9/11 Ten Years After

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9/11 Ten Years After

Today was a special day in New York City. 9/6 was the day my debit card was allowed to pay two hundred and four dollars for a motel room for one night. This was the price for three reasons, ten-year university of 9/11, being in the middle of Manhattan, and fashion week. The local restaurants must have to stock up on fish and lettuce.

The storefronts are creative and extremely clean for the availing of the new line of purses, tiny belts, boots, line the windows. Who would imagine a hotel in Soho charging $500 a night? Fashion week women gladly dish out that amount. A six foot five inch one hundred pound girl passed me in the park. How many
coaches tried to teach her to block out? My voice chuckled inside my head.

The high charges have reverted me to urban camping. Urban camping consists of sleeping in cars, railroad train cars, and all night theaters. A three A M commuter train between cities gives a camper a chance to sleep but also the sun rises in another city with another ballpark.

Three things hamper urban camping; luggage is always a hassle, everyone poops, and a shower. Basically you’re in training to be homeless.

Traveling makes for strange bedfellows. The Chicago to New York City, Amtrak Lakeshore Route, is crowded with no empty seats. A high school female was my companion for twelve hours. She wasn't my type. Both of us would awake with legs touching or a arm drifting into the other persons domain. Her dreams included high pitch squeeling and quick light breathing. The eight-year-old boy in the seat in front of me walked in his sleep. Twice to be sure my actions steered him back to his seat. No sleep walking on a moving train should be an
Eleventh commandment.

Men might as well sit to use the lavatory on a moving train. The spray while standing will splatter the whole place, plus oneself. Clothes smelling like your own piss are not recommended for this year’s fashion week.

Flight attendants have videos to explain seat belt usage. Safety first explains this country's transportation motto. Train personnel need a video entitled how to "Poop on a Train" My buddy Dennis would have to scrub the facilities before each usage.

My plan was to only relieve myself at stops. Amtrak has another plan. Their motto is, what us dumped on the train stays on the train. If you are trying to
quit smoking, ride the train. Western stops consist of a rolling stop and a shove. Tuck and roll is wonderful advice. Never extend arms to break your fall.

There is no dress code for train travel. My hint is always wear shoes. Barefoot or toe cutter, are a bad idea.
You'll have to trust me on this one.

George Kastanza, Seinfeld has made me chuckle since being in New york City. Seinfeld shows always include George's favorite bathroom stops in New York City. Curry stimulates my system. A Manhattan Mall saved me major embarrassment near Penn Station. Fashion week would have had a new meaning for me. In fact a model asked the attendant where to find the bathroom as seconds were ticking for me. Models don't eat curry during fashion week.

The New York Yankees are out of town on the tenth anniversary of 9/11. The day of my visit was the last home game before a ten day road trip. A female firefighter survivor of 9/11 sang the national anthem. Her voice was strong. Fear of singing sounded like the last thing on her mind. Tears were streaming down my face, as a female usher handed me a napkin and told me to sit behind home plate. My ticket was beyond the nosebleed section.
Rain was falling but September games must be played. No time for rainouts. The weekend before, my arrival, a tropical depression replaced an expected hurricane. No hurricane but much rain.

Ground zero is blinded by a high fence. Fully erect building cranes are scattered around the site resembling giraffes feeding on treetops. People are walking everywhere around the site with police officers dressed in blue, a visible presence. Ten years later and still no permanent structure.

There are two types of baseball fans. You are either a Yankee fan or a baseball fan. My pedigree is National League. Willie Mays, Aaron, Clemente ruled my baseball card collection, while Mantle and Reggie was always second string.

While growing up in Saint Louis, my next-door neighbor, Bill Bolini, taught me the Saint Louis way. He was old enough to be my grandfather and had two box seats to Cardinal games. He would drive the two of us to welcome back Cardinal players from road trips. Once Dick Groat and Ken Boyer crossed the street while talking to Bill and me. Bill told me to call them Mr. Groat and Mr. Boyer. It made them grin.

Bill would tell me Babe Ruth stories. He even gave me an autographed ball that I wrecked by using it to pitch. Learning to pitch with a major league is how to become a pro, was my thinking. The two of us would sit in his upper box seat behind home plate. Bill would point to a warehouse past centerfield at Sportsman Park and explain how Babe Ruth hit three floors up the Warehouse Wall. This was before I learned the word, bullshit. Until my eyes witnessed Mark McGuire hit a 500 foot plus homer did Bill's stories become relevant.

