Sometime in the 1980s, I went to New York to visit my best friend who had gone there as a budding actress, and like so many, ended up as a server at high-level catering events between photo shoots, auditions, and bit parts.I was aghast as we entered her grotty apartment complex, surrounded by a chain-link fence. A large sign outside said “Condemned” — but we made our way up the flights of crooked stairs to her cozy one-bedroom, where I would have the living room couch. I asked why the building was condemned, thinking it was in danger of completely falling down.But no. Cockroaches.I didn’t understand what she meant until we turned the lights out to go to bed. There was a sudden rustle of hundreds of tiny feet, and me, an Albertan, from rat-free Alberta, non-port city Calgary, where cockroaches were something in documentaries, creeped me right out to have an army of them marching around all night. Around me. In a condemned building.Such was the affordability and housing availability crisis in New York at the time. It was common for the incoming wave of wannabe stars to end up in condemned flats serving food at gala events between songs, dances, and acting classes.But better times were ahead for my trip.My friend insisted that we visit New York’s landmark twin towers — the World Trade Center. We were both poor as church mice — she a budding actress, me a budding film producer/writer — so having dinner at the “Windows of the World” in the North Tower was out of the question. However, there was a public observatory called “Top of the World” in the South Tower on the hundredth and seventh floor, so we went there..My friend and I had a long-standing Saturday tradition. Before she moved to New York City, we would often go for Saturday brunch in Calgary at “My Marvin’s” on Fourth Street SW, joining the long line-up of avid customers (where you got to meet all kinds of interesting people). After enjoying the wonderful food and huge portions of omelet, salad, or lox and bagel, we would return home to her apartment in the Beltline and belt it out.We both loved stage musicals and loved to “sing along” — whether West Side Story, The Sound of Music, The King and I, or various Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers musicals.So, we found ourselves at the “Top of the World” sometime in the 1980s on the observation deck with floor-to-ceiling windows, at night, hoping to see the magnificence of New York City at our feet and it was foggy.There was nothing we could do but sing.And we sang “On a clear day…”On a clear dayRise and look around youAnd you'll see who you are.On a clear dayHow it will astound youThat the glow of your being outshines ev'ry star.You'll feel part of ev'ry mountain sea and shore.You can hear, from far and near,A world you've never heard before.And on a clear day...On that clear day...You can see forever and ever more!.New Yorkers are used to having half their citizens spontaneously perform songs, dances, and excerpts of stage shows in public spaces, but there were quite a few foreign tourists who looked at us with a mix of amusement, dismay, and disgust.But we had fun.Lots of fun. Despite the foggy night, it was a clear day in North America. It was a time of fairly great social trust. True, my friend had been mugged in broad daylight in New York at least once (and thus she had stopped wearing visibly valuable effects like gold necklaces). These events, though scary, were typically snatch-and-run efforts by petty criminals, rarely equipped with knives, machetes, or guns for attacks on ordinary citizens whose lovely gold necklaces or designer handbags were an easy trick.There was no ideology driving these daredevils. It was either poverty or a dare.And that great social trust was our downfall on 9/11..Our greatest strength became our greatest weakness.A radical militia that had no air force seconded one from the home of the free and the brave. By exploiting that powerful social trust.Fast forward from me and my friend and me happily singing “On a Clear Day…” to September 11, 2001.I was in a car and idly listening to the radio. And suddenly, if I understood it correctly, a plane had crashed into the North Tower of the World Trade Center Twin Towers in New York, and there was a fire.Of course, my first instinct was that this was likely a small plane, some kind of pilot error.But as the news feed progressed, it sounded like the news anchor said that the tower had burst into flames and was collapsing.My spider senses were on high alert. I felt that something had gone terribly wrong in the world. I listened intently, kind of trapped in the car, able to go somewhere, but where?And another plane. Another tower. The South Tower. Where I had been years before on the “Top of the World.” Another collapse.So. I sat in silent shock, listening to the news and thinking of that foggy night when my friend and I were wandering the public observatory deck at the “Top of the World” and singing “On a Clear Day” as the horrifying news poured in.Society’s kind and blind faith in the other had opened the door for the most heinous of crimes.I went home. The TV streamed non-stop footage of the first plane, then the second. The towers collapsing. The individuals on the highest floors, like where we had been, realized they had no safe way out and chose jumping to their deaths over incineration. Down below, the unceasing efforts of the countless heroes, ranging from the on-duty firefighters and police to the corporate EMS people, to the ordinary citizens on upper floors or on the street, who simply kept their cool and led dozens of people to safety from horror to hope.Looking back 25 years, I see that we must free ourselves from the fog of rationalizing such terror attacks as anything other than what they are. Terrorism. A war on Western Civilization which will exploit our trust and geopolitical naivety in every way possible and turn our most loved inventions into weapons against everything and everyone we know and love.We must see this clearly. Today. Forever and evermore.
