Read Online Chicken Soup for the Soul of America by Jack Canfield - Free Book Online Page A

me how he spent his time trying to take people home. “They were walking, walking anywhere—across bridges, in the middle of the streets. People were leaning on each other. I stopped and took an elderly man and the person he was leaning on to the Upper East Side. They looked like walking dead. . . . We picked up some others along the way. One lady said she had to stop to tell her son that she was okay. Her phone wouldn’t work so we stopped at his office around Fiftieth Street. He was outside, just staring south. When he saw his mother, he started crying. The lady decided to stay with him. So I looked for some more people to take.”
    I had heard that in the hours and days that followed, New York came to a standstill. There was no public transportation available for days. But every one of the cab drivers I spoke with was busy in those hours—taking people home, carrying medical supplies, and transporting emergency personnel. Whatever any of these able-bodied people could do with or without their cabs, they did. They found ways to help. Of course I didn’t have to ask if they ever let the meter run during any of those trips. They would have been insulted if I had.
    The cabdrivers of New York City are a microcosm of society. They are black, white, Indian, Muslim, Hispanic—every race, creed and color imaginable. They go about their day like most people, earning a living, getting the job done. For the most part, they are ordinary people. And ordinary people find ways to do extraordinary things when called upon. A lot of people did a lot to help others that day. They used what skills they possessed to save lives, give hope, help others. Those skills included being able to perform emergency surgery and being able to drive a cab. Each was needed and important in the aftermath of the horror of September 11.
    It’s absolutely true what they say about New York cabdrivers—they are legendary.
    Marsha Arons

Anxiously Awaiting
    T here are only two ways to live your life.
One is as though nothing is a miracle.
The other is as if everything is.
    Albert Einstein
    As usual, I was dozing on the bus on my way to work on Tuesday, September 11, 2001, when I heard someone say, “My God, look at the World Trade Center!”
    We were still in New Jersey. I looked in the direction of the Twin Towers and saw smoke pouring out of all the windows of the upper quarter of the North Tower. Someone else on the bus was listening to a Walkman and said a plane had crashed into the World Trade Center. I asked if they said which tower it was, and he said he thought they said it was Tower Two. Tower Two was not visible from the angle we were looking, so I knew he must be mistaken.
    I said, “My husband works in the World Trade Center. I know that is Tower One. Of all the days to forget my cell phone.”
    I was in a state of shock. I don’t know how long I sat staring, but I turned to the woman next to me and asked if she had a cell phone I could borrow. She smiled and said she had just asked if I would like to use hers, but I did not hear her. She was kind enough to dial my husband’s number and hand me the phone. All I heard was a recording that all circuits were busy. I handed her back the phone and started to pray: “Dear God, please keep him safe.”
    I did not realize it, but she had continued to try to reach my husband by hitting the redial button. She finally got through and handed me back the phone saying she had my husband’s voicemail. I don’t remember what I said, but I left a message and handed her back the phone.
    By this time we were in the Lincoln Tunnel, and all I could think of was getting to my office and checking my voicemail and e-mail for a message from my husband. As soon as we got out of the tunnel, I got off the bus with well wishes from everyone on the bus saying they would pray for us.
    Running to the bus stop to catch the cross-town bus, I saw people’s mouths