The SoapBoxers

For the first time, President Obama is actually proposing an economic stimulus package which will provide some permanent benefit to the country, and everyone is condemning him. I am a fiscal conservative, so by nature I am opposed to government spending beyond the bare minimum (military, road, ports and courts). Starting three years ago and up until the beginning of September, every “stimulus” was simply spending with no true benefit.

First we bailed out the banks, then the automobile manufacturers. We threw a lot of money at states which resulted in a lot of signs telling us where the money was being spent, even though all of the projects were already underway before the money was approved.

Now for the first time, the President has proposed upgrading the country’s infrastructure. This means new projects on highways, railroads, seaports, airport, bridges and canals. The right claims this will just save the unions and only provide a single year of employment. The left claims that it is a waste to support the oil industry by encouraging more transportation. I feel that the President is correct. Infrastructure programs are beneficial long after the work is complete. Ask your grandparents about trying to get from Chicago to Los Angeles before the interstate system was completed or before jet aircraft and the building of O’Hare and LAX.

I also agree with the President’s decision to visit the Pentagon on September 11. I was shocked to hear that he was not going to ground zero, primarily because all of the news outlets made it sound like he was going golfing or something. The problem was he was not going to New York City, where these reporters are based. The Vice President was there, that should not be considered an insult. If we are to have the President physically attend every major remembrance, he would never have a chance to get anything else done.

Are the losses at ground zero somehow more important than the Pentagon? What about our losses at Pearl Harbor? The Northridge Earthquake? The San Francisco Earthquake of 1900? The Galveston Hurricane of 1901? The Gettysburg battle field? Should the President visit each of these sites on the appropriate anniversary?

He went to the Pentagon. He went to New Orleans. He even picked up a tar ball on the Gulf Coast. What is it that we want him to do? What can he actually do? He has been in office almost two years and New Orleans is still a mess. Does this become his fault?

We as Americans really need to think about what the President’s roll is. He is not a messiah, nor is he a pariah. He is a man, elected to be the executive of our government. He is to enforce the laws passed by congress and guide our foreign affairs. He can be a cheer leader, a consoler, even a lecturer, but he is not a rock star or super hero. I am more that willing to criticize any President’s policies, but to criticize every decision is to make a caricature out of yourself.

I’ve often wondered how staple manufacturers stay in business.  Let’s say you staple three things every week.  That’s roughly 150 staples every year.  That 5000 count box of staples in your drawer?  It will last more than 30 years.  You might use 2-3 boxes in your lifetime.  Even worse, the staple industry is being attacked on all sides.  You can cut staple use by storing documents electronically, duplex printing, and even by storing documents in binders (the binder companies will love to have your business).  With so many factors working to erode their profitability, perhaps the staple companies should be in line for a government bailout.  Do we really want to see fine companies like Swingline teeter on the brink of insolvency?  Not in MY America.

A couple of fine upstanding Americans are planning dueling rallies at the National Mall (not to be confused with the Mall of America) on October 30.  Jon Stewart will kick off the day with a Rally To Restore Sanity.  Toward evening, Stephen Colbert will work to undermine Stewart’s rally with a March to Keep Fear Alive.  Any other time of the year, I would probably lean toward the Rally to Restore Sanity – but a day before Halloween, I have to go with the March to Keep Fear Alive.  (Yes, there actually is a permit request pending with the National Park Service – this is serious business.)

Have you ever wondered why street signs aren’t larger?  You’re driving in an unfamiliar city, trying to find your cousin’s house.  Hey, is that Palmetto Street or Pimento Street?  You confirm that it is Pimento and swerve into the turn lane at the last moment.  Have many of these dangerous swerves (or the more dangerous swerve in / swerve out) are the result of signs that aren’t readable until you’re about two feet away?  Why not double the size of the signs in order to save some lives?

Archaeology Magazine really isn’t getting the hint.  I chastised them publicly for allowing questionable ads to appear in their magazine.  When I received the first renewal request, I wrote “NO” across the renewal slip and included a printed copy of my article in the envelope.  Since then, over a span of about six months, they have sent six more notices.  Apparently they don’t read comments from their subscribers.  I tried to email them my concerns, but the email bounced back.  Last night, I got a call from a third party hired to rope people into renewing.  This was particularly disturbing, because I had never given them my phone number (I never give my phone number to magazines, for the reason of avoiding these sorts of calls).  Sadly, I actually enjoy the content of the magazine.

I’ve mentioned my displeasure with a certain kiosk at my local mall in the past.  I’m not really sure why I haven’t mentioned them by name.  It’s the folks that sell Dead Sea lotion products.  There are currently two locations in the mall.  The employees at one kiosk are pretty civil (I guess they are new).  The employees at the other kiosk are very aggressive, stalking you from one edge of the mall to the other, and refusing to back down even when you tell them you don’t want to be harassed.  Apparently they failed their marketing class – why waste your time on people who obviously hate your company when you could spend that effort trying to attract a different customer?  I now make an effort to walk a half step ahead of my wife when we pass the kiosk, so that they have to deal with me to get to her (they always chase after the women).  We’ve complained a few times to mall management, who have confirmed that this behavior violates their lease.  Yet, somehow, they managed to retain their spot in the mall.  In a down economy and with people already making many purchases over the internet, it seems that malls would want to enhance the shopping experience by removing the unpleasantness.  Interestingly, none of the other businesses in the mall have adopted Dead Sea’s patented harassment brand of marketing.

