LaurieGarrett.com

DAY SIXTY-THREE:

Nov. 12:

It happened again. Maybe it wasn't terrorism this time. Maybe it was. Regardless, once again New York awoke to the tragedy of a plane crashing into the city, taking all of its passengers into another inferno.

American Airlines flight 587 had just lifted off from JFK Airport, bound for Santo Domingo, reached an altitude of 2800 feet and made three minutes into its journey when it crashed into the Far Rockaways, Queens. The plane crashed into a neighborhood inhabited by police, firefighters and retired officers, many of who died two months ago in the World Trade Center.

Yesterday I spoke in Minneapolis to several hundred HIV/AIDS nurses. This morning I queued up at the gate for my 9:22am flight home, hoping to be in the office by 1pm. But at 8:50 the gate attendant announced there would be, "a slight delay due to a problem in New York." Though the words were banal, the gentleman's tone implied something worse. Something terrible.

A quick call to the news desk at Newsday revealed that a jet had crashed into Queens. Information was sketchy at that point, but already Mayor Giuliani had ordered all airports, bridges and tunnels into New York closed.

For three hours I wandered around the Minneapolis airport, making arrangements to get back to New York and catching news on the television monitors scattered throughout the terminal. A crowd gathered around a particular cluster of monitors, anxiously watching, saying nothing, fear written clearly on many faces. My La Guardia flight was, of course, cancelled, and I monitored as best I could what choices fellow would-be passengers made. An elderly woman begged to be allowed on the next flight to Philadelphia apparently unfazed by any possible danger. But a young businesswoman angrily shouted into her cell phone, "I don't care how important the meeting is, I'm not coming to New York!" Two women standing next to me as I booked a new flight to the small White Plains airport located north of the city gaily chatted about how happy they were that they could go back to their Minnesota homes. "Nothing could get me to New York now," one said.

"My husband never wanted me to go in the first place," the other said, "and now he'll spend all night saying, 'I told you so.'"

The flight to White Plains was smooth, and deceptive: it revealed nothing of the grief blow.. Coming down the Hudson River Valley in late afternoon, autumn light casting a glow over the red and orange trees. The picturesque view outside my jet window seemed tranquil, serene, and lovely.

I made it from White Plains to Manhattan via car in time to teach my final class at Columbia University. The students were agitated. They had noticed the coincidences: it was two months since the World Trade Center disaster, today's crash occurred at nearly the same time as the Trade Center, and it's Veteran's Day. To most of them these circumstances added up to cause for blaming the event on terrorism, despite the Bush Administration' insistence that the crash was, instead, a tragic accident. One young student said she had today canceled her Thanksgiving flight to LA. Two other people in the room similarly indicated that after today's tragedy they canceled plane tickets scheduled for the upcoming holidays.

Once again New York's poor and immigrants have taken the brunt of things. Nearly all the passengers on AA587 today were Dominicans. A Newsday analysis of the World Trade Center missing and deceased published two weeks ago, revealed that many of those who perished were poor and/or immigrants.

Now New York must wait for answers. Why did the plane crash? Was it a bomb, or "merely" a poorly maintained or manufactured engine? How many residents of the Far Rockaways perished in the tragedy?

My friend, Ed, says somebody loudly announced in the subway this morning that, "A plane crashed in Queens," and the whole place fell silent. The jitters are high. This evening Cong. Gary Ackerman from Brooklyn said the Christmas shopping season will be dead in New York, and forecast economic gloom for Gotham.

The bodies from Flight 587 were gathered and stored in a hangar at the abandoned Floyd Bennett Field - the airstrip from which Lindbergh launched his historic flight across the Atlantic. Back in Lindy's innocent days the only concern about flying was, well, FLYING. Now fear of flying is merely a small piece of the anxiety pie.

The evening news tonight was full of scenes that are all-too-familiar for New Yorkers: firefighters, wearing their big black coats and yellow hats, hosing down jet fuel-fanned flames. Not a single New Yorker could look at that without thinking of September 11. The images are never allowed to recede from the individual or mass consciousness. The stress never ebbs.

Be well. Stay safe. Stand defiant.

