Read Online Chicken Soup for the Soul of America by Jack Canfield - Free Book Online
Authors: Jack Canfield
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her
have you seen him
heâs wearing a wedding band
and the words on the inscription:
may 12, 2000, forever, ann
have you seen him
have you seen her
he was on the 100th floor
sheâs my mother
heâs my brother
she called me at 9:04
from the stairway
from the hallway
from her cell phone
from the roof
if youâve seen him
wonât you tell her
please
we love her so
have you seen them
have you seen them
walking in the by-and-by
from the rubble
through all the trouble
into the beautiful blue sky
Marc Farre
One mile from Ground Zero, the flyers that inspired âPrayer Flags.â
Photo ©2001 by Viviane Bauquet Farre. (9/15/01). All rights reserved.
New York Cabbies
New York cabdrivers are legendary. Countless jokes have been made at their expense about the way they zip through traffic, narrowly missing other cars and fixed objects, coming within inches of any pedestrian foolish enough to think he can make it on a flashing âdonât walkâ sign. And anyone who has ever been a passenger knows that wrenching feeling of speeding up to go one short block then stopping short to avoid a car stopped ahead. Somehow, cabbies never seem able to remember the adage that you can only go as fast as the guy in front of you. And no New Yorker is ever surprised when a cabbie leans his head out the window of his taxi and offers some important comment on anotherâs driving ability or indeed on his personal attributes or lineage!
But three months after September 11, when I spent a week in New York City, the cab rides I took were slow, the cabbies quiet, subdued. I asked a few of them where they were and what they did on September 11. One driver didnât want to talk about it; then he did. In fact, he had so much to say that when we reached my destination, he put up the meter and I just sat there listening.
âTraffic came to a complete stop that day. No busses or cabs or cars could go anywhere. Which is just as well because it was a hell and no one knew where to go to be safe. I was at midtown, stopped in traffic, and I had a fare when the first plane hit. We heard it first, then saw it. Both of us thought it was an accident. Who knew . . . ?
âBut then the second plane hit. I dropped my fare and got out of my cab. By then there were so many sirens and emergency vehicles headed south, you couldnât move. So, like everybody else, I watched from the sidewalk. Then . . . then they started to come down! It had been a beautiful sunny day but the air changed in a minute. Suddenly it was black and gray and you couldnât breathe. I turned my cab around to head north. People banged on my window. I told them to get in and we just drove away from it. I donât remember where I left them off.
âSomeone flagged me downâstood right in front of my cab. He flashed an ID. He was a doctor and he wanted me to take him to NYU Med center. I did. There was a line of cabs at the hospital. The police wouldnât let us leave. So we all went in and gave blood. Later, the only vehicles allowed out were ambulances. I said, âIâm a good driver. Let me help.â They put me on an ambulance with another driver. We started taking supplies down to NYU Medical Center downtown.
âLater that day, I got my cab and drove around. There were people all over, just walking dazed and crying. I couldnât do anything for them except give them a ride so I did. Many of them were going from hospital to hospital trying to find a family member who had worked in the WTC. I took one groupâa father, mother and two sistersâto five different hospitals. At the last place, I left them because there was someone who fit the description of their loved one. I never found out if it was him. . . .â
I tried to take notes the whole time the man was talking but I couldnât write fast enough. So I just listened. I know I got the whole story. It wasnât one I could forget.
Another cabbie told
have you seen him
heâs wearing a wedding band
and the words on the inscription:
may 12, 2000, forever, ann
have you seen him
have you seen her
he was on the 100th floor
sheâs my mother
heâs my brother
she called me at 9:04
from the stairway
from the hallway
from her cell phone
from the roof
if youâve seen him
wonât you tell her
please
we love her so
have you seen them
have you seen them
walking in the by-and-by
from the rubble
through all the trouble
into the beautiful blue sky
Marc Farre
One mile from Ground Zero, the flyers that inspired âPrayer Flags.â
Photo ©2001 by Viviane Bauquet Farre. (9/15/01). All rights reserved.
New York Cabbies
New York cabdrivers are legendary. Countless jokes have been made at their expense about the way they zip through traffic, narrowly missing other cars and fixed objects, coming within inches of any pedestrian foolish enough to think he can make it on a flashing âdonât walkâ sign. And anyone who has ever been a passenger knows that wrenching feeling of speeding up to go one short block then stopping short to avoid a car stopped ahead. Somehow, cabbies never seem able to remember the adage that you can only go as fast as the guy in front of you. And no New Yorker is ever surprised when a cabbie leans his head out the window of his taxi and offers some important comment on anotherâs driving ability or indeed on his personal attributes or lineage!
But three months after September 11, when I spent a week in New York City, the cab rides I took were slow, the cabbies quiet, subdued. I asked a few of them where they were and what they did on September 11. One driver didnât want to talk about it; then he did. In fact, he had so much to say that when we reached my destination, he put up the meter and I just sat there listening.
âTraffic came to a complete stop that day. No busses or cabs or cars could go anywhere. Which is just as well because it was a hell and no one knew where to go to be safe. I was at midtown, stopped in traffic, and I had a fare when the first plane hit. We heard it first, then saw it. Both of us thought it was an accident. Who knew . . . ?
âBut then the second plane hit. I dropped my fare and got out of my cab. By then there were so many sirens and emergency vehicles headed south, you couldnât move. So, like everybody else, I watched from the sidewalk. Then . . . then they started to come down! It had been a beautiful sunny day but the air changed in a minute. Suddenly it was black and gray and you couldnât breathe. I turned my cab around to head north. People banged on my window. I told them to get in and we just drove away from it. I donât remember where I left them off.
âSomeone flagged me downâstood right in front of my cab. He flashed an ID. He was a doctor and he wanted me to take him to NYU Med center. I did. There was a line of cabs at the hospital. The police wouldnât let us leave. So we all went in and gave blood. Later, the only vehicles allowed out were ambulances. I said, âIâm a good driver. Let me help.â They put me on an ambulance with another driver. We started taking supplies down to NYU Medical Center downtown.
âLater that day, I got my cab and drove around. There were people all over, just walking dazed and crying. I couldnât do anything for them except give them a ride so I did. Many of them were going from hospital to hospital trying to find a family member who had worked in the WTC. I took one groupâa father, mother and two sistersâto five different hospitals. At the last place, I left them because there was someone who fit the description of their loved one. I never found out if it was him. . . .â
I tried to take notes the whole time the man was talking but I couldnât write fast enough. So I just listened. I know I got the whole story. It wasnât one I could forget.
Another cabbie told
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