They're reading names out, over the radio. All the folks the rest of us won't get to know ... Jesus can you take the time, to throw a drowning man a line ... peace on earth."

                                                                                              - U2, "Peace on Earth," 2000

Reality Sinks In On Visit To Ground Zero

The Times Leader

October 5, 2001

By ALAN K. STOUT

MUSIC ON THE MENU

The top was down on my old Chevy convertible as I cruised over New York City's George Washington Bridge on Tuesday. It was a gorgeous fall day - picture perfect, in every sense - and to my right I could easily see the majestic skyline of the town I've always loved the most.

I wish I could tell you I had a deeply profound thought just then, at that moment, when I first saw that skyline, or that I said something wise, spiritual or even self-comforting. But the only words that came to mind cannot be printed in any newspaper.  

There was, of course, a sad and empty space in New York's landscape where the World Trade Center once stood. And my not-so-kind words were clearly directed at the lowly bastards who shamelessly killed some 3,000 innocent people on Sept. 11. 

Upon clearing the GW and entering the Bronx, an old friend and I parked my car at Yankee Stadium, where we would be seeing a game later that night. But before that, there was a subway ride to take, down to lower Manhattan. There was respect to be paid, and a human travesty to see firsthand.

There was a planned visit to what is now called Ground Zero.

What I saw there, three weeks to the day after the world was forever changed, was, in some ways, exactly what you've seen on television. There were millions of tons of concrete and twisted metal, still serving as an ugly grave for the innocent. There was a war zone feel, with roadblocks everywhere, and police officers, firefighters and military personnel on every corner. There were prayers posted on abandoned buildings, flowers hanging on fences and an odd smell in the air. There was still a dusty soot covering some storefronts, even several blocks away.  

And Broadway - a festive road if there ever was one - was silent. 

At one point, I ran my finger across some of the ash-like dirt covering a pay phone. I think I just needed to feel some tangible connection to all of this, or to prove to myself that what I was seeing was real.  

"Ashes to ashes, dust to dust," I thought, as the soot touched my hand. The sad irony was obvious.

Standing amid this horrid mess, I thought of my visit to the Twin Towers with my aunt when I was a kid and how my sister and I stood in their shadow less than a year ago at the Yankees' ticker-tape parade. I thought of the obituary of the young man and attack victim that appeared in our paper on Tuesday, how he and I graduated from high school in the same year, and how we graduated from King's College together.

"I didn't know him," I thought, "but our lives must have crossed paths at some point."

If not, they certainly did on Tuesday. 

Some people at Ground Zero wore protective masks and some bought flags and patriotic pins while others stood still, staring at the wreckage in deep thought. I did what I always do whenever I pass a car accident on the road or a fire on the street: I made the sign of the cross and said a short prayer.

All of New York, it seemed, was also looking inward. 

The subways were full yet also quiet. Soft and polite gestures from strangers were common. Later, back at Yankee Stadium, planes flying overhead that never would have drawn much notice caused some to pause. And because the game being played was originally scheduled for Sept. 12 - the date on my ticket - I couldn't help but think that some of the empty seats in the stadium may have been so because those planning to come were no longer with us.

"Thank you," a stadium security officer said after he gave me what I once would have considered an insulting pat-down as I entered the facility.   "No," I said. "Thank you."  

Everything has changed. Everywhere.

The other night at Hops & Barley's in Luzerne, my favorite hangout, the entire bar sang along to "The Star-Spangled Banner" when someone played it on the jukebox. Last week, I was pleased to find out I'm still young enough to serve in the military if need be.

"Just give me a couple of weeks' training," I thought. "And the biggest gun you have."  

I've never thought that way before, nor have I ever even held a gun. But I'd sure like to now. Especially if I could help get whoever did this.

  What does any of this have to do with music?

Nothing. Nothing at all.   I was, however, listening to music as I crossed that flag-decorated bridge and saw that crippled skyline. And I will tell you this: John Lennon, a peaceful man who also loved New York, may be gone, but thankfully, his disciples sing on. And for me, his spirit and voice can be found in the music of such artists as U2, Sting and Bruce Springsteen, who have always been discerning and thoughtful, and who have always served as a fine voice for the social and political conscience of America's youths.  

As I drove around New York on Tuesday, I actually listened to three songs from U2's latest album, "All That You Can't Leave Behind." One, "New York," celebrates the vibrancy and energy of the city yet also mentions the "religious nuts and political fanatics" who can be found on its streets. The gorgeous "Walk On" talks about overcoming adversity through inner strength, and "Peace on Earth" condemns needless violence and hints at a sense of jaded faith.  

All seem perfectly fitting at this time. And all were written and released a year before this happened.

So if you, too, have turned to music at all, even just a little, during these crazy times, I recommend bands such as U2 and artists such as Sting and Springsteen. I refer you to people whose integrity can be trusted and whose hearts and motives are pure. Be leery of silly, chest-pounding, angst rockers, who - just three weeks ago - were singing songs about needless violence but are now suddenly singing on benefit songs. Be leery of the now suddenly sorrowful rappers who only three weeks ago sang about turf wars and murder but are now weeping under the flag and calling for brotherhood.

My trip to Ground Zero, with the dust on my hands, the smell of death in the air and the silence of the city showed me firsthand that what's happening in this world is quite real. And though it's somewhat insignificant, I want my music to be real, too.

Now, more than ever, everything is real.