The Foreign Service Journal, September 2004

what happened to his clothing. He was going in with us. Indeed, I had walked out of my house in my dress shirt. I had jeans but I had no hat or bandanna. I said to one fellow who had brought his working gear that I should have worn another shirt, though I didn’t mind los- ing the one I had on. “Well,” he said thoughtfully, “there are people who lost a lot more than that this day.” “At least you have a shirt,” the shirtless displaced per- son chimed in. We all laughed. It was the only comic relief any of us would have that day. We found him a shirt. “Do Something” They kept us waiting so long that I decided to get some- thing to eat. A Greek diner, just outside of the police cor- don, was furiously cooking and serving up food through the whole ordeal. There I sat next to a lady who, like so many, could not get home. Like the rest of us she was upset. That was a turning point. I hardened as she broke down. I took her by the shoulder and said, “Get some work clothes. Change. Come back. Volunteer. The best thing is to do something about it.” Something inside had taken over. After that I wasn’t able to weep again for a month. Another woman stood by, her hand over her mouth. She was in a summer dress. She was also badly shaken. When I addressed her, she replied with a German accent. She was a tourist who had planned to go to the top of the World Trade Center first thing that morning, but had left her key back in her midtown hotel. So she returned to get it. By the time she got to Grand Central Station, the World Trade Center was burning. She had escaped by the narrowest of margins. St. Vincent’s Hospital set up a triage unit and briefed us on how it would work. They posted themselves at the end of a street leading directly to the towers, the better to receive the dead and wounded. I asked the hospital workers for a face mask, as did my companions. F O C U S S E P T E M B E R 2 0 0 4 / F O R E I G N S E R V I C E J O U R N A L 65