Michelle Williams' 9/17/2001

received 9/17/2001

I, too, have to beg forgiveness, because I find that when I'm home, all I want to do is sleep and write and I end up sending everything to all of you, more as a way to keep it all for me. Also, in the least cheesy sense, I feel this enormous, solid, wonderful wall of support- that is what it feels like- from all of you- that encourages me and fires me along.

So.

I had to work again, Sunday night, and managed to get the kitchen shift so I would again be spared too much interaction with the masses. I felt much more... well, human, than I have the last few days, and felt good about laughing and almost, almost actually flirted a couple of times. Seems like things WILL return to normal. I had lots of staff asking me how they could help- where they could still volunteer, how they should give money, what was still needed, and I basically repeated the message that is going on now: wait. There is too much help right now and this effort with continue for months. Unless you have money to donate, there isn't much you can do.

I spent most of the afternoon taking pictures yesterday, of the memorials in Washington Square Park, and at firehouses and churches and the Salvation Army. I took an entire roll at Union Square Park, which seems to be an epicenter of remembrance and mourning. It's incredible there- huge shrines and tiny shrines and hundreds upon hundreds of candles and flowers and people- many who've lost their family and many more who are there just to sit and look and listen. It's a really beautiful spot. I got out of work around midnight and took some more pictures of the hundreds who were still there. People were arranging candles side by side to create messages, in the same way a guy stranded on a beach might arrange logs for possible skyward rescuers. One read "9-11-01, WIC, WHY? RIP" It's an incredible place to be, and I encourage any of you New Yorkers to spend some time there.

I then headed over to the Salvation Army, knowing that if they were ever going to be short-handed, it would be at midnight on a Sunday. I was right. There was some random loading going on, and lots of people heading home from a very long day. I was thinking I'd hang out for a bit and see what happened when I saw the Major who had sent Tessa and Hayley and I down to Ground Zero the first day. I called his name and he turned and threw his arms around me and kissed me and asked if I would go work a canteen that was setting up at Pier 94- the new staging ground for the families with missing loved ones. It was set to open at 8 AM and they had workers who had been there since Friday morning. I called Tessa, who came willingly and immediately, and we headed up the West Side Highway with a van, a canteen, and three very interesting Salvation Army men.

The next seven hours were a little bit of a blur, just because I was so tired and brain-dead from working a full shift and not sleeping too much since this all began. But the new center is amazing- a huge warehouse converted into a holding ground for distraught families. There must have been more than a hundred cubicles set up for the detectives to interview families, each with a computer, printer, office supplies, and a box of kleenex. There was an area for the Red Cross, for the spiritual advisors, for volunteers, NYPD, massage therapists, non-NYPD law, and income relief providers. It was brilliantly organized. There was also a huge space with free phones and computers with internet access. The best room was for the children- a huge enclosed space filled, just FILLED with books and toys and puzzles and crayons and stuffed animals. We stayed in there for a minute and I looked down to see a tiny little table with a children's puzzle on it. They puzzle was partially put together with the rest of the pieces on the table around it. And I thought of someone actually taking the time to get that little table ready for a child. In my mind it was a burly cop on the 11th hour of his shift, his grubby fingers almost too big to pick up the little pieces. I could see him hunched over, sitting on a little stool meant for a four-year-old, his forehead creased with concern as he decided how much of the puzzle he should put together, and how much he should leave for the child. I doubt this is what actually happened, but it was a lovely fantasy.

I met several interesting people, including a man from the firm that was hired by the mayor's office to organize the creation of this new staging area. Even they were amazed by how quickly it all came together, but as I was lauding them for their efforts, he was quick to say "Well. We haven't any families here yet. We'll have to see what happens today".

As the sun rose, the detectives began to show, and the therapists and more and more NYPD. Tessa and I poured coffee and made oatmeal and soup and tried not to get TOO annoyed by the Salvation Army worker who was also in the canteen. To say that he was rather misogynistic and homophobic and lecherous might be going a bit too far, but not by much. Beyond that, he wasn't terribly helpful. But he was the first snag in my experience with all of these people and I'm glad we were there to greet all of those people instead of just him.

Finally, the coffee ran out for the second time, and Tessa ran out of patience with the icky idle worker man, and it was time to go. We started yet another great conversation in the cab, during which I promptly fell asleep. The traffic was horrible- Tessa pointed out that we were in the midst of the first rush of people finally going back to work. It was almost comforting. I barely remember her getting out of the cab, and slept all the way to my apartment. I flashed my badge, said "Bill the government" and stumbled home into bed.

It's now 6:30 PM, and I'm going to have some dinner, and dive right back in. To bed, that is.

Love,M.