Friday, December 28, 2001


today the viewing platform for ground zero -- the site of the tragic world trade center attack -- opened in a big way.

i'm working just 1-1/2 blocks from the platform, and when i arrived to work this morning at 9am, the sidewalks were already jammed with people waiting in line. the line extended from fulton street to park place, three people wide. i could scarcely get in the front door of the woolworth building.

while i'm very happy that so many people have come to new york to spend money and help us out, i do have mixed feelings about the crowds of tourists. what is it that they hope to experience standing on the plywood ramp, filming away? a sense of sympathy -- or the thrilling spectacle of shock, like riding a monster roller-coaster of grief? i have to hope the tourists mean well.

what seems most melancholy for me now is to walk by fulton street and see what was directly behind the twin towers -- the charred frame of the world financial center's once-sparkling winter garden, which then housed stately palm trees. the tall, elegant trees appear to have died.

i can so clearly remember going there, sitting below the trees, and listening to robert fripp play a quiet and understated ambient winter piece called soundscape. it was later broadcast on the public radio show new sounds. the haunting and delicate passages rose gently and brushed against the palm fronds before they spread out to coat the crystal panes of the garden's greenhouse roof. . .

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