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My personal tour guides in NYC fall silent TAYLOR MARSHALL GREEN GAMECOCKVIEWPOINTS@HOTMAIL.COM Lessons learned on the flight to Newark and at New York’s ground zero. I had paid an extra low fare to fly into the country’s worst airport, so I knew the only way to get my airborne view of the pummeled lower Manhattan skyline would have to be a landing from the north into Jersey’s big airfield. It happened and my Fall Break began with an early afternoon peek of a mass of erect steel that had been tagged with a winged pebble, making it angry and like the gelatinous mass The Blob, making it bigger and stronger. Those shiny twin towers had stood as prominently upon the buildings of Lower Manhattan as the two “Is” now stand in the date that marks their obituary. Those large towers use to slap lasting impressions on me that would only begin to fade after making my final connection in Charlotte on my way back to Columbia. My girlfriend and I use to walk on the Brooklyn Heights Promenade with the twin towers as our own personal tour guides. Now, she sat at one of the ribbon-tied benches with her chin in her hands and let me walk on. She had been here before so many times, probably lit so many candles, probably peered at so many photos and images of the fallen. I would stop every once and a while and read the first stanza of an influenced poem or biblical verse that hung wilted on the black gates. Everything seemed to be so relevant; all of the month-old stories and quotes; and the Virgin Mary candles all jury-rigged to the cast iron fence seemed to pray for the fallen towers and humans and they shined New York’s muscle. Even the two eggplants, I thankfully skipped over, had reason to be there. They were the only vegetables that someone could offer to the view. When Kirsten and I took our sacred walk over the old Brooklyn Bridge, it stank of rotten disaster. The HUM-Vs and National Guard, sprinkled with NYPD, stood curious of everything that passed them at the west-end of the bridge. There were gusts of odors from WTC and peripherals of a skyline that made you ask yourself, “Were they up there? Or maybe they stood tall behind that green topped building.” That city swept us right off the bridge into its pedestrian current with the same force as before. The rapids began at the end of the bridge, moving quick and abruptly. This city was wounded. This city was motivated and rushing. On Sunday, I took the A-C to Chambers and emerged on the south side of Church. I was immediately greeted with a hole in the sky. It was so apparent that it made every person who walked by stop to wonder or snap a shot if there was a camera ready. Great amounts of city were closed and blocked off down there. It was so quiet that you could hear people’s whispered conversations as you shouldered past them. As openings between buddings developed, so did the crowd. I walked around the perimeter within a surge of people like Yankee Stadium just letting out from a close game. I stared at the brown ground. Stopping every so often to sweep my fingertips along the ground and ponder at what could possibly make up the fine dust that sat on everything: the streets, madboxes and 70-story facades of buildings. It was like a resin, except I had it only on my fingers, and a man with a hardhat had seemingly bathed in it. On my flight out of Newark, I had ideas of what would be built in the towers’ place, if any. Maybe one budding, maybe three. Possibly a 16-acre field that could highlight the stories of the many unripe lives that perished in this assault against the Apple. No one will know for some time. Not until the site is exhumed and cleaned. Until then, New York seems willing to take their new skyline and make the best of it. They will continue to have the healthiest pulse of any city in America or perhaps on Earth. I use to fly away with great impressions of the city and its towers every time I left. Now, it’s not only great impressions that I check in at the airport, but also a lasting privilege to have walked by those great skyscrapers and never once have taken them for granted. Taylor Marshall-Green is a fourth-year student in the College of Journalism and Mass Communications. Goodwin Seek out mentors, break stereotypes CONTINUED FROM PAGE 6 3. Stop fighting, especially over females (there are more girls on campus than guys!) 4. Seek out a mentor on campus - 5. Join and become a leader in organizations that are not labeled “black” organizations Again, I do not seek to embarrass or ridicule the black male, and I feel I need to say that because I’m pro-black, please don’.t make the mistake and believe I’m anti-white, Asian or any other culture. Is there not a balm in Gilead? You better believe there is, and it’s called unity! Behold, how good and pleasant it is for brethren to dwell together in unity! (Ps. 133:1) Just keeping it real! Michael Goodwin is a first-year graduate student in the College of Education. LOOK FOR RENE MOFFATT’S EDITORIAL CARTOONS EVERY WEEK IN THE GAMECOCK. --I---I Alan Day Ph.D., Chemistry wii! i EB Community and the Office of Greek Life would like to thank the following faculty for their hard work and support of academics! 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