For the second time in recent years, a divorce threatens to tear apart a team in the National League West.  In 2008, Padres owners John and Becky Moores filed for divorce, and a substantial share of the club was sold as a result.  Now it is the Dodgers caught in the crossfire of a divorce.

Frank and Jamie McCourt (no, not the Frank McCourt who wrote Angela’s Ashes) bought the Dodgers in 2004.  Before she was fired (by her husband) at the end of last season, Jamie McCourt, as CEO of the Dodgers, was the highest ranking female executive in baseball (granted, this is a bit easier to accomplish when you own the team).

With the Dodgers a non-factor in the competitive NL West, the focus of Los Angeles is on the marathon divorce trial.  The trial began on August 30th and will pick up again on Monday after a two week recess.  It is expected that legal fees will total $20 million by the time the case concludes.  This is not going to be an amicable settlement.  Both sides are accusing the other of wrongdoing.  Frank McCourt has accused his wife of cheating with her driver.  On the flip side, Jamie’s lawyer are accusing Frank of legal shenanigans with respect to a post-nuptial agreement the couple signed.  There are six copies of the agreement.  Three of them list the Dodgers as Frank’s separate property, the other three do not (in which case they would be joint property).  Forbes has recently pegged the value of the team at $700 million … so you can understand why the two sides are willing to pony up $20 million for the best lawyers money can buy.

Lots of interesting tidbits about the couple are spilling out.  Perhaps the fact that I found the most interesting is that they employed a hairstylist who worked on their hair five days a week – at a staggering cost of $150,000.  How vain must you be to spend that sort of money on your hair?  I spend $0 on haircuts per year.  Heck, I doubt that Warren Buffett spends $150,000 on haircuts annually.  Or $15,000.  Or $1500.  Probably more than I spend, though.

In other news:

The trial of Andrew Gallo began on Monday.  Gallo is charged in the death of Angels pitcher Nick Adenhart and two others as the result of a fatal auto accident in April of 2009.  Gallo was drunk at the time of the accident (registering a .19 blood alcohol content two hours after the accident) and was driving 66 mph in a 35 mph zone.  Gallo had previously been convicted of DUI and had signed an agreement acknowledging that if he caused a fatal accident while under the influence, he would be charged with murder.  Because of this agreement, Gallo is being charged with 2nd degree murder.

The defense attorney in the case is accusing the DA of overcharging Gallo because Adenhart was a celebrity.  The DA countered by saying that 10 drunk driving cases have been prosecuted as murders since 2008.

Personally, I think it makes perfect sense to charge Gallo with murder.  He was clearly aware of the consequences of his actions, since he had previously been notified that this sort of accident would result in a murder charge against him.  He killed three people, was driving 30 mph above the speed limit, and had a blood alcohol level more than two times the legal limit (again, this was two hours after the accident – the level would have been even higher than the .19 at the time of the accident).  Celebrity victim or not, this is EXACTLY the sort of case that should trigger California’s “DUI as murder” statute.

In closing, I’ll turn this into a short public service announcement.  If you think you have a drinking problem, you’re probably right.  Seek help, either through a doctor or an organization such as Alcoholics Anonymous.  It’s not too late to get help.

Max Monet smiled and pondered the old adage – “it’s an ill wind that blows no good.” The ill wind of this recession had certainly been profitable for Max.

The real estate market had turned sour quickly, with many properties selling for small fractions of their going rate just a year earlier. Max had quickly snapped up two adjacent properties.

Camp Serenity had once been a popular place to get away from the hustle and bustle. The numbers of visitors had fallen off dramatically when urban sprawl brought with it new corporate neighbors.

Hopkins Distributing was one of those neighbors. The warehouse once had trucks coming and going at all hours – providing a steady source of employment for the residents of the town.

When the recession hit, the corporate suits at Hopkins decided that the facility was superfluous and shut it down. It was too late for Camp Serenity – the Hopkins facility had forced it onto life support years ago.

Most observers looked at these properties and saw failure. Max Monet saw potential. He made bids on both properties, and was soon the proud owner.

A couple of months later, Max Monet hit the road on a marketing tour. The product he was selling was Camp Serenity. Camp Serenity was touted as a think tank for the new generation of humanities scholars. Get away from the rat race for a while and focus on your writing, your art, or your research. Participate in seminars in your field of study. No fees were charged for room and board.

