The Bell Curve -- Joseph N. Bell

On the edge of the abyss where New York City’s World Trade Center once

stood is a crude wooden signpost supporting a handful of pointers like

akimbo arms and legs. I had seen many similar signs on Pacific islands

wrested from the Japanese in World War II. This one said: “Kabul 6750,”

“Tokyo 6759,” and “Los Angeles 2024.” The bottom sign read: “Hell 0” --

and it pointed directly into the bowels of what was once the World Trade

Center.

Somehow, this sign caught for me all of the tragedy, anger,

resilience, determination, courage and irony my wife, stepson and I found

on every corner in New York City a few weeks ago. And I can’t let it go

without one final bouquet.

A story in Tuesday’s Los Angeles Times said Southern Californians are

“all talked out” about the events of Sept. 11 and eager to move on. UC

Irvine professor of psychology and social behavior Roxane Cohen Silver,

conducting a study in the aftermath of the World Trade Center attacks,

told a Times reporter: “People stop talking [about Sept. 11] because they get the feeling from others that others do not want to listen. . . . What

we get is a conspiracy of silence as everybody thinks that nobody wants

to talk about it.”

New Yorkers are still talking. They’re moving on, too, but that hasn’t

stopped the talk. Virtually every local person we met -- from close

friends to cops on the beat -- had a story to tell about that day. And

told it with a kind of emotional energy that was infectious. That energy

pervaded virtually everything we did, said and perceived during our week

in New York. And it is still very much with us.

One close friend of ours lived and another worked within a few blocks

of the twin towers. Stephen Silverman -- a Southern California native and

former student of mine at UCI -- was headed out to walk his dog when a

neighbor whose window overlooked the twin towers called and told him

about the first crash. He looked outside, found debris raining on his

deck, and heard a low-flying plane. He didn’t see the second crash but

heard it, “like a bomb going off.”

So he grabbed his dog and took off for a friend’s place in Greenwich

Village. “The streets were like the attack on Atlanta in ‘Gone With the

Wind,”’ he recalled, “except for one big difference: It was deathly

still. People were quiet and orderly, and so were the police.”

Our other friend watched the burning towers with stunned incredulity

from his office window before he hit the streets for an hourlong walk to

his home in Queens. That office window now looks out on a building --

newly bearing a huge American flag -- that he had never seen from this

window before because it was completely blocked out by the twin towers. A

co-worker who looks out that window every day lost his wife in the

terrorist attack.

We looked down into ground zero from Stephen’s new high-rise

apartment, then walked the area for several hours, carrying away a mix of

powerful impressions. Probably the most powerful was the recognition that

New Yorkers must grapple every day with the absence of the twin towers.

Where these two formidable structures once stamped the identity of New

York City, there is now nothing. Even when they can turn away from the

grief and anger, New Yorkers are faced with this broken skyline as a

reminder.

But that hasn’t prevented them from drawing on the vitality that has

always set New York apart to move on, just like the rest of the country

that doesn’t live daily with such reminders. And it is this spirit that

has galvanized New Yorkers and the rest of us who have watched, admired

and visited.

The spirit is offered up in tangible form all the way around the

perimeter of ground zero. It was very cold when we were there, but the

police officers on duty were polite, often funny, and answered questions

readily. They seemed as protective of this place as they might their own

home. When we asked Officer Mike Ganey why an adjacent building was

covered with an enormous black tarpaulin, he answered: “Because I think

we can save her.” The area is remarkably clean. Sanitary workers were

hosing down emerging trucks and tidying up the streets around the site

everywhere we looked.

A wire fence, covered with canvas, extends all the way around ground

zero. Virtually every inch of it we saw is decorated with notes of

thanks, pictures of and tributes to victims, flowers and tokens of

appreciation. There were Christmas tree lights on a construction shack

and flags planted along the truck entrance. A substantial number of

civilians were wearing police and firefighter caps. The site is

remarkably free of debris now as workers have gone underground in their

search for bodies so visitors using the new raised spectator platform

won’t see much action.

We paid our respects to Alexander Hamilton -- as we always do --

before we left the area. Trinity Church, where he is buried, was

mercifully spared any structural damage. The debris that covered its

graveyard has been cleaned away, and it sits, strong and serene, as a

symbol of continuity.

We are being exhorted to visit New York these days, but the wrong

carrots are being dangled before us. There is truly much pleasure to be

had on and off Broadway, but these are trifles compared with the surplus

energy and determination we can tap into and bring home. There’s plenty

for everyone in New York.

* JOSEPH N. BELL is a resident of Santa Ana Heights. His column

appears Thursdays.