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A Scalp Of Vigilance GROUND ZERO, New York
City, August 11--"I found a scalp over there."
When I finally talked to her, I noted something
different in her Voice. The beautiful 30-year-old child who
had dreamed of being a special agent had now turned into a grave digger,
donning a mask to keep the stench of death from gagging her, and turning
over chunks of blasted concrete one by one in hopes of finding
survivors of a Terrorist attack that ripped through the heart of
Americans, and shattered our sense of peace from foreign invaders.
The sunsets are breathtaking this time of year. Old sol takes on the hue of golden orange as he settles down between the high rises of Hoboken, New Jersey. Rays of fiery orange splatter off the shiny chrome railings of the playground's self-propelled merry-go-round as young, joyous children pedal and laugh, and yell in glee. It is always refreshing to listen to the cheers of the Innocent, the children who will inherit legacies we leave behind--some good, some bad.
Over the past year, we had avoided the playground for obvious reasons. We didn't want the kids to see the destruction of Lower Manhattan, plus, there was a concern among parents the sand was contaminated from the fallout. The park is relatively close to the World Trade Center, and the entire area was covered with ash. A famous picture taken o September 11 shows the park drenched in ash, with empty strollers everywhere where mothers grabbed their children and ran, leaving behind anything that might slow them down. Recently, all the sand in the playground was replaced, part of the renewal of the area, symbolic of Lower Manhattan's rebirth.
The area has been struggling to regenerate its once magnificent power this summer.. Over 500 free events have been scheduled to attract people back, and last night on the Esplanade Plaza, an open area where concerts and events are held, Irish step dancing was featured. An Irish band played music and helped onlookers learn to dance, including the children. Little attention was paid to the great hole in the sky, a gaping vacancy in the heavens where the Twin Towers once stood vigil over the city.
After dancing, we went to the children's park to play and picnic. Our oldest daughter had her three children with her, Matt, 6, Sarah, 4, and the newest addition, a little boy six weeks old, conceived in the aftermath of 9-11. We ate and played with the kids, their endless energy a reminder of the power of youth. As the sun set deeper into the skyline, and the light began to fade, we packed up and began to wend our way home to cake, ice cream and the opening of presents. My younger daughter, the federal agent and I, led the way down a narrow passageway, fortressed on each side by thick chain link fences guarding new construction that was underway to reface the area. As we existed the passageway into an open area near Murray and West End, my daughter pointed to the open field and said, "I found a scalp there."
"You could spend a good part of your life
tracking down the story," I said, "of the person you found.
You could search records and find out who he or she was. You could
write a heck of a story about that."
One of my closest friends in New York City
lost her brother, a war photographer, to the disaster of 9-11. William
(Bill) Biggart was known for his uncanny ability to thrust his camera into
the face of war, capturing it full-frame. He rarely used his
telescopic lens, preferring instead to be within inches of whatever or
whomever he shot. He had been with the firemen when the first
building collapsed. They only found his hand and his photo
equipment, but his hand was enough to identify him. It gave his
family closure that he wasn't an MIA. Over half of those
killed on September 11 have never been positively identified because no
part of their remains could not be found.
Regardless of finding any positive
identification of those countless MIAs of 9-11, I believed their Spirits
of Vigilance stood tall, proud and recognizable above Ground Zero.
They may have lost their human form, but not their Spiritual Form . I
have seen them since the first day of Ground Zero, standing alert as
reminders to us all that Terrorism is about injecting Fear, Intimidation
and Complacency into its victims. I knew they were Sentinels of
Vigilance, promoting and encouraging us all to face Fear with Courage, to
overpower Intimidation with Conviction. Rather than feel Complacent
that we were powerless, the Spirits of Vigilance were calling us to muster the Courage and Conviction to take the
Right Action to protect our children, and their children's children's
children from future harm, rather than abdicate that responsibility to
government or others.
I also thought about the Sands of
Innocence, the fresh new sand that filled the playground. It
was composed of millions of grains, small, and by some viewpoints,
insignificant grains. But, when put together in one sandbox,
they became a powerful platform of protection for a child, limiting any
damage if a child fell, and providing endless ways to dig it, pile it up,
pour it, redig it. The sand had been washed clean.
The children were a little safer.
Go Aug. 10--Wives Of Vigilance
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