In an economy with so many unemployed liberal arts majors, Max would have certainly signed up quite a few prospects – but Max had sweetened the deal. When Camp Serenity was marketed across the region, it had sex appeal. Max had brought his staff with him – the group of men and women who would lead the seminars and serve as resources for the other residents of the camp. They all had graduate degrees, but had been unable to land jobs in their field of study. They were also a remarkably attractive group – almost as if they had been chosen more for their looks than their academic credentials.

And indeed they had been. A large number of people who would have been on the fence about the idea of Camp Serenity under normal circumstances had been putty in the hands of the staff. Heck, they were unemployed anyway – why not escape to Camp Serenity and try to write the great American novel?

There was one small catch to the free room, board, and tuition. Each resident had to do a bit of work-study each day. The residents were served a hot breakfast before heading to the Hopkins building to begin the morning shift at 8 AM. The shift was done at 10 AM, and they were free to focus on their intellectual pursuits until lunchtime.

The afternoon shift began at 1 and finished up by 3, in time for a daily lecture. The residents could attend a lecture in their own subject area, or cross over to learn about a new topic. Not surprisingly, the most attractive staff members attracted the largest crowds. They probably could have read the phone book aloud and still have people coming back every day.

After the lectures and subsequent discussions, there was plenty of time to work on individual intellectual pursuits, small group discussions, or even a nap. By 6 PM, the group reported back to the main hall for supper.

After supper, they headed back to finish off another short shift. The two hour shift ended at 9, and everyone had free time until they decided to go to bed.

The schedule was a bit different on Sunday. No work – just lectures and time for individual study.

Max had been mildly surprised when three residents had secured book deals for novels written entirely within the confines of Camp Serenity. He supposed that it actually was a good environment for intellectual pursuits. Most importantly to Max, though, it was a way to squeeze 36 hours of labor out of people for minimum cost. The barracks cost virtually nothing to maintain, and the fare at the dining hall leaned heavily toward cheap, filling meals, with on occasional steak dinner thrown in to boost morale.

[Editor’s note: although the sentiments of this article remain the same today, please note that the article is from September 2010 and refers to events in that time frame.]

Benjamin Franklin once said, “Certainty? In this world nothing is certain but death and taxes.” As the Bush tax cuts are set to expire and the mid term elections only 2 months away, Congress is scrambling on what to do about the tax cuts.

If the democrats choose to back President Obama’s plan to soak the rich in taxes it would be political suicide. Let’s think about this. Right now we already tax the rich heavily. And who hires people, the rich? Who owns businesses? The rich. Why would taxing them benefit anyone? If they have less coming in, they’re less likely to hire people. With unemployment at record highs, why risk that? Again, if you have less coming in (or more going to the government) you might not only not hire people, but cut positions. And that would cause our unemployment rate to go even higher.

In this current economic climate, how does taxing more, which would cause fewer jobs to be available (or loss of even more jobs) even make sense? Trust me. I’m not rich. I’m not pleading this case for my own pocketbook. It just doesn’t make economic sense to tax the rich at this time. Everyone is already taxed too much. The government takes too much of what is ours. Benjamin Franklin was right.

If the tax breaks are allowed to expire and the rich are taxed more by our government, I hope people let their voices known on election night. Chris Christie said, “Higher taxes is the road to ruin. We must and we will shrink our government, and that means making some tough choices, tightening our belts.” In the current economy everyone has been forced to tighten their belts … why not the government?

If you don’t realize that I’m a big baseball fan, you’re new around here.  I like baseball as much as Evan likes Evernote – and nearly as much as Lazy Man hates Mona Vie.  I subscribe to MLB Extra Innings, get Sports Weekly in my mailbox every week (just for the baseball coverage), and pre-order Ron Shandler’s newest book every year.  I’d say that it borders on an obsession, but I have to be honest with myself – it crossed the threshold many years ago.  To paraphrase the quote from Jerry Maguire, it had me at “play ball”.

As a fan of the Colorado Rockies, I’m acutely aware of the differences between the offensive numbers the Rockies compile at Coors Field versus the numbers they compile on the road.  Although the installation of a humidor several years ago has cut the gap somewhat, the team typically achieves an OPS (on-base-plus-slugging) of somewhere between 100 and 150 points higher at home (the 220 point differential this year is an outlier).  The typical Major League player has an OPS 31 points higher at home – so Coors Field clearly aids the Rockies hitters.

Chipper Jones of the Braves has thrust his own opinion into this issue into the spotlight, suggesting that Carlos Gonzalez’s numbers are not legitimate due to CarGo’s massive home/road splits.  Never mind that Chipper enjoyed a 244 point differential in his 1999 MVP season.  Apparently dramatic splits are OK, as long as they aren’t compiled by a Rockies hitter.

