A few nights ago, I couldn't sleep so I started thinking about this bar that I went to once in New York. I couldn't remember the name, but I had an idea of where it was, and remember what the inside looked like. I decided the best way to find out was to take a ride up there and walk around until I found it. I opted to head up on the 93 degree day instead of the 70 degree day because the hotter day was 9/11 and I thought it would also be nice to go down to ground zero and pay my respects.
I got up to Penn Station at about 9:30. I took the E right on down to the terminal station (World Trade Center). It was a very weird feeling taking the train downtown when, twelve years earlier, so many people desperately tried to go in the other direction. Right when you get up from the underground you are staring at the new World Trade Center building. It's magnificent. It stands like a pillar of American strength, rising up from the ashes of the devastating attacks that happened twelve years earlier. A slow procession of fireman went by. It was very moving; I put my sunglasses on at that point. I wandered around for a half hour or so trying to find out how to get into the memorial. As it turns out, it is only open to family on 9/11, so I decided to just kind of stand back and think. I have two 9/11 stories. One I will share now, one towards the end:
When my dad was an airline pilot, there was a flight attendant named Laura Gilly that worked for his company. Her mother was very afraid of her dying in an airplane accident so she finally convinced her to leave the company. She took a "safe" office job on the 105th floor of One World Trade Center and was killed that day when the airplane crashed about 10 floors below her. I stopped and thought about her for a while. Luckily I didn't know anybody, firsthand, that was killed that day.
It was a pretty somber experience down there; twelve years later it still hits me as hard as it did when I was in eighth grade. It felt nice to pay my respects though. I didn't want to spend all day in such a somber place so I got back on the E and headed up to 50th street. At that point I put my headphones in and started playing Simon and Garfunkel records (before I left that day I was able to get through all five). I started walking around midtown looking for that bar. After walking for a while I found it. I thought it would be rude to keep my headphones on in the bar, so I took them out. I walked in. I was the only one there (it was only 11:28). Bowie's Blue Jean was playing on the radio; they must have a nice radio because they played Bowie last time I was there. I was used to drinking Jameson neat there, so I sat at the empty bar and ordered one. The bartender was nice and also gave me a glass of water. I was pleasantly surprised when I got my drink; it came in a snifter. I forgot that they did that -- nice touch. Anyway, I sat where I used to sit and watched them do the roll call on the news. Shot the breeze with the bartender for a while, but he was pretty busy pouring wine for a group of ladies that came in for lunch. I took some pictures so I wouldn't forget and went back to the streets.
I also like that place McGee's. They claim to be the inspiration for How I Met Your Mother. I guess they're right. I generally feel like I have a pretty good lay of the land in New York, but missed the bar by about three blocks. I mustn't have been really on the ball that day. Finally I found McGee's and walked inside. I don't like whiskey and coke too much, but I ordered a Jameson and Coke nonetheless. Normally there is some pretentious guy in there that will argue with you about how you shouldn't waste Jameson in Coke. I was in the mood to argue about that so I gave it a try. I think you should be able to do whatever the hell makes you happy. If you like Jameson in your cola so be it. Nobody gave me any crap so I drank down the drink and ordered a Guinness (like I said, I didn't really care for Jameson and Coke so I figured I'd get something I liked). The bartender was nice and let me keep my coaster.
With my S&G back on I walked up Central Park West to the Dakota. Every time I go to New York I feel the need to make the pilgrimage there. John Lennon was killed eight years before I was born, but his music was very important to me, especially in my high school days. I took a break from S&G to listen to the Imagine album as I walked by the Dakota and headed into the park. I stopped in Strawberry Fields and reflected on things; that was nice. I'm a blessed guy. That's a real positive place for me, despite its proximity to the Dakota.
I'm reading this biography on J.D. Salinger, so I reread through Catcher in the Rye to familiarize myself. For kicks, I figured I'd walk on down to the pond and look for the ducks. In no way could I have stood going to the lake anyway. I get that it's kind of messed up going on a Catcher in the Rye journey immediately after standing at the Dakota, but what the heck. I've been a Lennon fan much longer, and one crazy guy's actions shouldn't ruin it. And they are close to each other. I decided to take a new way there because the way I usually go wasn't seeming to appealing to me, just like the lake wasn't. I walked by the zoo for the first time which was nice (The monkeys stand for honesty, giraffes are insincere, and the elephants are kindly but they're dumb. Orangutans are skeptical of changes in their cages, and the zookeeper is very fond of rum). Great song sure, but the zoo didn't seem to have any giraffes or elephants. Oh well, it was still nice to see.
I got down to the pond and took some photos of the ducks. I brought my Moleskine with me and went to sit on a bench to do some writing (yes I write poems, and yes, they aren't very good). When I got to the bench there were already two women there writing in their Moleskines. I figured that was enough for one bench so I headed down to meet my buddy for lunch. I haven't seen my friend in five years, so it was nice to catch up. He works on the West Side (I don't go there very often).
After lunch I wanted to go find Rescue 1. My phone had died and I couldn't recall the address so I walked around until I found a fire station. I went inside and thanked all of the guys for their service and asked them where it was. I walked for about 20 minutes until I arrived and banged on the door of the firehouse. I fireman about fifty years old answered the door and asked if he could help me. I just kind of looked at him weird and told him that this was pretty random, but I needed to tell him something:
My dad is from Long Island and was always fascinated by the fire department (for those of you who aren't familiar, Rescue 1 is the main rescue truck that operated in Manhattan (each borough has one)). Every time we would go into the city and heard sirens, we'd go running and look to see if it was Rescue 1. My mom even got me and my dad matching Rescue 1 shirts. When I was 12 my parents and I went to New York. We decided to go visit Rescue 1. The guys there were all very nice. A few of them came down to talk to us and answer questions. One took us on a very thorough tour of the truck and let us play with their thermal imaging goggles and stuff like that. It made a huge impact on me. A memory that will stay with me forever. Later that day we were way downtown and my mom suggested that we go into the lobby of one of the twin towers (don't remember which (we were also looking for a bathroom to relieve my 12 year old bladder)). We went in, couldn't find a bathroom and left. That was in August of 2001. A month later, neither of those buildings would be standing and 11 of Rescue 1's 25 fireman would be dead. They were some of the first in and one of the heaviest hit. When I look at their pictures, I can't recall if any of them were the guys who were so nice to me. I never really thanked them for being so nice, and for risking their lives for strangers.
I shook the guys hand and said thank you. I was teary eyed and he was too. He invited me in and let me walk around the truck for a while. It was very nice, somber, but nice. Some of the other fireman came in so I shook their hands and thanked them for everything. I didn't want to get in their way so I left pretty quickly.
Finally I headed over to St. Patrick's Cathedral. Some girl named Katie got me to take my earphones off and then tried to sell me comedy club tickets. I didn't bite, but we talked about The League and 30 Rock for a while. It was nice talking to her. She's taking improv classes; hopefully it works out for her. Anyway, I wanted to get into the crypts to visit the tomb of Archbishop Fulton J. Sheen, but I couldn't since I wasn't family. He's helped me through a lot recently. I've been reading a bunch of his books, and watching the reruns of his television program. He's a wise man and I suggest that everybody, regardless of religious affiliation, check his stuff out. It's very, very helpful, especially if you are looking for inner peace. I knelt down and said some prayers for my loved ones. Then I thanked God for letting me live.
As usual, I fell asleep on the train ride home, but I woke up in time and didn't wind up getting stuck in Trenton.
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