In the fall of 1999, I decided to leave Los Angeles, and return to New York City. My first objective was to find out, what the job market in the graphic design field was like. I contacted some of the employment agencies I had used, during my years, climbing the ladder, in advertising. To my surprise, and good fortune, the need for graphic designers, was now on f weather freelance basis. These same employment agencies, were now soliciting companies, in order to provide them with the graphic designers that they represented. Before I left LA, I had arranged interviews, with seven of the top agencies, the first week I was back in New York. After that first week of interviews, I was steadily employed, forty to fifty hours a week, at a very respectable fee.
I was amazed, by the changes in the city, from when I left in 1992. The Hudson River waterfront was completely modernized. There was now a jogging, and bike path, running along the river. Indoor sports facilities stood, where ocean liners had docked. Marinas, with sailboats, and large luxury yachts dotted the waterfront. Kayak rentals were available, now that the water was cleaned up. Even 42nd street from Broadway to the river, was gentrified. Although, some of the older locals thought, that the change was too dramatic. The street went from a sleazy respectability, to Disney Land. I know it was so the tourists weren’t too frightened. Actually, there were several stores, which I missed. One was an Army/Navy war surplus store, I used to browse in. Besides, the war surplus articles, they carried sporting goods, in the form of camping items, and early models of scuba diving and spear fishing equipment.
My apartment was a five-floor walk-up studio. It was in an old tenement, in the Hells Kitchen neighborhood, now gentrified, located at 47th street, and tenth avenue. The freelance positions, ranged from, advertising agencies, publishing houses, and television networks, like the Food Network. I could be working at these jobs, from days to months.
The one job, that’s pertinent to my story was a financial company. It was located in Jersey City, just across the Hudson River. I would walk the four miles downtown to the World Trade Center, and take the Path train, under the World Trade Center, one stop to Jersey City. Then repeat the walk back home at the end of the day. I was employed by this company for four months. The job ended September 5, 2001, five days before 9/11.
On the morning of September 11, I was in my apartment, working on my computer. At, eleven thirty, I decided to take a walk to stretch my legs. I walked east along 47th street until I reached Broadway. There was a parade of people walking uptown. I figured, there was a problem with the subway, until I heard a car radio parked on the corner. I turned, and looked downtown. The entire lower part of lower Manhattan was covered with smoke. I hurried home, and turned on the television, to find out what tragedy had occurred. All through the night, the only sounds, in this now quiet, and seemingly empty city were the continuous sirens, going to and from the devastation.
The next morning, I decided to walk along the river toward downtown. It was still shrouded in smoke, which you could smell everywhere. There wasn’t any traffic, except for emergency vehicles. As I approached the aircraft carrier Intrepid, now a museum, moored at 42nd street, there were three federal agents, standing in front, armed with machine guns. I was only able to walk as far as 23rd street. The Navy had stationed an aircraft carrier off the New York, New Jersey coast. The fighter jets were flying routine patrols over the city. Every time they flew over the city, pedestrians, hearing the noise, were frighten, not knowing what to do, where to run to.
This eerie situation lasted for weeks. Of course, all business were suspended. So, there wasn’t any work to be had. As I walked through the city, I kept on seeing flowers, placed in the front of buildings. I knew someone living there had perish.