Of course, a couple of things often get ignored.  First, the home/road disparity can be skewed by the unbalanced scheduled.  The Rockies play more games in San Diego’s Petco Park (a pitcher’s paradise) than the Cubs do, for example (this is also why ESPN’s park factors are flawed).  The second is an effect that has been theorized but not proven – that there is a Coors Hangover effect that negatively affects Rockies players on the road.  The gist of this argument is that Rockies hitters get lulled into the flatness of breaking pitches (curve balls, sliders, etc.) at home and are not prepared for the sharper breaks at lower elevations.  A couple of years ago, I analyzed some data that supported this theory.  In 2008, the Rockies hit line drives on 23% of balls they put into play at home, and just 19.6% of balls they put into play on the road – an indication that they are actually making more solid contact at home, rather than simply enjoying the fact that the balls travels further in thin air.  This was an incomplete study, as I did not analyze the splits for other teams.

More importantly, players on the same team are affected differently by the park.  Carlos Gonzalez of the Rockies has an OPS 400 points higher at home this year.  Troy Tulowitzki has a more modest 138 point differential.  I struggled to find a comparable player to CarGo – but the most notable lefty who played predominately in the post-humidor era and had some power is Brad Hawpe (Todd Helton and Larry Walker played a lot of games pre-humidor).  Hawpe has a career differential of about 50 points – not much more than the 31 points for the average MLB player.  The home/road splits are all over the chart – without a lot of logic to the distribution.

I have theorized for many years that there are mental, psychological, and social factors that come into play.  Some players will be consistent studs at home, while others will stink it up in front of the home team fans and dazzle on the road.  Why?

Unique aspects of the park – Every park has unique aspects.  The most notable is perhaps the Green Monster in Boston’s Fenway Park.  The left field wall is a stone’s throw from home plate – but looms 37 feet high.  A play who can tailor their swing to hit high fly balls to left field will get homers at home and harmless outs on the road.  It’s not always as easy as flipping a switch when you go on the road – but if this player were traded, they would likely change their swing to remove the uppercut.

A less notable feature of each park is the batter’s eye in center field.  You may notice that there are never any fans sitting in dead center field, and that this area is always a solid color.  This is to provide a visual background that allows that hitter to see the ball after it is pitched (imagine trying to see the balls with fans in the background, wearing a variety of colors).  A player may become accustomed to their park’s hitter’s eye and hit better with it in the background.  The ability to adapt your style to suit the ballpark is a skill, not a fluke – and it’s portable to a new home environment.

Climate – Call it the Favre factor.  Some guys are going to prefer cooler climates while other prefer warmed climates.  The data do exist to analyze climate data (the box score contains the temperature at the start of the game), but I haven’t seen much work on this topic.

Family life – Everyone is happier when they are around loved ones.  I would theorize that players in happy relationships will do well at home, and players in bad relationships (or no relationship) will not do as well.  If a marriage is turning from bliss into hell, I would expect a player’s home/road splits to become more road-favorable.

Dining and Entertainment Options – I like having my favorite restaurants around.  Plop me into the midst of a vegan-leaning area and I would not do well.  A happy belly is a happy ballplayer.  Likewise, a player who enjoys mountain hikes is going to be happier with his home base in Denver and a fan of Broadway shows will enjoy New York.  Put the mountain hike guy in New York City and the Broadway guy in Denver and neither is as happy.

Community involvement – Some players are much more involved in the community than others.  Some players are more like hired guns – coming in to do a job, and then leaving town the day after the season is over.  I would expect the more involved players to do better at home, because they have a good feeling about the city.

Fans – And, of course, the player’s relationship with the fans.  If the fans are vocally supportive of a player, I’d expect the player to out-perform the park factors – although it’s possible that some players could try to hard and do worse because of the fans.

Really, all of this boils down to one thing.  Players who feel more “at home” in their home city should have better splits than a player who is more neutral about the surroundings.

I haven’t had the time to compile an all-inclusive list, nor have I had the time to do any statistical analysis of the theory.  What other factors do you think can affect a player’s home/road splits?

My Rockies were 11 games out of first place on August 22.  At the end of the day on Sunday, they had pulled to within 1 1/2 games of the division leading Padres and Giants – courtesy of a 10 game winning streak.  A loss to San Diego on Monday dropped them 2 1/2 games back – but with 17 games left in the regular season, the Rockies could once again make some noise down the stretch.

As impossible as it seems, Carlos Gonzalez has been overshadowed in recent days by Rockies shortstop Troy Tulowitzki.  Tulo has reported that his wrist is now feeling completely healthy – and Tulo has provided evidence of this by hitting 9 homers in the last 11 games.  Tulo’s career has been sidetracked slightly by injuries and some slows springs, but he is going to be one of the elite shortstops in the game for years to come.

CarGo’s pursuit of the elusive triple crown also seems unlikely at this point, as a hot stretch by Albert Pujols of the Cardinals has put the home run race out of reach for CarGo – barring a Tuloesque stretch of homers.

With the playoffs in sight, we get very different pictures from the two leagues.  In the American Leagues, it’s a foregone conclusion that the Yankees, Devil Rays, Twins, and Rangers are going to the post-season – although there is a possibility that the White Sox could make some noise in the Central.  The Yankees and Devil Rays are locked in a tight battle for the division lead – the loser will be the wild card.

