During the arrival of the year 2000 there was little more than a computer’s yawn.
Nothing to do with Y2K but along with the new century’s events of what was predictable as well as some surprises, it did not take long to bring about a day that was to be known as an important date in the biography of life on earth with that date being filled with both the torment of hell performed by human’s evil, and the heroism performed by human Gods and Goddesses.
THEME THIRTY-FIVE
“LET’S ROLL”
RAJ HAD BEEN STAYING in his New York office for over three successive nights in September of 2001 and now his fourth day, all since Tuesday, with continued standing and pacing and standing again and again by its southern-most window overlooking what was now known as Ground Zero of 9-11.
It started moments after 8:46 A.M. of Tuesday, September the 11th when he was writing a radio commentary about the L.A. Dodgers when his secretary, Mrs. Rhonda Erickson, shouted into his intercom box to turn on his television set. “Any channel, I think! I think it’s on everything! An airplane crashed into the North Tower of the World Trade Center! Maybe you can even see it through your window!”
“Come in! Come in!” Raj shouted back. “Get it for me!”
As she fiddled with the television he said to her, “The same thing happened years ago to the Empire State Building. I read about it. This is probably another accident like that one when that small plane crashed into the Empire State Building.”
She didn’t answer. It wasn’t worth answering. The image of the World Trade Center’s North Tower came on the screen with smoke pouring from upper stories and there was no question that this was not like what had happened to the Empire State Building years back.
At 9:03 A.M. there came another airliner, this one crashing into the South Tower of the World Trade Center. “Oh, My God!” Mrs. Erickson almost screamed. “Another plane! Oh, my God! This is no accident! This is something else! These are airlines! This is what the pilots want! This is intentional!”
Raj was silent. The realization of the grim unthinkable importance was coming to both of them and to all of New York and to the entire United States and to most of the world. It was as though there was a contagion of disbelief and fear from the recognition of the horror that had happened and dread of what might happen next.
On the lower New York streets people ran away from the scene as they were covered with soot and some were screaming and people from within the two buildings ran down stairs if they could while there were those who jumped out of windows, their lives ending on the streets below.
Both of the two towers collapsed.
At 9:37 A.M. a third airliner crashed; this one into the west side of the Pentagon Building in Virginia.
At 10:03 A.M. a fourth airliner, UAL Flight 93, that veered off course from its intended target of hitting Washington, D.C. but it crashed into a desolate and unoccupied field in Somerset County of Shanksville, Pennsylvania, with its passengers having rescued the targeted objective of either the United States Capitol Building or the White House from the destruction of the hijackers.
9-11 ended with casualties greater than Pearl Harbor of some sixty years ago.
All those four flights of 9-11 had been hijacked by al Qaeda Islamist terrorists hosted and supported by the Taliban Government of Afghanistan.
On this year’s 9-11 President George W. Bush had said in a speech to the nation, “Today our nation saw evil; the very worst of human nature and we responded with the best of America; with the daring of our Rescue Workers, with the caring for strangers and neighbors…Tonight I ask for your prayers for all those who grieve, for the children whose worlds have been shattered, for all those whose sense of safety and security has been threatened…And I pray they will be comforted by a power greater than any of us, spoken through the ages in Pslam 23: ‘Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I fear no evil, for You are with me.’
“America has stood down enemies before, and we will do so this time. None of us will ever forget this day, yet we go forward to defend freedom and all that is good and just in our world. Thank You. Good night and God Bless America.”
And so, like an FDR echo, this was a day of infamy.
Then on Friday, September the 14th, the third day since the recent hell started, the President stood amidst Rescue Workers and piles of smoldering rubble on Ground Zero and with his left arm around the shoulder of a Rescue Worker and his right arm holding a bullhorn, the President said: “Thank you all. I want you all to know—” and some man yelled from the crowd that he couldn’t hear the President.