Laurie Garrett



DAY SIXTY-THREE: Return to Index Nov. 12: It happened again. Maybe it wasn't terrorism this time. Maybe it was. Regardless, once again New York awoke to the tragedy of a plane crashing into the city, taking all of its passengers into another inferno. American Airlines flight 587 had just lifted off from JFK Airport, bound for Santo Domingo, reached an altitude of 2800 feet and made three minutes into its journey when it crashed into the Far Rockaways, Queens. The plane crashed into a neighborhood inhabited by police, firefighters and retired officers, many of who died two months ago in the World Trade Center. Yesterday I spoke in Minneapolis to several hundred HIV/AIDS nurses. This morning I queued up at the gate for my 9:22am flight home, hoping to be in the office by 1pm. But at 8:50 the gate attendant announced there would be, "a slight delay due to a problem in New York." Though the words were banal, the gentleman's tone implied something worse. Something terrible. A quick call to the news desk at Newsday revealed that a jet had crashed into Queens. Information was sketchy at that point, but already Mayor Giuliani had ordered all airports, bridges and tunnels into New York closed. For three hours I wandered around the Minneapolis airport, making arrangements to get back to New York and catching news on the television monitors scattered throughout the terminal. A crowd gathered around a particular cluster of monitors, anxiously watching, saying nothing, fear written clearly on many faces. My La Guardia flight was, of course, cancelled, and I monitored as best I could what choices fellow would-be passengers made. An elderly woman begged to be allowed on the next flight to Philadelphia apparently unfazed by any possible danger. But a young businesswoman angrily shouted into her cell phone, "I don't care how important the meeting is, I'm not coming to New York!" Two women standing next to me as I booked a new flight to the small White Plains airport located north of the city gaily chatted about how happy they were that they could go back to their Minnesota homes. "Nothing could get me to New York now," one said. "My husband never wanted me to go in the first place," the other said, "and now he'll spend all night saying, 'I told you so.'" The flight to White Plains was smooth, and deceptive: it revealed nothing of the grief blow.. Coming down the Hudson River Valley in late afternoon, autumn light casting a glow over the red and orange trees. The picturesque view outside my jet window seemed tranquil, serene, and lovely. I made it from White Plains to Manhattan via car in time to teach my final class at Columbia University. The students were agitated. They had noticed the coincidences: it was two months since the World Trade Center disaster, today's crash occurred at nearly the same time as the Trade Center, and it's Veteran's Day. To most of them these circumstances added up to cause for blaming the event on terrorism, despite the Bush Administration' insistence that the crash was, instead, a tragic accident. One young student said she had today canceled her Thanksgiving flight to LA. Two other people in the room similarly indicated that after today's tragedy they canceled plane tickets scheduled for the upcoming holidays. Once again New York's poor and immigrants have taken the brunt of things. Nearly all the passengers on AA587 today were Dominicans. A Newsday analysis of the World Trade Center missing and deceased published two weeks ago, revealed that many of those who perished were poor and/or immigrants. Now New York must wait for answers. Why did the plane crash? Was it a bomb, or "merely" a poorly maintained or manufactured engine? How many residents of the Far Rockaways perished in the tragedy? My friend, Ed, says somebody loudly announced in the subway this morning that, "A plane crashed in Queens," and the whole place fell silent. The jitters are high. This evening Cong. Gary Ackerman from Brooklyn said the Christmas shopping season will be dead in New York, and forecast economic gloom for Gotham. The bodies from Flight 587 were gathered and stored in a hangar at the abandoned Floyd Bennett Field - the airstrip from which Lindbergh launched his historic flight across the Atlantic. Back in Lindy's innocent days the only concern about flying was, well, FLYING. Now fear of flying is merely a small piece of the anxiety pie. The evening news tonight was full of scenes that are all-too-familiar for New Yorkers: firefighters, wearing their big black coats and yellow hats, hosing down jet fuel-fanned flames. Not a single New Yorker could look at that without thinking of September 11. The images are never allowed to recede from the individual or mass consciousness. The stress never ebbs. Be well. Stay safe. Stand defiant. Laurie Garrett