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Essentials in
Chapter business
Life after 9-11 -- A Ministry of Song
Bringing comfort through song in the streets of New York in the days following September 11.
Updated: 5/28/2002 4:33:00 PM
A Ministry of Song
By Raymond E. Yeh,
Big Apple Chorus Music & Performance Vice President
As I returned home several evenings ago, I crossed over the boulevard to visit our neighborhood firehouse, Ladder Company 151 of the FDNY. A makeshift shrine of candles crowded the sidewalk in front; the flames standing erect as if at attention in the stillness of the night air. The flag, newly hoisted to full staff, still seemed to hang sadly as if keeping silent vigil for the return of heroes. The streets were nearly empty…a strange thing for New York City at this time of night.
In my short 10 years in the Society, I never thought anything could rival the emotions of singing at the wall of the national Vietnam Veterans' Memorial on Memorial Day. That was until two weeks ago when the Big Apple Chorus along with members of the Coastal Chordsmen, came forward to offer a ministry of song to help heal the many broken hearts in our city. With Beech Larsen, I made attempts to contact St. Vincent's hospital to see if we could sing for patients rescued after the tragedy. While I waited for an answer from the hospital's ministry office, Beech e-mailed our chorus, and soon nearly two-thirds of the chorus had made themselves available to take our message out to the street.
Ever since the attack, I think a lot of us were itching to do something. I would have been happy to distribute sandwiches and bottled water to the rescue workers. I would gladly haul cinder blocks and steel. I believe that our singing was really what we could do best, though.
Getting into the city after the attack was harder for some people than others since many avenues in were being closed intermittently or rerouted. Still, we managed to gather in what we call "midtown" near 14th Street at the upper edge of the "closed" area of the city. Everywhere we sang, people gathered to hungrily take in the comfort what we offered them. Our songs formed a patch for wounded hearts; our spirit was a prayer that stilled troubled souls.
At Union Square Park, a man from Boston, Bill Jenkins, joined us and tagged along to share our ministry. He wasn't a Barbershopper, but also had responded to “Gabriel's call” to minister through song. With trumpet in hand, he sent the clarion call of a familiar refrain into the acrid, chemical-tainted air…"o'er the land of the free." Mourner and peace protester alike crowded close, shed their hats and sang our anthem with passion and pride. We never formally identified ourselves, save for the casual uniform we all wore. I can remember the face of one young woman sitting on the steps in front of me. The sight of her eyes filling with tears at the gentle strains of “America the Beautiful” was wrenching. We needed no words at the end of it… just a momentary embrace and a softly uttered "thank you." A protester shouted out that we should sing songs of peace. Although I'd never thought of “God Bless America” as a call to war, we sang the “Irish Blessing” which caused many, including yours truly, to grow misty-eyed.
The devastation was shockingly apparent
We sang outside Saint Vincent's Hospital, where nearly two blocks of photos showing fathers and mothers, or friends embracing were nearly too much to bear. Family members and the curious all had come down to look at this wall of broken dreams. A little child waved an American flag, and we again sang our patriotic tunes. We decided to close our session with "New York, New York." At first we feared it might seem celebratory, but in some way "New York, New York" actually seemed to become just as stirring and patriotic as any other song we sang. Its story about making it despite adversity seemed to be the call we all needed. The applause and cheers were enough to make me cry again.
From there, we then boarded a subway for Ground Zero. When we got out of the station, no one was visible save for the New York State troopers on security detail. The chemical smell was now stronger than ever…a smell unlike anything I've ever smelled before. As we turned south, the devastation was shockingly apparent. It had never struck me what a behemoth the World Trade Center was. Now in the daylight, the brightness of the now open space in the skyline where the World Trade Center once stood was suddenly disturbing. Streets were covered by a thin layer of fine dust, even approximately 12 blocks from the site.
Our own resident police officer, Vinny Haynes, deserves credit for helping to make our ministry possible. Following Vinny, who came in his dress blues, we proceeded to the First Precinct office of the NYPD. Receiving permission from the command to walk around with our police escort, we wandered over to ladder company 8: one of the first firehouses to respond to the attack. The front was crowded with flowers and candles. One of the firemen was taking a moment to change the water in a bucket of flowers. Crayon drawings of what I presumed to be fire trucks and stick people from children in Connecticut were hung up on the doorway: "Dear firemen, you are my hero," said one.