President Bush answered that it (meaning the bullhorn) “can’t go any louder. I want you all to know that America today, America today is on bended knee, in prayer for the people whose lives were lost here; for the workers who work here; for the families who mourn. The nation stands with the good people of New York City and New Jersey and Connecticut as we mourn the loss of thousands of our citizens.”
Again, a Rescue Worker shouting: “I can’t hear you!”
President Bush answered, “I can hear you! I can hear you! The rest of the world hears you! And the people—and the people who knocked these buildings down will hear all of us soon!”
The Rescue workers started chanting: “U.S.A.! U.S.A.! U.S.A.! U.S.A.! U.S.A.! U.S.A.! U.S.A.! U.S.A.!”
President Bush responded: The nation—The nation sends its love and compassion—”
A Rescue Worker interrupted with: “God Bless America!”
President Bush continued, “—to everybody who is here. Thank you for your hard work. Thank you for making the nation proud, and may God bless America!”
Again there was the chant of Rescue Workers: “U.S.A.! U.S.A.! U.S.A.! U.S.A.! U.S.A.! U.S.A.! U.S.A.! U.S.A.!”
On Friday Mrs. Rhonda Erickson was becoming scared that her boss, Raj Bahvnani was in psychological ruin. “I’m sorry,” he said to her. “I’m sorry I said anything bad about the architecture of those two towers. They were the most beautiful towers I ever saw. I apologize, Eric.”
To her relief a message came that she believed might be a comfort to hear. “Mr. Christopher Straw is on Number Three. Do you want his call?”
Raj grabbed the phone. “Get him on, Eric! Get him on!”
The voice of Chris said, “Raj? Raj Bhavnani?”
“Yes, yes! Christopher Straw?”
“Are you okay, Raj? That’s all I want to know. Are you okay?”
“Thank you for caring. No, no one is okay. But I am not physically hurt. I was not down there. But no one is okay. Our hearts; our souls are all critically hurt. Everyone. Can’t shake it.”
“I understand.”
Raj asked, “Where are you?”
“I’m home. San Diego. You’re alright then?”
“Do you know that it smells in here? At this distance from where the Towers were downtown, this midtown office without open windows and after three days it still smells of the fire and smoke and ruin and death and all that and it doesn’t go away. I’m not sure it will go away—ever.”
“It will go away.”
“No. There are some things that never go away. Did you hear what the passengers did on that Flight—UAL Flight 93? Some passenger said to fellow passengers, ‘Let’s roll’! Can you imagine? And they all agreed and they all knew they would crash into somewhere a—crash and be killed so as to avoid the Islamist terrorists crashing into the lives of our government in D.C.”
“Todd Beamer.”
“What?”
“Todd Beamer. He’s the man that said, ‘Are you ready? Okay—Let’s roll.’ And there were all those passengers in that airliner whose lives were lost insuring that the target of the murderers would be denied. The actions of those passengers were meant to save the leadership and shrines of our nation. And they did save them. The idols of 9-11 proved the United States really is the home of the brave, not just a lyric. And there are new stories told of other American heroes, too. You probably
heard of them: the fire fighters running in when others were running out—and then after Tuesday was done there were others on Wednesday and yesterday and today by the Armed Forces and those in intelligence agencies. Absolute heroes emerged from absolute anonymity. They have become idols with good reason. They went to fight the fires and police the towers, knowing they could lose their lives—lose their lives in their attempt to rescue strangers. And many did. That’s the ultimate morality—risking life to rescue a stranger.”
“Chris?”
“Yes?”
“It’s like everything lives in the shadow of what happened last Tuesday. There is nothing else. Do you know what I mean?”
“Yes.”