As much as I hate to admit it the New York Yankees help saved this country after 9/11. The United States of America wasn't scared but confused. Who would hate us this much? The Yankees making the World Series and playing in the city under attack brought America eyes to the situation every night. 9/11 was the lead story of the decade.

New York City Pa. Station brings a 45-year-old black Hispanic male wearing a Clemente shirt. After tapping his shoulder we discussed the greatness of Roberto. The Hispanic male stated Clemente, best ever, but with the likes of Aaron and Mays the same statement couldn't be made by me. No doubt Roberto made my top five but Clememte had the advantage of never aging. He died in his prime helping humanity. Like Actor James Dean Roberto peaked and was gone. But without hesitation Mr. Clemente played a ball off the right field wall, spinning throwing a frozen rope to third base was without competition. Aaron, Mays, Ruth, Mantle none had this type of arm. For non-baseball fans a frozen rope is a throw thrown so fast the ball rises in flight. The baseball seams and air currents cause upward moment but ball players with this ability are few. Many minor leaguers stay in baseball for years even thought their batting average is lower than their I Q.

One of the top ten stories of all time is the story of Rick Ankiel. Two days earlier of this writing my attendance was in the mezzanine section of the Washington Nationals. My mezzanine seat cost me two dollars.
The National’s are serving today only, two-dollar hot dogs. This seat in Yankee Stadium would easily cost more than one hundred dollars. The National’s have trouble-drawing customers, which seems odd. What town has more high paid employees who are paid to sit and drink? Every Congressman and Senator should provide tickets to voters from their state. "Senator Baucus can't meet with you today but has arranged free baseball tickets, hot dogs, and beer to a major league team. The same can be said about the Orioles. Candom Yard was the first
Retro park and still makes my top three list. Baltimore and Pittsburgh slightly behind my favorite, San Francisco.

"That Kid", don't know his name, don't care, that reached over the fence on a Jeter warning track power out, into a game-winning homer, turned both franchises. That so called homer continued the Yankees winning ways and busted a proud tradition into bottom dwellers lower than the Rays.

Rick Ankiel, strong arm, phenomenon, rookie, starting pitcher of the Red Birds, a lefty, double digit wins with gas. Fastballs that jug gun out near 100 miles per hour are marveled by the baseball world. Only God can explain such a gift. God's blessings are sometimes more than mere mortals can handle. Mr. Ankiel, lost it and lost it during playoff time. Never loose it during the playoffs. Ask Bill Buckner's, a great gift to baseball,that will be remembered for one error, during the World Series. Rick's pitches flew so high up the home plate
screen the first twenty rows of fans were ducking. But Rick is not a story of what could have been but of WOW. He gave up pitching and played outfield in the minors. His defensive plays compared to Jim Edmunds or Griffey Junior and at times his bat would catch fire igniting a power keg. Mr. Ankiel's arm is as close of an outfield arm to Roberto Clemente as I've seen since Clementes death. Statistics state Mr. Ankiel is a .220 to .260 hitter. Good enough to stay around the majors but not the 100-mile per hour fastball that greatest brings to pitchers.

Today is the 10th anniversary of 9/11. Everyone, over 15 years old knows where, what, who, they were doing when the twin towers dropped. The scene that will live in my mind is what was thought to be debris falling from the top of the twin towers only to realize people where jumping to sure death instead of being burnt alive. We will never know the names of those who jumped. As a religious person I would jump with the off a guardian angel or God himself cupping me in his divine hand and cushioning me to safety. 9/11 is a day where non-believers blame God, and believers count their blessings. Death should not be feared. My doctor's chart has me morbid obese. How do you argue with a chart? When hunger engulfs me I feel skinny. When the All You Can Eat Buffet throws you out for eating all you can eat. Thirty minutes later my feeling is morbidly obese. If a person has to unbutton their pants after eating you probably have an eating disorder.