In the National League, the Reds are the only team that can be very comfortable at this point, holding a 7 game lead against the Cardinals.  The Phillies lead the Braves by a game in the East and the Padres lead the Giants by a half game in the West.  None of these four teams is guaranteed a playoff spot – one of them will definitely miss the playoffs, and a late surge by the Rockies could result in two of those four teams missing the post-season.  The sports world might be focused on football, but there is a lot of great baseball drama yet to unfold.

A bit of drama that will unfold after the season involves Yankees star Derek Jeter.  Although it doesn’t get the attention of A-Rod’s salary, Jeter’s 20M+ salary in 2010 is among the highest in the game.  He is a Yankees icon – accumulating more hits than any other Yankee in history.  His post-season heroics have been replayed again and again and again and again.  Jeter leaving the Yankees would be like Peyton Manning leaving the Colts.  If Jeter ends up in Boston, Yankee fans will be storming Brian Cashman’s estate with torches and pitchforks.

Jeter is a free agent at the end of this season.  How much will the Yankees need to offer him to retain his services?  Will they recognize his obvious PR value and keep him near his current salary?  Or will they realize that he’s a 36 year old player in the midst of the worst season of his career, and make an offer commensurate with those facts?  Can they expect him to bounce back in 2011 – or is 2010 the beginning of the end for Jeter?  The mid-30s are unkind to many baseball players, with marked decline in performance being a common occurence.  If Derek Jeter wasn’t Derek Jeter and was instead more of a nomad (thus not eligible for a “loyalty bonus” from his employer) how much would he get?  $6 million per year?  10?

And the interesting quirk is that since Jeter will be a type A free agent, he could draw minimal interest in free agency.  If the Yankees offer arbitration and Jeter declines it, a team signing him would need for forfeit a first round draft pick to the Yankees when they sign him.  The Mets may have been able to con the Braves into signing  a declining Tom Glavine, but I’m willing to bet that some teams paid attention and came to the realization that forfeiting first round talent for a few years of mediocre performance from a declining star is not a great deal.

I just feel that I have to make one more comment, well several actually. If someone owns a book and wants to burn it, they have every right to do so. If someone can buy a property and establish a place of worship, they have every right to do so. If they are doing something to make a statement and annoy other people, that is their right, at least in the United States. These decisions just make them jerks.

I am personally glad that the Koran burning did not happen. I also hope that it never does. Back in the 1950, when zealots took books from schools and public libraries to burn, that was a crime of theft and destruction of public property. When they go out and buy copies of the Koran to burn, that is just bad taste and poor economic choices.

As far as the Mosque goes, I tried to do a little research. There is very little hard data for the religious demographics of Manhattan or for that matter, the number and location of Mosques. Based on a Columbia University study, and Google Maps (neither professes to be a good source), there are roughly 102,000 Muslims in Manhattan with 17 Mosques. There are roughly 1,029,000 Christians in Manhattan with 173 churches. That seems to be parity. The existing Mosques and Churches are pretty evenly spread around the island, with only 1 Mosque on the southern tip, but 26 churches in the same area.

As far as parity goes, are we claiming that only Christians who work in the financial district deserve easy access to their places of worship? This would seem rather presumptuous. Is it bad taste to open one that close to ground zero? I don’t think so since there is one even closer according to Google Maps. Is it rude to make it a 13 store building and name it Cordoba House (referencing the first major victory of Islamic conquest in Spain)? To me, this starts pushing to towards jerkdom, regardless of how reasonable and calm the good Imam sounds on CNN.

We have to remember, we are in the United States, and that means anyone can act like a jerk any time they want as long as they do not actually harm anyone. This is not true for other countries. For example, in Canada, you can be put in prison for hate speech if you quote the Bible against homosexuality (interestingly, quoting the Koran for the same purpose has not resulted in prison yet, but give them time). In Saudi Arabia, bringing a Bible into the country can result in prison time, and opening a Christian church is forbidden (except in military bases for foreign armies and at foreign schools).

I feel very fortunate to live in the Unites States, where anyone can stand on a corner and expose all of their prejudices for the entertainment of the all who will listen.

This story features the debut of Detective Erin Harker – the famed Master of the Obvious.  Erin will be a recurring character on Fiction Friday, using the obvious facts to solve crimes – in much the same way as the great Sherlock Holmes.  Without further ado, Master of the Obvious: Phoning It In.

Dwight was jerked back to reality by the shattered window. In a single moment, the relaxation from a month in Europe was completely reversed. He was stick to his stomach – his car had been violated by a vandal.

Dwight noticed that the car stereo had been yanked partially out before the thief had abandoned his efforts. He breathed a sign of relief – the thief had been interrupted in the middle of the crime. He’d just get the window repaired and all would be right with the world.

A minute later, Dwight realized that the thief hadn’t run off with his tail between his legs. The stereo had been abandoned in favor of a tastier prize – Dwight’s Droid was gone. It would have been useless in Europe, so he had left it behind. Now it was gone for good. Dwight could feel nausea setting in.

