I never told this to anyone.
The 10th anniversary of 9-11 was nearly two months ago so, yes, I blew the deadline. It took time for me to relate this:
In the aftermath of 9-11, I would sit at my desk and replay that sunny Tuesday’s events over and over and over in my head, until I would simply convulse in sobs. The air in Brooklyn, where I lived, hung heavy and yellow and smelled like an electrical fire inside a cremetorium. Which is what it was.
One day, the daze lifted. Sort of. And I was determined to make my very own memorial for the fallen. I had a brainstorm. I would make a cassette tape. Of music, in five parts. Each part related to one of the Five Stages of Death.
So. In my song cycle, I had:
I. Denial and Isolation
- E Lucevan le Stelle (Caruso version)
- My Little Town (Simon & Garfunkel)
- Small Blue Thing (Suzanne Vega)
- Danny Boy (Chieftains)
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II. Anger
- Star Spangled Banner (Hendrix)
- We’re Not Gonna Take It (Twisted Sister)
- Sunday Bloody Sunday (U2)
- Ahab the Arab (Ray Stevens)
- Ride of the Valkyries/Napalm (Apocalypse Now soundtrack)
III. Bargaining
- Broken Things (Buddy and Julie Miller)
- If I Fall Behind (Springsteen)
IV. Depression
- Flying Shoes (Townes Van Zandt)
- Come Down In Time (Elton John)
- Ben McCullagh (Steve Earle)
V. Acceptance
- Tears in Heaven (Clapton)
- The Boxer (Simon & Garfunkel)
- Tragedy (Emmylou Harris)
And I spent hours on the floor, in front of my old-technology analog two-channel stereo, mixing vinyl and CDs and cassettes onto my cassette deck, for this was well before I had access to a burner, or iTunes, or “clouds.” And, many hours later, I was finished. And I was mentally and physically exhausted and, for the first time in a long time, I actually felt “good.”
I made a little decoration for the cassette box and, later in the week, brought it down to my 1999 VW, which was equipped with a cassette deck. The decoration was a print-out of the New York Times photo by Angel Franco of the heavy black lady resting on a mailbox near Ground Zero, crying, her eyeglasses askew.
For the debut of my 9-11 tape, I thought I’d take a ride and play it on the road. Not the typical “road songs” tape but, hey, this is what I wanted.
I opened the car door, got in, turned the key. The car fired up. I turned on the radio. I put the cassette into the tape player.
AND IT ATE MY TAPE!!!
I did not laugh, I did not cry. I just pulled the shards of plastic and ribbons of accordioned audio tape from inside the ruined bowels of the tape player. The tape player never worked again. The tape, of course, was broken and, it being my “master,” I had no way to create a dupe other than to re-record.
Which I never had the (nerve, gumption, fortitude, need — pick one) to do.
And I completely forgot about the entire episode until this very morning, nearly two months after the 10th anniversary of 9-11.
I never told it to anyone, dear reader, until I set it down now, for you, The Real New Yorkers.