“I have a window view and I can see—I can see that horrible vacancy. That’s what’s there. And still the smoldering. And everything that happened before 9-11 was like a different and better life—the way I saw it before Tuesday. And I want to confess—I had been privately—I was critical of the World Trade Towers. I was. I was. I thought—and even said that the World Trade Towers were terrible examples of architecture. But since Tuesday, when I saw and know what happened, those two towers were magnificent; like religious shrines. I miss them beyond any of my words can express. If I could exchange my entire bank account and things—things—possessions—to bring them back into view, I would do so in an instant. In an instant. No—that is not enough. My entire fortune is irrelevant compared to those towers. Although only one person, Eric; Mrs. Erickson heard my criticism of the towers, that criticism was petty; so petty. I apologized to Mrs. Erickson after all this. But in addition to being critical of the towers to Eric, I heard myself criticizing the towers too, and that hurts indelibly.”
“Raj, don’t do that to yourself. Enough hurting yourself. The terrorists have done it to us. We didn’t do it to ourselves. But we have to live with it. This is a world war. It’s another world war. It has to be. World War Four.”
“Three.”
Chris didn’t say anything. Nor did Raj. Neither one surely didn’t want to argue numbers of wars. Since the silence went on too long Chris offered, “Raj, we are going to win this war. Come and visit Savannah and me when you can.”
There was silence.
“Raj, will you do that?”
“Do you mean it?”
“I mean it.”
“That would be such a contrast. That would be so good.”
“The Bahia Hotel in Mission Beach; part of San Diego. That’s where we live. When you get tired of Washington, D.C. and New York just let me know when you’ll be able to come out.”
“You’re kind. I’ll be there. I’ll let you know and I’ll be there sooner than you think. I’ll do it when I can get myself together. It gives me another reason to get myself together.”
“Raj, in the meantime please do me a favor. Close the blinds or shades or whatever can cover that window. Close them and leave them closed.”
“I will.”
“Don’t look at the vacancy anymore. There’s nothing to see.”
lost melodies
THEME THIRTY-SIX
ON SHELTER ISLAND
IT IS CUSTOM ARY TO THINK that old age comes slowly; one symptom after another with wide spaces between those indicators of time-passage to body and maybe to mind. But there should be little surprise to some if it comes not slowly, but with something that makes the changes come almost all at once, like snapping the fingers. Somehow, the push of one millennium off the calendar substituted by a new unlived millennium caused many to be pushed into the category of the quick-aged for no better or worse reason than that a huge chunk of time-designation had passed with a new entance in its place. Not even two years after the year 2000 started, 9-11 changed the belief that this new millennium was going to be better than the previous one. In addition, other than personal joys and tragedies, the old date of the Kennedy assassination marking a world-known change of time seemed to have faded with the age of generations and the date of November the 22nd changing into more and more of a regular date to the young and then as that generation grew older, to some there came September the 11th taking precedence as the new memorized date.
As was true for all generations, those who had been national leaders or entertainers or tremendously wealthy found they were not exempt from the aging process, with the only thing different for them from others was that they were foolishly surprised that just like other people, they too were immersed by the duties and doctor-visits that older age demanded, or from the things that brought its once-heard-of-displeasures into reality.
Christopher Straw and Anna Lane and Raj Bhavnani were to different degrees, of course, creatures of the 20th Century, appearing by the new kids on the block to be relics of those older folk who probably remember dinosaurs roaming the planet and maybe have some dinosaur-skins hanging in their trophy rooms.
To other diners, it was a unique threesome at diner at the Bali Hai Restaurant on San Diego’s Shelter Island where Raj Bhavnani conceded to an unmentioned fact noticed by his hosts: “I have aged into being older than before. Everyone ages but I’m afraid I am too rapidly ageing into an old man. I have a cane. See?” And he lifted the cane he had hidden by his side of the table.
Savannah immediately asked him, “How long will you need to have it? I mean can you still dance?”
“Dance!? I can barely walk.”
“Will that last?”
“It’s just for a while. Maybe a couple weeks. I fell. Maybe I’ll need this cane for another two weeks or so. Maybe more. I’m okay. I really am. I named it, you know. I named it.”
