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The lingering image that isn't there
By Cam Tait
May 15, 2006
The faint whispers of "Amazing Grace" become punctuated with emotion as we slowly stroll closer. It's a Saturday afternoon: full of shopping, spending time together, listening to outdoor concerts, and ordering up another latte. After all, it's Saturday and we have luxury time. It seems like any normal Saturday for the locals - even for a tourist, thousands of kilometres away from home - with the sights and smells that make this an epicentre recognized around the globe. A Burger King up the street provides that warm security blanket for a foreigner in a maze of concrete, strangers, and honestly, the unknown mystery felt only by a foreigner.
As we walk closer, we feel our steps became heavier, recognizing the importance of the historic point. Only minutes ago, our driver asked for directions, and while we were pleased to be headed in the right direction, our stomachs were knotted in anticipation of what we were about to see. "Amazing Grace" was now louder than the traffic, the constant car horns, and the buzz of the city. We found the man who was responsible. He was sitting on the sidewalk, his back against a metal pole, and he looked to be well into his sixties. He looked comfortable in his long, untrimmed grey beard, yet there was a sombre look on his face - an expression that reflected his role, one that gave the experience a deep, underlying meaning.
Another man, only feet away, was giving an informative, yet personal account of what had happened just behind him. He had a stack of photographs and handwritten notes on white paper - there was no PowerPoint presentations or fancy computer wizardry. Just his words - his friendly yet poignant storytelling style - that made us remember, once again, where we were on that day the world changed. A new group of about ten people start to gather around the man and he begins his story all over again.
We look over his shoulder trying to see something of significance. But, really, there's nothing there at all, except an enormous crater surrounded by concrete. The only sight with meaning is a large cross constructed of steel. A cement foundation has been poured around the perimeter and our entertaining storyteller friend tells us there are plans to rebuild on the site.
You can't help but think about the thousands of people who were walking on that same sidewalk we were standing on; people who were just starting their days, people looking forward to reuniting with their families after the work day. You look at the sky. There are tall buildings all around, making it even harder to imagine how anyone could thread the speed and power of something as deadly as a jet aircraft through the skyline.
And then, like a brick, it hits you. It almost takes your breath away, and you stop dead in your tracks, searching for an answer. But you know your hunt will come up empty. You accept, possibly for the first time, the cruelty of some history...and maybe, since you're seeing things firsthand, you're overcome with emotion. The only thing to do is bury your face in your hands and cry.
If you ever walk by the place where the World Trade Centre once so boldly towered above the New York skyline, you'll never forget it. And afterward, every time you hear "Amazing Grace", it will take on a whole new meaning.
Cam Tait is a sports reporter for the Edmonton Journal. He covered charitable issues for almost 20 years. Thoughts, comments, ideas or a simple hello are welcomed at cam@charityvillage.com.
Opinions expressed by columnists are their own and do not necessarily reflect the views of CharityVillage.com®.
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