Generally speaking, I was against any advertising on this page, with the exception of the one at the top of the page, which I have no control over . Then

received an e-mail from Sony about this great album, proceeds of which go to the relief fund. So, in keeping with that spirit,

will also donate 100% of any commissions it receives from the sale of

My name is Charles. I was born in Brooklyn, live in Staten Island and have spent most of my adult life in NYC. I do not personally know anyone who has perished in the tragedy, nor has my livelihood been affected. Of my friends and acquaintances, several were in the area, one worked in the WTC, and a very dear friend worked in Tower 2, on the 86th floor up until three months before the tragedy.

I awoke Tuesday morning around 8:50 A.M. and went out on the back porch for my morning cigarette. While lighting it, a loud noise, reminiscent of the thunder from the night before, crashed through the morning air, causing me to duck. Within moments, sirens could be heard, most likely from the firehouse two blocks away. I called back into the house that there was just an explosion.

This page is in memory of all those that gave their lives that day; the innocent victims of this senseless tragedy; the firemen, police, and rescue workers who went in while others were running out; the passengers who wrestled control away from the hijackers in Pennsylvania; the surviving rescuers who must forever live with the horror they witnessed.

	I lived for a time in Bennington, Vt. Only my first born from this marriage was born here in the city. The girls used to get so excited by all the tall buildings as we approached on our drives down to visit.
The skyline, as seen from the BQE, downtown Brooklyn, 12 Aug. 2000.
"Brooklyn Bridge" © 2002 by Alexis A. Calvo	A view from the Brooklyn Bridge.
In case you had been in a cave, a trip to St. George, Staten Island, would have alerted you that something was wrong!
	Gaping Hole The view from Bay St. S.I., N.Y. on 12 Sept. 2001.
The shared sentiments of America
	Impromptu candlelight vigils popped up all over S.I. in solidarity with the one in Union Park, Manhattan.
People stood on corners with candles, signs, and flags. Cars beeped, people waved and yelled...
	Among the many of such tributes is this one behind Ground Zero. This fence is filled with flowers, photos, and notes from loved ones.
Beyond that fence is this wall (beyond which lies Ground Zero), with reminders that this act of terrorism affected other countries besides America.
	To the left of this lies this memorial which one would assume was constructed by Ground Zero workers. Anyone with information or details can write me at charlies_web2001@yahoo.com
Ground Zero. Two weeks after this photo was taken, West St., (which had been closed since 9/11/01) was reopened to the public and a large fence was installed along it.

I originally took this photo to show my youngest daughter, whom had never been to NYC, what it's like where her daddy lives. Where she's at in Vermont, they have a small-town airport that handles small private jets, and the only larger jets she gets to see are probably from Albany Airport and very high in the sky by then.

Driving on 440 in Staten Island, as one approaches The Staten Island Expressway [an oxymoron if ever there was] there comes a point where planes approaching Newark Airport seem to "hang" in the sky, appearing not to move, a condition probably caused by moving in the same "relative" direction at "relatively" the same speed as you are. It provided an interesting illusion in better times, probably overlooked by most people. However, after 9-11-01, suddenly, one moment you would be cruising along at normal speed, then the next, traffic would be crawling along at only half the speed. If you weren't paying attention, you'd have to slam on the brakes !

At first I was confused. I thought perhaps there had been an accident up ahead. Upon clearing that particular bend in the road it became apparent this was not the case. It took a couple of seconds, but I finally realized what the problem was. I've often wondered how many accidents occurred because of this illusion.

So it was on the fourteenth day of August, 2000, while at an almost-rained-out horrific Met loss [ it rained all the way to the ballpark ], with my second oldest daughter from my second marriage, that my thoughts turned some two hundred-odd miles away towards my baby, and all that she hadn't seen yet; all that I hadn't been able to share with her. Thirteen months later, we woke up to a whole new world. For, on America's second day of infamy, not only steel and concrete, glass and bodies came crashing down in lower Manhattan, Washington, DC, and Pennsylvania, but also all our hopes and dreams for the new generation, and generations to come; all our little girls and boys, and their little ones.