We stepped into the alcove formed by the garage door and more firemen came to greet us. There were only eight of them at this house. Awkwardly, they listened to us sing "America the Beautiful" and "God Bless America." When we sang "Irish Blessing," several of them stepped back from us as if seeking a wall to steady themselves.
We walked about three blocks farther and stopped at a larger firehouse. Again, we sang a few songs. When we were done performing, we embraced the firemen. Some of them looked like they hadn't slept in days.
As we moved on, we passed by a gray van that apparently hadn't been moved since the attack. I touched the side with my hand and realized that the van was midnight blue. I left a single handprint and moved on.
Pictures cannot capture what was before us
We made our way over to Joe DiMaggio Highway, which would take us straight down to Ground Zero. From four blocks away, we could see the twisted steel face of the building rising up some six stories. Camouflage-clad soldiers guarded a fenced area. The NYPD had set up a barricade two blocks away, so there was a large open area with workmen walking up and down. Outside the inner gate, I could see a small lit mobile sign: McDonald's. Workers lined the curbs eating a hot meal.
A large crowd gathered at the secondary barricade. People had come from somewhere, straining to see more closely. Some cried, some stood silent their faces showing no emotion at all. All waved flags or wore pins reflecting their patriotism. We waited for Vinny to gain clearance from the NYPD crew and, perhaps on their bidding, gathered to sing again. We sang "God Bless America," but got the best response when Bill's trumpet broke through the sound of the distant cranes. I don't think that I've ever seen a crowd more moved than this one that stood before the wreckage.
A few moments later, the police gave clearance for us to proceed. We moved quickly down the street, past the mobile McDonald’s, and on to the west side of the Manhattan. Batteries and film canisters littered the gutters every 10 feet or so, reminding us of the world impact of this situation. But I thought that pictures cannot capture what was before us. It was too much for the myopic view of a glass lens.
Vinny led us to the main military gates. Police vehicles raced back and forth, filled with crews wearing lavender face masks. A light coat of dust covered a few workmen and the highway that opened up before us. The median foliage was tangled with candy bar wrapper size pieces of paper. I reached for one as we walked past and realized that I held a quarter of a page from a foreign language dictionary. It wasn't a language I could recognize. What hand had held this last? I noticed a torn piece of Excel spreadsheet. Looks like my work, I thought.
No hyphens…no separation
A state trooper escorted us the final block down to the Ground Zero area. About a block from the site, the air was noisy with the rumble of trucks and movement of people. We were shuttled back and forth several times. We started singing in one place and then were moved down the block only to be moved back. We finally stopped before a small group of men and began to sing. A young enlisted man in fatigues came to attention when we sang the "Star Spangled Banner." The workers mouthed the words, and many looked sad. A lot of them were locals union members who came to cut steel or operate cranes.
We only had the chance to sing two songs at that site before we were moved along again and finally back to a Salvation Army campsite. Workers sat in small groups at picnic tables inside three tents. I noticed several young ATF agents sitting with a paramedic crew. A pretty young blond woman smiled and sang "America the Beautiful" with us. A young Asian man joined in. A sturdy looking African-American man in front of me strained to read the embroidery on our shirts. These folks who looked so tired came forward to listen to us. I couldn't help thinking that there could never be a truer picture of the American spirit than this group of strangers in a Salvation Army campsite. We were truly a diverse collection of people brought together because we wanted to help those in need and bring home some hope.
We were all Americans. No hyphens…no separation. We were all New Yorkers.
As we waited for the subway back, Mark Paul from Reveille, Marty Israel, a music judge, and Steve Dunie, and I sang Lee Greenwood's "God Bless the USA." Never have those words meant so much.
I thank my lucky stars to be living here today. Cause the flag still stands for freedom, and they can't take that away. And I'm proud to be an American where at least I know I'm free and I won't forget the men who died...God Bless the USA.
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