On the 10th anniversary of 9/11 a short security officer woke me at five minutes to five in the A. M. to tell me to sit up to sleep. My dream at that moment was exceptional. Indiana Jones has nothing on me in my dreams. My dreams are self-centered. Whoever my dreams claims me to be one fact is always the same, my dream girl is mine. Not the Number 10, super skinny super model clothes rack type, but the Doris Day, Sandra Bullock girl next-door woman, men cheat on. Trust is a terrible thing to break.

In reality my dream girl is petite. Tinker bell petite. Hold in my hand petite. Wings and Wand are optional.

Technically on the anniversary of 9/11, people are looking at me as homeless. A homeless looking black man felt it an honor to give me advice on life. The short security guard had reminded him that to stay in the Philadelphia Train Terminal you have to have a paid ticket. Luckily for me mine was signed and dated. The man looked much older than me, but the problem with our own eyes assessing the situation is that only reflect out not in. There have been times that my mirrors reflection scared me. My body has turned into my greatest fear but no feeling is cooler than a strange kid hugging you letting you know they think you are too cool for school. If you have no idea what the last sentence meant, change your spirit. My psychic friends say my friendly aura is off the charts. My response is, Right on."

My new black bud spent three years in Chicago. Chicago is my destination for this leg of the trip. Technically it's Milwaukee but Milwaukee in train talk is a leg of Chicago. Chicago is the body with limbs that reach almost to every part of train country. Milwaukee is Chicago's little finger. New York must be Chicago's middle finger. Big middle finger like used in a prostrate exam.

Three years my friend spent as a porter in Chicago, Southside. The name, Ray Charles, flowed off his lips. My friend was there during the rise of Ray. Ray would rise and fall like a yoyo you but my buddy liked being a porter. Easy to see he had a nurturing spirit. He shook my hand; God blessed me, and told me to find a good woman. Tinker bell, fashion week, 6 foot, 7 inch non-rebounding women, mini-skirt, and plastic fashion boots all flashed in my mind. Floral boots to the knee mini-skirt barely covering the derriere and a summer cowboy hat, brim turned inward, will soon be so next year. Today, for me, it rocks.

A married urban camping couple shared a bench with me last night. We slept on a wooden church pew that seemed to caress all parts of the body. These two, skinny walkers, obviously have nothing in common with me. They travel by train dressed for the Alps, walking sticks included, and have location patches sown on their backpacks. My betting form would have them knowing all the words to the Sound of Music.

Washington D.C. again? No way is this body moving from this train seat. Philadelphia train station could accommodate low flying airplanes and helicopter traffic. These facilities must have been built during the Reagan Administration. Column's, huge windows, castle like, for the 20th century. During the Carter Administration train transportation hubs would have been a 12 by a 12 room covered in solar panels. What could have America become with a second Carter Administration. Wearing sweaters would be mandatory from October thru April.

The Obama Administration has stamped its face all over government buildings. WIFI is everywhere. Homeless people have smart phones. "Okay we heard you about WIFI," is my favorite ad campaign. It was in the middle of Penn Station in New York City. They have a portion or Penn Station sectioned off just for standard travelers. Food courts surround the area. My duffel bag had a tennis can stamped, "U S open", filled with a Taco Bell burrito. Today we will find out if a day old Taco Bell burrito will harm the system. If this article is published the tennis burrito can idea is registered with me. Tennis can burrito will be sold at Amtrak stations across the United States. Buy a Venus Williams succulent charred tender cuts of roast beef or for two dollars more get the Serena with double the roast beef, two scoops of rump roast and a little more spice.

Security in New York City was extreme, while Philadelphia felt like a day with Andy and Barney in Mayberry. When asked about the lack of security a female employee stated, "What are they going to do to Philly, our bell is already cracked.

This Tuesday morning, 9/13 my body has had a shower. This shower not only cleaned the body but the soul. The calmness of Milwaukee has been blessing. Arriving at the Milwaukee Amtrak sanity seemed to reign again. The Agents answered a question without attacking. The station was a new facility resemble sized and clean. No gaudiness just practicality.

We were all ready to go our separate ways in Chicago. By we, we meaning the group that traveled from D. C. to Chicago on the Cardinal Line. My fellow travelers were all diverse but the misery of needing a shower connected us longer it seemed than a day.