Dwight jogged back to the terminal and found a pay phone. He hoped that a quick call to his cell carrier would resolve the problem. Wiggity Wireless was happy to suspend service on the phone – but not willing to waive charges that the thief had rung up. It was his phone, and his responsibility.

Dwight’s bad day got worse when the customer service rep informed him that charges of $2315 had been incurred in the last month! Dwight angrily hung up, infuriated at the worthless phone company. Why couldn’t they have a safety net – notifying customers of extremely abnormal charges?

Dwight’s next call was to the Bayside Police Department. The case landed squarely on the desk of Detective Erin Harker. Harker assured him that the thief would be in cuffs within 24 hours.

“24 hours, boss? That’s a pretty aggressive timeline – even for you.”

Erin laughed at the comment. “Oh ye of little faith, Jacob. They don’t call me Master of the Obvious for nothing. Let’s starting combing through the phone calls made from the man’s phone.”

“Sure, but what’s the point?”

“To identify the thief, of course. The 900 numbers will be of limited value, but the others could prove quite valuable.” She perused the list for a moment. “Here we go – a couple of long calls on consecutive nights.”

“So we just call this person and ask them who they were talking to? Isn’t there a slight possibility that they might lie to protect their friend?”

“Oh, my young apprentice. Must I do everything for you?” Erin ran a reverse lookup on the phone number and grabbed her own phone to make a call.

“Shirley Dowd? This is Detective Erin Harker with the Bayside PD. We’re investigating an armed robbery two nights ago. We have a couple of witnesses who have placed you at the scene. Where were you around 8:30 PM on the night of the 17th?”

“You were talking with your boyfriend on the phone for about two hours that night? Can I get his name – we’ll need to verify your alibi with him.” Erin listened to the woman’s reply and scribbled information on the notepad in front of her.

“OK, Jacob. The perp has been identified as one Charles Wilson. Can you run by his apartment and bring him in for questioning?”

It was 9 years ago on a Tuesday morning, the weather not unlike it was for me here this morning in central NC – high 70’s, not a cloud in the sky. I awoke to my cat, Madison, nudging me that it was time for breakfast. I sat up quickly from my half-sleep and noticed it was 8:20. I was going to be late. Normally on such a beautiful day I’d get my cycling clothes on and bike down Smith Street to downtown Brooklyn where I’d catch the Brooklyn Bridge footpath and ride over to Manhattan, usually crossing the City Hall complex through the gardens and then riding down Broadway to work at 1 NY Plaza.

But not today, I was late. I fed Madison, scrambled to get some clothes on and half walked, half jogged to the F-line subway station at Smith and 9th, about 2 blocks from where I worked. I figured I’d be about 5-10 minutes past my normal arrival time of 9:00. The subway went underground after the next stop and I fell into my normal routine of staring at the NYC subway map on wall so as to not make eye contact with anyone. About 10 minutes later the train pulled into Borough Hall station and I quickly exited and climbed the stairs to transfer over to the N/R Borough Hall station (they are not connected underground, but because I used a MetroCard the transfer was free). Another subway trip, this time the N/R line to Whitehall Street station which was right on One NY Plaza, where I worked. It was just a few minutes after 9:00 when the train pulled into the station, I got out and did my usual rush to get ahead of the crowd and started going up the stairs 2 at a time. I was about halfway up the last staircase when it happened.

New York City, especially lower Manhattan during the day, is a noisy place. Living there for a while you get acclimated to strange and loud noises. I don’t think my mind first noticed the extremely loud jet airliner noise but I do remember focusing and pondering for a second or so when I heard a massive boom that sounded not unlike a piano soundboard breaking. Yes, a piano soundboard. It’s a pretty unique noise, because all the strings snap at once and create this massive cacophony of both resonance and dissonance at the same time. A second after that, just as I was coming up to street level I heard what was clearly the sound of people screaming – not just a few people, tens of thousands of people screaming. I looked north, where the noise was coming from, and saw hundreds of people in the streets, moving south. I looked eastward toward the large, open plaza part of One NY Plaza and almost immediately saw a co-worker; Myung, and he looked scared. I can honestly say in the 4 years I had known him while working with him he had never appeared scared before. I quickly walked up to him and asked, “What’s going on?”

“F*cking terrorists, it had to be. They crashed a small Cessna into the North Twin Tower to get everyone’s attention, and then just now crashed an airliner into the South tower.”

I took that bit of news with about as much grace as anyone else would; my jaw probably dropped and I said, “What?!”

“Yeah, just now. 767 or something. It came from that way and slammed right into the twin towers.” He pointed South and drew a line through the air from the direction of Staten Island toward where the WTC would be if we had clear sight lines to it. I started walking toward Broad Street where I’d be able to look north and see the WTC. I didn’t get halfway across the plaza when I saw my boss and the other 5 members of my group. They had spotted me and were walking towards me.