“Named what?” Chris didn’t know what he meant.
“The cane.”
“Oh. You named the cane? What’s its name?”
“I named it ‘Citizen.’ Citizen Cane. I think they’re going to make a movie about it.”
Chris and Anna exchanged smiles and nods. “He’s the same, honey,” Anna said. “And you, Raj, are you really okay?”
“Fine, fine. Good, good. And you, Christopher Straw, has aged only one year for ten years of mine. While you, Savannah, you avoided it altogether as I suppose you found and drank from the Fountain of Youth in Rome. Was it in Rome? If so, I missed it.”
Anna smiled, “Ponce de Leon is said to have found that fountain somewhere on Florida’s east coast as ‘fah nowth’ as Jacksonville—but probably right below Jacksonville in Saint Augustine and maybe it was as ‘fah’ south as Port Saint Lucie.”
Raj nodded. “I knew you’d know! That’s where it is! You drank from it! I knew it!”
Chris nodded. “She’s right; it’s Florida,” and he nodded at Anna. “But that’s a lot of territory you just outlined, honey, and some years back I knew it was supposed to be in Florida but I thought the Fountain of Youth was in the Cape: Cape Canaveral. That’s because I was told it was there and someone I trusted pointed to what appeared to be a natural small falls there so I drank from it and it didn’t do me one bit of good and it tasted funny. I think it made me older. It sure made me sick for a while.”
“Do you still go down there?” Raj asked. “Do you still go back and forth to Cape Canaveral for space launches?”
Chris shook his head. “No. I kicked myself out before the government would retire me from NASA. They staged a tribute to me. Filled with my friends. But sometimes tributes aren’t as good as the name ‘tribute’ implies. I know that all too often they are like a thoughtful, kind, caring and sympathetic firing squad. Your working years have become an organizational liability.”
“Well said,” Raj nodded. “So what are you doing? No more going to the moon?”
“Lately private-enterprise is getting into space exploration and maybe I’ll try to be working with one of them—one in the private sector of space so that I won’t leave the field and I won‘t let space exploration leave me. I’ll see if that works out. At least for my well-being.” He then looked down, pretending to be interested in the menu, and he turned to Raj with a forced smile. “Now, how abo
ut you, Raj? The governments of India and the U.S. leaving you be?”
“Same things.”
“Still comfortable in the Old Post Office Building in D.C. and going back and forth to New York?”
“Yes on D.C. No on New York. I took your advice and never looked through that window again—the window that overlooks the south end of Manhattan. I told the powers behind my work that I wanted to stay in D.C. and maybe some trips to India. I miss India. No more New York. They agreed. They understood. That window in New York was too much of a reminder of what it once framed in glass. In retrospect, it used to be a glorious view I never appreciated.”
Chris nodded. “Good that you’ll be doing what you want. You’re going to stay with the Voice of America and Air India Radio, then?”
“They’re keeping me. It’s just because of my voice. That’s what the audience knows. Age hasn’t changed my voice. It’s the only thing about my physical presence that’s just the way it used to be,” and he laughed loudly.
“Raj,” Anna said softly with a smile, “You look exactly as you always looked and you act the way you always acted—sassy and mean and frightening and ornery,” and she couldn’t help but laugh at her own remark.
“Thank you!” he said. “That’s the nicest thing that anyone said about me in a long time!”
Savannah didn‘t fight that. “I think it’s time that either Chris or I gave you a compliment! Raj, you do a wonderful radio broadcast!”
Raj said, “Radio has been kind to me. You know what they say about children? They say that children should be seen and not heard. I agree with that and I believe that those who have become old enough to be called elderly, by and large, should be content with themselves by being the opposite of children and be heard and not seen. So that makes radio wonderful for someone like me. I am thankful I haven’t been on television. If I had been I would have been kicked out of work years ago.”
Raising the Baton Page 25