200 Greenwich Street

Being in New York on September 11, I figured it would only be appropriate to go down to Ground Zero, look around, pay my respects... Never in my life have I been more emotionally stirred. I've always had an affinity for firemen; I find them to be among the most admirable, phenomenal people on this planet. It's making me choked up just thinking about it!

The past few days have been absolutely gorgeous, with plenty of sun, little humidity, a slight breeze.. yesterday, however, was dreadful. As cliche as it sounds, I declared that New York was crying yesterday. The entire city felt tranquil, especially near the site, and the second I walked up out of the subway, my emotions were on high sensitivity mode. I walked along the entire outline of the site, giving and receiving sad smiles and hellos, observing the hundreds of different colored roses and notes and letters that had been stuck through the fence, until I finally made it around to the WTC Visitor's Center. It had closed already, but right next door was a firehouse, which looked like it was only for viewing purposes, but it could have been active.. I'm not so sure. There were a couple engines in there, a whole bunch of quite attractive firemen (especially one named "Burns", which may or may not be ironic.. I liked him though :) hehe) They were posing for pictures, standing in front of a gorgeous motorcycle with 9/11 insignia on the sides. Down the side of this building, there is a giant memorial plaque which read "DEDICATED TO THOSE WHO FELL AND THOSE WHO CARRY ON... WE WILL NEVER FORGET" At this point, my eyes had been filled with tears for a good ten minutes; as I was observing this wall, though, someone yelled, "Make way! Make way!" It ended up being a captain who was trying to clear a path for the changing of the guards at this wall. As the three men slowly marched past me, I completely lost all control. The tears that had been resting in my eyes began spilling out, and there was nothing I could do to stop them.
These men, so regal and noble, had witnessed such an enormous tragedy, lost friends, comrades, and willingly worked themselves past exhaustion in order to find hope in the most heartbreaking event of their lives. And here they were, still standing, right in front of me, on the eighth anniversary of that horrible Tuesday morning.
After attempting to compose myself, and realizing that this was the one day that I decided to wear regular mascara, as opposed to the waterproof that usually coats my lashes, I wandered around for a while longer. On the opposite side of the street that the plaque was on, there was a giant poster that had the name of every person who had been killed written on it. People were able to write on it, so I spent quite a while reading the different tributes and messages that people had left. One fireman walked up to the wall with a friend and pointed to a picture of a beautiful young woman, told this man that she was his daughter, and explained to him her story. It was so heart-rending! Just as I was about to leave, two things happened: First, I caught sight of the previously mentioned attractive fireman named Burns, so I casually ventured over to where he was. As I was venturing, I noticed a bunch of men with bagpipes start to congregate in the street and start warming up. Score! I had to stay for that, obviously. They warmed up for a good half-hour or so, and I am so thankful that I stayed. They played a few songs, many of which I didn't recognize as anything in particular, but the follow two videos were just amazing to witness.

I wasn't able to get a video of this final ceremonial event, but after the men played, they all broke out into this pub-like chant, apparently titled "The Wild Rover (No Nay Never)" which then made me cry happy tears, just in admiration at the camaraderie that these men share. As they were singing, a few older firemen came up alongside, drinking beer, singing along, and they threw their arms over my shoulders and forced me to kind of sway along to the music. After the song was over, all twenty or so of them wanted to get their picture taken, so I became the official photographer for one of the Harlem firestations. Yes please! After taking a couple of their pictures, it was necessary that I get in the pictures too, apparently, so there are a couple with me in middle of them. We all introduced ourselves, chatted for a while, and they LOVED me! I'm not saying that in an arrogant way either, I'm serious. To every person who walked up, they'd yell, "HEY! Did you meet Ashley yet? She's Irish! She's new to New York!" They were all so friendly and nice, and they were appalled that I was down there alone. "You are NOT spending September 11 on your own. You're coming with us!" they said to me, so before I knew it, I was walking arm in arm with another very cute fireman named Noah, directly into a "pissing rain" on our way to catch a cab to go bar-hopping in Alphabet City, Little Italy, and Chinatown. So there I was, laying across the laps of three huge New York firefighters in the back of a cab, exchanging "Where were you when the Towers were hit?" stories.. It was unreal. Their stories were like something you would expect to read in a memoir, and it completely overwhelmed me to be in the company of these brave, noble men who were literally right there when everything happened. We ended up at some random tenement in Chinatown first, and as these guys were guiding me up this sketchy staircase, I wondered if my attempt at being spontaneous had backfired, and I was about to be murdered; however, as we walked through the front door of this apartment, my brief worries completely disappeared. Here we were in the home of these two people who throw a private party every year for any and all firefighters and their friends. Let me tell you, this was a complete insider, invitation only, private party. SO AWESOME! We all just hung out, swapped stories, drank, played pool, ate food... It was unbelievable. I still can't believe it happened. I ended up chatting with a couple of Navy boys for a while, all of whom were Southern, 22 years old, married, with children already. One of them told me that it was his dream to come to New York and recreate the classic Times Square kiss from World War Two, so I gladly volunteered to fulfill that wish :) Why not, right? I ended up getting home around 2 AM, pinching myself the entire way to make sure I wasn't dreaming. I still cannot believe I spent September 11 with hundreds of New York firefighters.. That's a dream come true, not just for me but for anyone, I would imagine! It was amazing.