Jim was my boss. He was only a few years older than me and was at first glance the perfect California surfer dude. He was tall, had perfectly spiked blonde hair, good looks, and was well tanned. I didn’t even have time to ask what was going on, when we were all within a few feet of each other he said, “We’re getting out of here, all of us, back to my place. We’re taking the ferry – it’ll be safer over in Jersey. I don’t think we should stay here or take bridges out of Manhattan. In fact, everyone in my group but myself and the other Netware/Windows guy, Phil, lived in central Jersey so it made sense that they’d all want to head back there. I thought about it for a moment and then told them that I had to get home to my roommates and to make sure my cat was safe if things got worse. I expected protest, even being ordered to go with them on the ferry to Hoboken, but Jim just nodded and said, “Ok, man, good luck. Keep in touch with the pagers.” Everyone in my department had two-way pagers with mini qwerty keyboards. Jason, my best friend at work, extended his hand, shook my hand and said simply, “good luck.”

I made my way through the crowd on the plaza to Broad Street and that’s finally when I looked up and saw the Twin Towers. The south tower almost completely obscured the view of the north tower, but I could clearly see the massive, smoldering hole where the 2nd airliner had hit. With the way winds are in lower Manhattan, this was the first time I could smell it too. Ever smell burnt electronics? It was pretty close to that, with a bit more of a sharp smell of metal burning. It was absolutely surreal to see a massive hole in what was the most iconic view of NYC for me. Jason had taken a few pictures of it before they left the 31st floor where I worked:

View from rooftop of One NY Plaza, looking north – note we were directly in line with both towers and you could only see the southern tower as it obscured all of the view of the northern one

 

View from 31st floor of One NY Plaza shortly after the first plane hit

 

A few minutes later, same vantage point

 

South tower after being hit by the 2nd plane

 

South tower just a few minutes before collapsing

 

I continued on up South Street, walking at a pace just slow enough that I could stare in disbelief at the WTC without bumping into anyone else. My plan was to take the Brooklyn Bridge footpath across and then walk down Court Street all the way home. It was about at South Street Seaport that I noticed a lot more than the normal clutter and mess on the street. The street was teeming with fairly fresh paper. I looked down and picked one up – it was a resume. I folded it up, put it in my pocket, and wondered if that particular person were still alive or not, or if they were even there. It could have been someone scheduled to interview next week. It could have been someone there for an interview that day. For all I knew in my state of disbelief and shock it could have been someone on one of the planes – I was always too scared to go back and look at that resume and see if the owner of it had died, and now I can’t find it after having moved from NYC. At this point police had started to organize the chaos a bit and there were more than a few of them directing pedestrian and vehicle traffic. I think it was at Beekman Street that I turned north-west and started to move toward the entrance of the Brooklyn Bridge footpath. I moved up Beekman for a few blocks, past Pace University and toward Park Row. I was just going past the Downtown Hospital where there were quite a few police officers gathered and I overheard one of them saying to someone else that emergency crews were using the Brooklyn Bridge and all civilian traffic was being routed up to the Manhattan Bridge. I decided to double-time it at that point. I also realized at that point that my family and my girlfriend would be worried about me. My parents were in England on a long overdue second honeymoon so they had almost no way of getting in touch with me.

While on the few blocks from St. James Place to the Manhattan Bridge I pulled out my phone and tried a few times to reach my girlfriend, getting nothing but busy signals. I pulled out my pager and wrote up a simple text message – “I’m ok, walking home to Brooklyn right now” and sent it to her e-mail. She’d later tell me that despite the initial panic and dread of hearing the news and getting nothing but busy signals trying to call me, she almost immediately thought of checking her e-mail. My sister wasn’t so level-headed or lucky. She didn’t have an e-mail address that I knew of or remembered back then, so I sent her a text-to-speech message that would prompt her to press “1” to listen as a computerized voice read off what I put in my pager. I would find out later that she must have thought it was some sort of automatic warning/emergency response and that they were calling her because I was injured or dead. I may be a pretty technical person, but apparently my sister isn’t.

It was almost 10:00 and I was a few hundred feet from the Manhattan Bridge on Bowery Street by that point and the smell was already making it uncomfortable but not hard to breathe. I had been pausing to look up at the towers every so often and did so right then. With Columbus Park and City Hall Park being a majority of the land between where I was and the WTC, I had a clear view right at that point, and was staring right at the South Tower as it began to fall. From my vantage point I could more feel than hear the rumble of the collapse and the steel girders rattling around sounded not unlike a massive set of wind chimes. It was such an unexpected noise that I remember specifically thinking that exact thought: “wow, that sounds like a giant set of wind chimes.” A large woman in her 40’s next to me screamed, “oh, God!” and stumbled as she tried running toward the bridge in shoes clearly not meant for running. The white cloud of pulverized concrete, dust, ash, etc came rushing out in all directions and while it certainly reached where I was standing it wasn’t nearly as bad as what many saw and videotaped. One of my co-workers still in One NY Plaza managed to look down and take a few pictures of what that looked like:

Here’s the view northward, pretty much the same direction as the previous pictures sans WTC

 

This is looking down at Broad and Water Streets, covered in 5-6 inches of concrete dust, ash, and who knows what else. If I didn’t know any better I’d say it was winter and the whole area was covered in dirty snow.

