A Letter to Family and Friends, September 13, 2001, New York City

Abstract

Yesterday, I walked for about six hours through New York City with my friend Anne Hoffinan. I guess we must have covered between eight and ten miles. It was an exquisitely beautiful day, one of those clear, crisp, and breezy days that come in the early fall. By mid-morning, we had already been frus trated by our attempts to find something we could do to help, but the need to feel useful remained strong. Both of us thought to turn to our everyday work, but we also knew how difficult this would be. Doing any work unrelated to the event was impossible and the need to be with other people was over whelming. Our compromise: we agreed to meet in the afternoon for an hour's walk through Riverside Park, where we would be outside with other New Yorkers. We chose to walk on a path along the Hudson River, entering the park at about 99th Street. We turned left, walking in a southerly direction, down town, as though there were no other choice. On weekend days when the weather is exquisite and people have more leisure, New Yorkers take to the outdoors, rollerblading, sunbathing, bench-sitting. People who are walking, as we were, often need to dodge bikes and runners, as we did. The tableau, which always reminds me of the Seurat painting Sunday on the Isle of Grande Jatte, was surreal on this day. It was as though we were watching the video portion of one movie but hearing the audio track from a different one. Any conversation we had ourselves or overheard then, or throughout the day, was on one subject, and one only. We walked to just below 72nd Street, to a new pier built by Donald Trump to make up for the enormous complex of high-rise buildings he had recently imposed on the Upper West Side. We walked the full, approximate 100 yards