befuddled I get sometimes.

NatlReview

A Nation’s Response On the road home with Cosmo.

September 14, 2001 1:00 p.m. Driving cross-country during a cataclysmic event like this is profoundly frustrating and deeply gratifying at the same time. It's frustrating because friends, family, and events all are in places I'm not. The added fact that all of this has happened in the two cities I call home makes things still more exasperating. Also, I can't catch up on the TV coverage or the newspapers until the very end of long days with Cosmo clamoring to punctuate the lawns of various Best Westerns and Holiday Inns in his own inimitable style.

On the other hand, it's wonderful because I get to experience thousands of small things the TV coverage misses: the flags hanging from overpasses and trailing car antennas; the truck drivers chatting up gas station clerks; the outbursts from old men, wearing their VFW pins and old Navy hats, as they read the morning paper over breakfast.

Admittedly, radio is not the ideal medium for a story like this, but its strengths highlight the fact that TV and print aren't perfect either. Indeed, CNN and ABC are often simulcast on the radio, and you can hear how much they rely on pictures. You can also pick up little things. Peter Jennings is a rambling jackass when not well rested; he doesn't ramble when he's had some sleep. ABC's John Miller is as great as I remembered. CNN's Paula Zahn uses the words "I" and "me" more than any other anchor.

At the same time, while it's no secret I don't consider NPR my North Star, their coverage has been superb (truth be told, I've always thought NPR was very good, just very liberal and unwilling to admit it, much like the New York Times or 60 Minutes — and unlike, say, Dan Rather or Bryant Gumbel). Because they can't tell the story with pictures, they rely on testimonials from victims and rescuers in a way that the networks don't. Listening to people describe their lost loved ones on the radio can put a lump in your throat awfully fast.

But not nearly as fast as what's on the local stations. I've driven about 2,000 miles through Washington, Oregon, Utah, Colorado, and Kansas. I scan the FM and AM bands at least twice an hour. I can't begin to tell you how many stations are broadcasting from United Way drives, Red Cross centers, or some other charity. The patriotic music is everywhere, including rebroadcasts of Congress singing "God Bless America," which still gets me every time. In fact, I can't count how many times a day I get choked up listening to all the shouts of firemen chanting "U.S.A.! U.S.A.!" — nevermind the sadder testimonials from wives looking for their husbands and the like.

Anyway, as Cosmo and I drive along the open road listening to and watching America react, we have some ideas, observations, and questions. Most of Cosmo's fall into the "Can I eat that?" "Do you smell cows? I smell cows!" and "This is very boring, are we there yet?" categories. So I've edited them out. But here are a few of mine:

You've got to wonder how happy Gary Condit is over all of this. It would take a terrorist attack of this magnitude to get the media off his tail. Still, I think Dick Gephardt and Denny Hastert should very quietly pull him off the Intelligence Committee while no one is looking. He will be a distraction when the hearings inevitably start, and perhaps even a security risk. If Condit is the patriot he says he is, he'll agree.

Another politician who's benefited from this tragedy is Rudy Giuliani. You can't dispute that he's been awesome, and I doubt anyone remembers that divorce silliness. So, I have an idea: Rudy was a zealous, indefatigable prosecutor and investigator before he became mayor. He's a lame duck mayor and his prospects as a national politician were tarnished in the last year. Wouldn't it be perfect, though, if he were appointed to head the "Retribution Task Force" (I made up that title, but it sounds good to me). As a Justice Department prosecutor, Giuliani put harmless stockbrokers in handcuffs and carted them out of their offices at shotgun point. One can only imagine how zealous he would be in pursuit of the people who blew up his city. He's got the talent, the personality, the experience — and, most important, he's pissed off enough. Let's make him the hammer of vengeance; we'll sleep better.

Have you ever noticed that bacon tastes just as good cold as it does hot? I once had bacon off the ground — it tasted great with a little dirt on it. Do you have any bacon? I would like some bacon. In fact, I'd like ham too. Actually, pretty much any luncheon meat would be good. Do you have any luncheon meat? Anything but pimento loaf would be great. Not that I'm turning down pimento loaf if that's all you've got….

Oops sorry. Cosmo got one in there.

Here's a theme that I will be coming back to a lot, here and elsewhere. I agree with the civil libertarians et al who don't want to live in a police state. I agree that we can't live in fear. I agree that we can't let the rat-bastards take away our freedom. But before we freak out, let's keep something in mind. Freedom and convenience are not the same thing. If airports go back to the security standards of, say, 15 years ago, that doesn't mean we've lost our freedom. It means we've lost some convenience. Think of it this way: Most libertarians and conservatives believe that our freedoms have been eroded over the last few decades or centuries. Well, that erosion of freedom has coincided with a rise in technological convenience. If you believe that America was more free when most people couldn't even afford to fly — or, going back further, when women spent much of their time churning butter — then you must be able to understand that personal convenience and political liberty operate independently of one another. If the government starts tapping our phones and searching our homes without warrants, we'll be less free. If the government requires two forms of ID to get on a plane, it will be more difficult to fly to Mardi Gras. There's a world of difference there.

Speaking of worlds of difference, there will be plenty of time to talk about Israel, and how this tragedy illustrates that their approach to terrorism isn't so unreasonable after all. Who would argue that assassinating these hijackers in advance wouldn't have been preferable to what happened Tuesday? Regardless, it does bear pointing out that Israel has declared a day of mourning. Average citizens are sending blood and donations. Israelis are weeping in the streets. Meanwhile, a few miles down the road, Palestinians are having tailgate parties and cheering. Indeed — the statements of their leaders to the contrary — it's about time we became a bit more clear-sighted about what people seem to think about us. See his story from the Agence France Presse, for example.

The response to yesterday's column ("Rebuild It, Bigger") has been huge. About eight million people have sent me this URL or ones like it. Also, I normally refuse to link to petitions and the like, for fear of being swamped with requests. But my buddy Nick Schulz has created a website dedicated to rebuilding the Towers, and if you're interested you should check this out. My favorite suggestion came from one reader who said we should rebuild the Towers with the names Freedom and Unity, and let the terrorists figure out what the initials stand for.

And while I'm plugging other people's work, I've got to call your attention to the contributions by my own flesh and blood. Both my brother and mother wrote pieces for NRO yesterday, and I am very proud of them both.

And lastly, speaking of my pride, please indulge me as I thank the gang in New York at NRO. The entire staff has been functioning off of one solitary phone line. When you look at the phenomenal work Kathryn Lopez, Chris McEvoy, Aaron Bailey, and the rest of the NRO gang have done — from Manhattan, with all of the inconveniences and distraction that geography entails — you have to be stunned by their dedication and hard work. I am profoundly grateful to be associated with them. Please send any encouragement or suggestions to nro_atwar@hotmail.com.

By the way, we'll be up and running on Sunday.

Okay, I gotta go now. C'mon Cosmo, bacon time. Hold the dirt.

-- Anonymous, September 14, 2001

rebuild it. Here is a suggested design.

-- Anonymous, September 14, 2001

I LOVE IT! ! Freedom and Unity. YES! !

-- Anonymous, September 14, 2001

Let me comment in Newyawkese: Poifick!!!

-- Anonymous, September 14, 2001

Can we put a little "fingernail" polish on the one in the middle?

Kinda reminds me of the bird. he he he

-- Anonymous, September 14, 2001

I see you are quick, sheeple.

Ahem...

-- Anonymous, September 14, 2001