Versus Nurture
Available February 2012

The Best Sniper Ever
Available February 2012

WEEKLY COLUMN:
JDM vs the WORLD

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FINE PRINT

New York City has always cast a long shadow on its neighbors. As a New Jersey native, I grew up in the heart of that shadow. At times, I’ve marveled at the many places from which I could catch an unplanned glimpse of the city’s legendary skyline. In the days to come, I may continue to find such places, but the view will never be the same.

I suppose one must come from the Garden State--or at least be familiar with it--in order to comprehend the imposing, awe-inspiring presence of the World Trade Center. People the world over have heard of the Twin Towers. I saw them regularly, often from strange locales.

The borough of Staten Island is a mere ten minutes from where I live. The city proper, Manhattan, is just a forty-five minute drive. On a clear night atop the hill behind my home, the trees would part like waters for Moses, clearing a perfect line of sight towards the glimmering crown jewels of our mighty capitalist empire. There they stood, the Twin Towers.

I frequented the beach at Sandy Hook in my youth. As a college student in Long Branch, I often returned there. With bare feet I’d wade where the waves broke ashore, my eyes affixed on something special. Off in the distance, I could easily see the southern tip of a grandiose isle, adorned, of course, by a pair of colossal skyscrapers. There they stood, the Twin Towers.

Even from afar, their magnitude, their very mystique, was a mockery of the nearby castles made of sand. And up close, the feeling was the same.

I worked in Hoboken three years ago. It’s a slight distance from the city, separated only by the river Hudson. Mornings, I’d leave from Newark on the World Trade Center PATH train, then catch the connecting Hoboken rail at Exchange Place in Jersey City. That’s one stop away. One stop from the World Trade Center. One Godforsaken stop from the chaos and debris. Upon exiting the PATH station in Hoboken, I’d look up behind my shoulders and there they stood, the Twin Towers. I could almost touch them.

Just six months ago, I worked in midtown. At 53rd and Lexington, in fact, where many folks were recently sent to donate blood. That’s where I used to board the crowded E-Train en route to the Port Authority.

New York is known for its breakneck speed, but, when congested, it moves quite slow. As a result, I spent in excess of three hours on the daily to-and-from. I wrote a lot during those voyages. Aboard the NJ Transit bus numbered 139, there was little else to do. Northbound on the Turnpike, I’d see the Twin Towers fast approaching; I’d adore them, even watch them as if they were poised to do something.

Traffic regularly hit a standstill near the entrance for the Lincoln Tunnel. That’s where I could best see them, from top to bottom, my vision inhibited only by other buildings (of which none were quite so tall). I would stare at the Twins, then back at my notepad, then at the Twins again. Save for writer’s block, they were the lone distractions with enough sway to pull me from my zone.

I honestly can’t recall passing up a single opportunity to look at them. Whenever I drove home from the north, I’d keep their whereabouts in check in the rearview mirror. My obsession, like their grandeur, was unfailing. I’d look and look and look, until they seemed to disappear.

Now, they’ve done just that.

In a black, gray and orange cloud of fire and smoke, visible to towns near and relatively far, the dynamic duo collapsed with a resounding thud felt at once throughout the nation. Nay, throughout the world. The damage wrought took nearly two hours, but it occurred, for all intents and purposes, in one fell swoop. Just like that, the Twin Towers were gone. Utterly, unbelievably gone. Existing only in pictures. It’s something that I cannot yet fathom.

The Big Apple is the economic crux of the global society, the symbolic center of the progressive human spirit. It’s the capital of the world. And now it’s been decimated. These cold, heartless terrorists have commandeered our own aircraft and launched an assault on our principles and our means for defending them.

We can’t say who’s responsible, a fact that frustrates us. Many Americans couldn’t tell a Palestinian from an Afghani, an Iraqi from an Iranian. We’re hardly in the mood to differentiate. We know someone’s responsible and we want that someone obliterated. If the whole Middle East was blown to pieces, the current sentiment in America seems universal: Good.

All things considered, New Yorkers have stayed calm. No doubt, there’d be looting, were this Los Angeles. Rampant rioting, too. But New Yorkers are a people whose reputation has been tarnished unjustly. They’re known as a filthy, uncaring lot. Well, it’s not true. As anyone who has been to the city can attest, a stranded tourist might navigate his way around the entire town without need for a map, based solely on the proactive kindness of strangers.

As the Twin Towers imploded, through the splinters and the smolder, ordinary Americans emerged as heroes. They helped others to their feet. They lent their shirts to catch the blood. They offered their autos, their homes, their places of business. They walked with the wounded. And America walked proud.

Across the world, Palestinians danced in the streets. They celebrated, those bastards did, and relished the loss of innocent American lives. They gave hand gestures of victory. They pumped their fists in the air. They passed out candy.

Let me repeat: Americans died and they passed out candy.

We’re not talking only grown men, here. In fact, grown men were mostly absent from the Palestinian footage thus far. These were women and children. These were the people who we’re always so concerned about protecting in every instance when American retaliation seems imminent and necessary.

Well, I say screw their children, screw their women, screw every last one of them. These aren’t people. People don’t cheer at makeshift morgues and mass graves. These are soulless murderers. These are animals. With the ring of a bell they’d salivate and destroy us like the Pavlovian dogs that they are.

They’ve been taught to hate us. They’ve been taught that God hates us. They’ve been taught to destroy us accordingly. To hell with their fanaticism, whatever the cause may be. I say bomb them. I don’t care who they are. I don’t care how long it takes to find them. Once we’ve got them fingered, bomb them.

Meantime, Americans must stay strong. We must take our cues from those who were present when two hijacked planes disappeared into the sides of the Twin Towers. We must walk hand-in-hand. We must stick together.

No more partisanship. This is neither the time nor the place. When George W. Bush addressed the nation, the people I watched it with welled up. I, myself, fought tears upon hearing him quote Psalm 23; it reminded me that we’re on the right side.

Yet a handful of network news anchors, men such as Dan Rather and Peter Jennings, made subtly disparaging comments about the President nonetheless. If these men are half as devoted to their country as they claim to be, then they’d better shut their ignorant mouths. Such petty behavior is tantamount to treason in times of war. Whose side are they on?

This nation cannot fold from within. That’s just what these terrorists want. We’re an unhappy, unsettled and angry people right now, but we must get behind our Commander-In-Chief. He’s got Colin Powell, Dick Cheney and some of the most capable defense strategists out there. Bush is not ill-prepared.

And we, the people, are equipped for this. We’re the strongest people in the world. Sure, we’ve got our differences here and there. We’re not perfect, but we try damned hard. Where else can one find such a diverse group of people? Nowhere. Absolutely, positively nowhere.

Our attackers are primordial. They are the last dying bastion of an uncivil world. We, on the other hand, are the leaders of the new world. We are the forebears of freedom, the perpetuators of justice. We stand for liberty. They stand for death.

We’ve had a price on our collective head for a long time now. The attack on the World Trade Center and Pentagon was too efficient to have been planned over night. But for every blow, we’ll strike back. Once, twice, three times, bigger and badder than they could ever dream, over and over until the beast is dead.

Even though there are many things to say right now, it’s difficult to find the words with which to say them. What I do know is this: I’m a Jersey boy, born and raised; the Twin Towers are gone but I’m not going anywhere.

God bless America, and God help whoever has done this.

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