by Patricia Harty
“One hundred and fifty years after the Famine, the
spirit of the Irish people was the backbone which America
relied upon during the worst attack in our nation’s history.”
- Rudy Giuliani at the Irish Famine memorial dedication
in New York.
It’s
hard to believe it’s only a year. So much has changed, it
seems as if it should have taken several lifetimes.
The oddest thing is that people who never wanted to come
to New York want to come here now. The myth of the scary
New Yorker has been banished. Some visitors want to be part
of the experience, to touch the humanity that came out of
it; others come to gape at the big hole where the Twin Towers
used to be. It’s too bad they didn’t come before, because
the view from the top was terrific. No other sight of man-made
beauty was ever so awe-inspiring.
Now there’s just a hole and a squabble to decide what
to build. What kind of a memorial do you build when a piece
of the world dies?
Across the river in Brooklyn, with its view of downtown
Manhattan, the most unlikely people have come together to
plant a garden in the shape of the towers. We’re tough,
we don’t do this sort of thing, one Brooklynite explains,
but they do now. New Yorkers showed the world what they
were made of.
As Pete Hamill on a recent MSNBC show said, “It’s about
being knocked down, but getting up. Because any good story
begins when the guy gets up. And this town got up with tenacity
and decency and fairly good manners to show that they were
not going to stay on the floor. And they got up very quickly.”
On a beautiful day like today it’s easy to forget that
anything wrong happened in our city. On my early morning
walk, a breeze blows in from the river, a group of police
academy plebes get ready for a workout. Their names, printed
on the back of grey t-shirts, speak of ancestors who came
here from all over the world. One is named Romance. Later
as I walk to work, a bird sings somewhere in the trees,
a man whistles as he empties his car onto the sidewalk,
a woman walks by talking to herself and she’s not on a cell
phone. I get my bagel and tea from the Indian man on the
corner, it’s still a dollar.
But it’s always there in the back of the mind. It just
takes a fire siren, or catching sight of a poster of a missing
person, still clinging to a lamppost, to bring it all back.
As an editor I wondered about covering the one year anniversary
of September 11. There are those who say we have to move
on. But I believe there is the need to remember what terrible
life changes have been wrought on so many, and make sure
that the families of those who lost someone know that they
will not be forgotten.
Lynn
Tierney, writing in this issue has found the words to eloquently
tell the story of five fathers who went down to Ground Zero
in search of their firefighter sons. Though Lynn has left
the FDNY, she has a firefighter’s heart and the ability
to show the sorrow but also the true caliber of these men.
In this issue also, Dennis Smith offers his opinions
on why the towers fell. Though no one could have predicted
the possibility of two planes hitting the towers straight
on, his is a cautionary tale of the need for stricter fire
regulations.
But it’s very difficult to communicate in words what
Peter Foley’s photographs capture in images. His cover photograph
of a New York City firefighter staring up at the twin beams
of light, just moments before they were turned off for the
final time, says it all. As do his photographs of the closing
ceremony at Ground Zero and memorial services, including
one of the final funerals, that of firefighter Tom Butler.
Photographs are powerful documents. Indeed, in another
story also in this issue, there is a photograph of three
people: Richard Moore, who was blinded at age 10 by a rubber
bullet, Clare Gallagher who lost her sight in the Omagh
bombing, and Kim Phuc from Vietnam. In a famous 1972 war
photo Phuc was a little girl running naked down a road after
a napalm attack. This photograph caused such a public outcry
that it helped to stop American involvement in Vietnam.
Some day there will be a memorial at Ground Zero. In
the meantime, just a couple of block away, there is a memorial
to the Irish Famine (see story page 14) that reminds us
that “so much that is exquisitely beautiful is wrought from
suffering” (Oscar Wilde).
It’s a memorial that speaks of survival, of hope, and
it’s a tribute to the courage of our ancestors and the contribution
that they have made to America since that first boatload
of starving Irish arrived on Manhattan’s shores. As former
New York Mayor Rudy Giuliani said at the dedication ceremony:
“One hundred and fifty years after the Famine, the spirit
of the Irish people was the backbone which America relied
upon during the worst attack in our nation’s history.”
It’s one year later and we have seen tremendous changes
but we have also been strengthened by the courage and caring
of so many. We go on.
