By Charlotte K. Jarmy
Reflections
Over and over they tell us, “The world will never be the same again,” and “Go back to your normal life. Don’t panic but be alert.”
The first quote came shortly after the World Trade Center disaster, and how can I disagree? The second admonition came after the expected bombing of Afghanistan, and I have trouble following that advice. Don’t you think they conflict?
Don’t panic? Sorry, but my nervous system is in a state of disbelief, rage and fear. I see an airplane high in the blue sky with the sun brightly shining on the silver wings. It takes a microsecond to move from admiration to painful memory. We had tickets to the Napa Wine Train, and I tell Howard, “We can’t go via the Golden Gate Bridge.” It took longer to arrive in Napa via 880, but we breathed easily as we rode the train in total enjoyment of the gourmet lunch. Did we put our lives in danger on accident-prone 880 plus scarfing down all those calories? Maybe, but my fear factor slept peacefully.
“Normal way of life?” Here we are surrounded by old glory in every size and my car carries a sign that says, “I Am Proud To Be American.” But I worry about Ron riding BART under the Bay to San Francisco every day and returning to Moraga through the tunnel on Highway 24. Worst of all, I find it impossible to turn off the constant talking heads on every TV channel warning us of the possibility of anthrax or smallpox poisoning.
This is not normal, folks! I haven’t seen a movie in weeks and find it hard to concentrate on the books I have started to read. What I have finally realized that, despite the intervening years, I am still a New Yorker. I thought I hated the dirty streets, the mobs of people who rush past with detached expressions, the perils of riding the crowded subways and the towering concrete buildings with their indifferent symbols of massive power.
But then, there’s the view from the Empire State Building when I finally made it to the top, though I had once worked there during the summer. The 23rd floor was enough for me as the elevator whooshed us up with stomach-twisting speed. What a fantasy city with its skyline reaching up and up, and its rivers embracing the land and running out to the ocean to meet Lady Liberty holding up her torch. She is a symbol of our country’s strength and caring.
As a teenager, I reveled in the energy and endless possibilities in the Times Square area with its neon lights, its huge signs that moved magically, its constant flow of traffic that demanded the right of way and the odors that drew one to the hot dog stands or the Chock Full of Nuts, far more fun than today’s Starbucks. Then there was the theater district with the names of the famous up high, and the movie houses, like the world-famous Radio City Music Hall.
Even with little money to spend, we loved Fifth Avenue’s deluxe department stores and its double-decker buses open to the breezes.
The real money was on the East Side where quiet mansions reminded us that it was all right to dream. Central Park was an oasis. We lolled on the grass and rowed on the lake. What an escape from city streets.
I am a New Yorker who left before the twin towers were built. Yet I feel rage at the inhumane cruelty of the Sept. 11 attack. Constant sorrow wells up at the sight of the devastation and the loss of human lives, leaving families and friends bereft and confused. I am not ready to march for peace, dear as I hold that dream in my heart. I am not ready to love my enemies, nor will I ever be. I am ready to help the suffering and will continue to do so.
We will try to be alert and knowledgeable, allowing our minds to take over, as the unbearable emotion moves to a quiet spot in the brain. Never to forget.
Jarmy’s column is published the third week of the month. Send comments and suggestions to her c/o editor Bruce Barton at bruceb@latc.com.
