The fireworks, then this world
Five years ago, this site wasn’t a blog. It was an infrequently updated personal page that housed little more than my resume and an archive of some of my old dead-trees writing. But I did manage to update it shortly after 9/11. Here’s what I wrote:
I spent one night working near the top of the World Trade Center. I don’t remember who I was working for—it was a one-off temp job, and I rarely kept track of the firms I worked for on that basis. It might have been Cantor Fitzgerald; it might have been AON; it might have been Sandler O’Neil; or it might have been a firm that moved out years ago. While I don’t remember the name of my temporary employer—or even which of the two towers I worked in—I remember just about everything else about that night, including the date: July 4, 1986.
For those too young to remember, July 4, 1986 was the centennial celebration of the Statue of Liberty. New York’s harbor was filled with tall ships, there were speeches and marching bands, and 1.5 billion television viewers watched Ronald Reagan rededicate the statue. The celebration also included what remains to this day the world’s largest fireworks display, created by Long Island’s Grucci family.
On July 3, I got a call from a temp agency asking if I’d be interested in work the next evening. Having recently finished college, I did a fair amount of odd-hours temp and freelance office work in those days, working for large corporations on evenings and weekends, so that I could pursue my writing on weekdays. So, when the agencies had an assignment for a hard-to-fill time—like the evening of July 4, during the biggest celebration in the city’s history—they knew to call me.
I immediately accepted the assignment, knowing two things that the agency probably hadn’t thought about: One was that there would almost definitely be virtually no work to do that night—not only was it July 4, but it was the Friday of what was, for many, a four-day weekend. More importantly, it was a chance to have a unique experience: To see a fireworks display not from the usual vantage point of ground level, but from a hundred stories up, looking down on the pyrotechnics.
When I got there, I saw immediately that my first assumption was correct. There were several temps there, along with a manager—and no work to be done. This was, after all, a year before the market crash of 1987, and it was routine for large companies to bring in temps at odd hours and keep them idling, on the off chance that someone would need to get some work done.
After a couple of hours, my second assumption was also proven correct. Given permission to view the fireworks, another temp and I wandered the deserted halls until we found a large office with an unobstructed view of the harbor. What we saw was a sight like no other. The sky glowed with reds, blues, greens, golds and whites. Starbursts bathed the statue and lit up the harbor for miles. From a hundred stories up, the fireworks took on the grace and beauty of a water ballet, viewed from a camera miles above.
Over the past 15 years, I’ve thought of that night whenever I’ve seen fireworks: each year on July 4th; on Chinese New Year when I was living in Hong Kong; and even at Disneyworld, during their daily light show. This week, as the lower Manhattan skyline was cruelly illuminated, I thought of that night once again.
My time at the top of the World Trade Center was brief, as it should have been. Like fireworks, which disappear into the ether so quickly that they’re gone before you have a chance to truly expeience them, a one-night temp assignment is something that, the next morning, seems like a half-remembered dream.
The Trade Center itself, however, should have lasted many lifetimes—and the lives of those who perished inside were far too brief. As I write these words, Sandler is missing over 60 employees, AON is still missing about 200 of its workers, and Cantor Fitzgerald is missing over 700 of its employees. I don’t know if I worked directly with any of the victims that night. Unlike far too many New Yorkers, so far I don’t have any close friends among the missing. And, if the Trade Center itself now sometimes seems like a half-remembered dream, it’s because my mind still can’t accept the reality of what happened to it and the thousands of people inside.
But I know that I’ll never look at fireworks the same way again. Each time I see them, I’ll try to remember what I saw and felt that night, and as the glow fades, I’ll think of those whose own chance to shine faded far, far too quickly.
New York, September 16, 2001
September 19th, 2006 17:45
This is truly moving. Many pretty words have been fashioned out of experiences of that day. Your last paragraph is among the few that, along with Minoru Yamasaki’s words, are poetic, solemn and sombre. Those over-used words; a fitting tribute.