It's hard to believe 10 years have passed since the planes, since we ran down 6th Avenue towards the crumbling spires, into a cloud of dust, death and despair, even when the ache in my limbs and lines in my face remind me that it's true. I find myself in South Street Seaport, in the downtown area of Manhattan, a lot these days, and when I glance down Fulton I see the "Freedom" Tower slowly, finally, rising into the sky, and it seems to me that the thing should have been completed YEARS ago, not, appallingly, still in the midst of construction 10 years later. But here it is, and rather than allow myself to be consumed in morbid
memorials and maudlin shows of sentimentality as the 24-hour news networks, politicians and, ultimately, our enemies would have us do, I'm going to go on about my life, thankful for it and trying to make the most of it.
That said, a tribute is necessary, a moment of remembrance and a bow to the heroes, living and dead, who sacrificed to help the people of this city and country in those shocking times. There have been some touching ones, simple and poignant, and I'm glad for them. This is mine, or rather, ours:
Back in 2001, my friend and now roommate, Luke Crane, was publishing a magazine called "New York Fucking City," or "NYfC," and for that month's issue, he collected all the emails and messages from our circle of friends from that day, that we had sent out to friends and family to let them know we were okay and what was going on in the city. He also included pictures taken that day, while we went down and tried to help. And he crossed out the "F" on the cover, making it NYfC, which I've always thought was just right.
So here, in tribute to that time, is that issue. There's a lot there - my own entry starts on Page 25 - but it is what it is.
Best wishes,
Shy
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