Commentary

A tourist recalls her visit to a place that is no more

By Sandy Sims

We were grateful for the cool breeze as we looked out over New York. I pointed to little gardens on top of buildings. My cousin Gary pointed to the Brooklyn Bridge, the Empire State Building and other New York icons as we circled the observation deck of the World Trade Center. He pointed across the Hudson River to where his apartment is situated in Hoboken, N.J.

The few hours I had in New York that Sunday morning in June, Gary wanted to show me some small part of the city--whatever I wanted.

"The World Trade Center," I said. The name alone was exciting to me.

The traffic was minimal, so Gary easily found a parking space on the street. While we strolled through downtown Manhattan, Gary cleared up what downtown, midtown and uptown Manhattan mean. He explained that downtown is the southern part of the island, which includes the financial district and Greenwich Village. Midtown includes the garment and the theater districts, and uptown is the northern section and includes Central Park, Harlem and other neighborhoods. The World Trade Center was situated downtown.

The inside plaza at the World Trade Center wasn't crowded that Sunday like it would be on a weekday. Inside, the lower floors were like a small, elegant city with delicatessens, stores, coffee shops and marble-like walls.

We bought bagels and orange juice at a delicatessen from a quiet young man. A few people sat at the deli's tables sipping coffee and reading the newspaper. We juggled our food, my camera, purse and sweater and hurried to beat the long tourist lines for the elevator to the top of tower two.

A friendly woman at the ticket kiosk teased us as she took our money. We wound through the blue ropes, stopping in a small room to see a scale model of Manhattan with the World Trade Center's twin towers standing considerably higher than any other building.

An endless line of colorful flags from around the world hung off the circular landing where we stood looking at the plaza below. All manner of foreign accents floated through the air. We formed a friendly in-line community that morning, chatting and joking. Parents kept their children entertained. Gary and I munched our bagels and sipped orange juice as we inched toward the elevators. A young man with a Jamaican accent was in charge of counting the next batch of tourists to head up the elevator. He teased us, asked people where they were from. His laugh was infectious. He was one of those enthusiastic, unself-conscious people who makes even something as mundane as standing in line fun.

Gary and I scrunched up against the back of the elevator so our group would all fit. The elevator operator was a young man. He reeled off some facts: We would be going up 110 floors at such-and-such a speed. He told us more. I wish I could remember what he told us. I wish I could remember his face.

We stepped out onto the circular floor where there were souvenir shops, restrooms, snack bars, even a small theater that showed a movie of how the World Trade Center was built. Crowds of three and four people deep gathered along the windows.

We climbed the stairs to the observation deck where we could see forever. There was Ellis Island and the Statue of Liberty. Gary pointed to new construction across the Hudson where he dreamed of buying a condominium with a great view of downtown Manhattan.

Before leaving, I bought my husband a baseball cap from a pretty, young woman in one of the souvenir shops. She carefully wrapped it in tissue paper and placed it in a World Trade Center bag. She asked me where I was from, and told me to have a great day.

A different young man operated the elevator going down. He seemed sweet and shy. We crowded in with the others, and then the elevator slipped down all 110 floors to the bottom.

On the morning of Sept. 11, tourists might have already started to line up. The clerks and the elevator operators would have been gathering for their day's work, clerks dusting off their shelves, putting out their wares, starting up their cash registers, waiters and cooks preparing food when fate stepped in and changed everything.

Gary stood one block from his place in Hoboken that day and watched the World Trade Center disappear.

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Sandy Sims is a staff writer for the Saratoga News.

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