 

I moved across the Manhattan Bridge footpath at a brisk pace at that point. About the middle of the bridge my pager went off, it was a message from Jason saying that he had seen the tower collapse and heard reports that the Pentagon and a State Department building had been hit as well. I thought the same thing he did: that it was raining airplanes and someone had declared war on us. I think I broke into a full-fledged run at that point to reach the Brooklyn side. I was thinking the worst: there would be more planes crashing and a lot more panic would devolve into looting and riots. I was going over a mental list in my head of things to do when I got home: break out the cat-carrier and get Madison into it, get some bottles of water together, get my baseball bat and pepper spray easily available, and then bunker down and prepare for armageddon.

I didn’t know what kind of chemicals I was breathing in at that point, having been in the dust cloud that spread when the south tower collapsed. The smell of burnt metal/electronics was even more pungent at that point, so as soon as I got to the Brooklyn side of the bridge I went into the first corner store I found and went to buy a bottle of water; I was going to get my bandana out of my backpack and soak it in the water and put it over my nose and mouth so I could at least have a bit of a filter from the stench. I went to the cash register to buy the bottle and a very rotund man with a thick Brooklyn accent turned to me and pointed to a small TV in the corner and said, “Didja see that sh*t? It just fell. Crazy.” He saw me getting out my wallet to pay and said, “Don’t worry about it. Pass on the good deed to someone else who might need it. We gotta all stick together with sh*t like this happening.” I gave him as heartfelt a smile as I could manage and was able to say thank you without my voice cracking too much at the really kind gesture he had just made. I went back outside and started for home, just about 2 miles straight down Court Street. I walked fast. I was in my late 20’s and in good shape but was still walking fast enough that my legs were burning a bit. All over there were police with traffic stopped letting various vehicles through. At the corner of Court and Atlantic there were police cars all over and they had quite obviously commandeered a bus and were loading it with police to drive across to Manhattan.

I don’t quite remember when I got home, I have to guess just after 10:30, because when I walked upstairs to our third floor walkup my roommate Andy was there – I hadn’t heard a peep from him before I left that morning so I thought he had gone to work. Turns out he was taking a mental health day and had only woken up around 10:00, not having any idea what had happened. He told me he kept hearing sirens go by (we lived a block from the Brooklyn side of the Brooklyn/Battery tunnel) and had half-slept through most of it, only turning on the TV to CNN when he saw the smoke coming from the direction of lower Manhattan out our back window.

“I saw the south tower fall. Collapsed.” I said to him.

“Both of them,” he said somberly. “North one just a few minutes ago.”

I got out both of my pepper spray canisters and set them on the kitchen counter. Andy didn’t seem too concerned, so I held off on my plan to get my baseball bat out, and picked up Madison and sat down on the couch to watch the news. Every few minutes I’d try calling my girlfriend and my sister. At some point that morning I sent a page to my co-worker Mohammed, a fairly devout Muslim, that said, “There’s going to be a lot of angry people today, and I’m praying that you and your family will be safe. I know that who you call Allah and who I call God are one and the same.” I was already angry that this had happened and I considered myself fairly rational and not the slightest bit hawkish – I could only imagine the epitaphs of “glass parking lot!” and “nuke ’em all!” that were being muttered all across our country right now out of anger in the direction of Mecca.

The rest of my day was a lot less exciting. I got a response from my girlfriend telling me she’d call when she could get through. I got a tearful call from my sister saying that she finally figured out I was ok and would tell my parents I was ok. My other roommate Louis came home ok – he had been working on a construction crew that would have been driving past the WTC a few times that day. Andy’s girlfriend Penny came home from her teaching job looking like she had suffered at least 1 nervous breakdown. I sent a pager message to my immediate co-workers that I was home safe and got replies from all of them that they were safe as well. I personally knew at least a dozen people that worked in and around the World Trade Center and all of them were ok. A co-worker of mine had an uncle who died at the WTC, you might have heard of him. There was a man in a wheelchair in the North Tower who was being helped down the many flights of stairs by a few kind souls who ignored emergency responder advice to get out ASAP. One of the people helping him down who did not make it out was my co-worker Henry’s uncle.

Late Wednesday night I took my girlfriend’s parent’s car from NYC to North Carolina (where I live today). I drove through the night and ended up taking the long way through Maryland and West Virginia because I had heard DC would be near impossible to drive through. I had been planning that trip for a few weeks later anyway, but it seemed as good a time as any with everything that went on. We discussed seriously what had been discussed in passing many times before: we loved each other enough to want to (eventually) get married.

Funny that 9 years later and hundreds of miles away the weather would be almost identical.

[Editor’s note: Photos courtesy of Jason Consorti. Check out Jason’s WTC page. Click on images to see an enlarged version.]