There was a 6 foot 5 inch black man with silver hair that didn't talk much but loved his small movie player. The movie player was similar to my grandson's that his parents bought him to keep quiet while traveling. Apparently it works on elders also.

A Hispanic lady from Maryland, going to see her mother for a check up visit in Eastern Illinois, sat across from me. Dad had passed away six months earlier and

Mom needed checking on. Mom was within ten years of my age so even on a train reality smacks you in the face. She had four daughters, one a senior softball star, had yet to pick a college. She had two offers but no real money. Gave her a UGF business card and told her to check out UGF on the web. Montana is a long way from Maryland.

My favorite character, a Hugh Grant sound alike Englishman that if his part in Hollywood was cast would go to a twenty five year old Hugh Grant. What first caught my attention he was taking a picture of a stuff monkey with, "I'm a Philosopher" stitched into his chest. My first words to him were, "You're doing the Amelia Nome picture montage." Sadly he admitted he was doing such a cheeky remembrance. Last week in England he passed their bar exam to be an attorney and is on a two month vacation. He saved his money and is on a similar rail pass as mine. He was starting in D.C., to Chicago, to Denver, to San Francisco, ending in Los Angeles. He had friends in each city. My business card was given to him just in case of trouble. "If you need someone rubbed out call me and I'll send down a connection from Butte. Truthfully my Butte connections are dead or in assisted living homes. My words of advice for him in Chicago and Denver were easy. If in trouble in Chicago just say, "Go Bears". Everyone is a bear's fan.
Baseball divides the town in half. The Southside of Chicago, the baddest part of town, is White Sox Country. While the Cubs cry about almost winning, the Pale Hose had a banner or two to hang. Ain't no true White Sox fans feeling sorry for the Cubs.

Denver is simply, Go Broncos. Los Angeles and San Francisco, the city, he was told he was on his own. Los Angeles has no football, their baseball team is going through a divorce, and their basketball team is a reality show. Phi
Jackson is the greatest coach of all time, bar none. He has made winners out of couks. He put Dennis Rodman into the hall of fame, for goodness sakes. Dennis Rodman has issues, but unlike Pete Rose and Shoeless Joe Jackson, he was enshrined.

Regarding San Francisco, Silicon Valley for computers, wine country, Humboldt County for pot and Bubba Gumps, Pier 49, was all the information I could muster. He was told to take a cable car ride but allow two hours of standing time. Wear or take many layers of clothing. July is brutal in The City and Montana is my residence. My daughter and I spent a week in July and for warmth we went to Oakland Stadium and sat in the right field bleachers. The bleachers are concrete and designed like a three wall racquetball court. The open end was for viewing and the concrete acted as a solar collector for preserving heat. This was the warmest place we could afford in the bay area. Oh yea, Wednesday was dollar hot dog day. We both ate three and she eats no processed food.

My only regret of the trip was a well-portioned short, black, shorthaired computer driven woman, a possible thirty-year-old Tinker bell. My eyes glanced at her while walking to the snack bar. My eyes dare not stare because that would be lust. Trying to lead a Christian life is tough when your first thoughts aren't so Christian and a Tinker bell is in the area. My theory is that is why my body is now rotund. Even rich, fat, bling covered jive talkers have trouble with the ladies. Every time the words spoken my lovely companion are, "You with him?" isn't a compliment.


The night was dark, everyone was asleep and I had two dollars change in my wallet. My 1984 wallet given to me by my daughter was my 1984 Christmas gift, red color, worn Velcro, expandable depending on my cash flow and receipts.

There were two people in the car and my deep bronze Tinker bell typing on the computer. A newspaper sat at the far end of the car. My eyes glanced it for the headlines. Same old, same old, so my feet turned to engage is conversation.

Maybe I could ask about the Packers or Cardinals? My mind decided on Cardinals because of being in Kentucky or Illinois. My mouth formed to project my first word as the conductor shouted, "Sorry folks, the dining car closes at midnight." Wow midnight already as Halle Tinker bell stuffs her computer back into her bag. She smiles the right kind of smile to proceed and walks under my arm as it holds the door. "Sorry I wrecked your work. He would have never kicked you out." She smiles and kindly says, "I probably need to sleep." She continues to walk in front of me as I sit down at my seat. Think of something clever, quick or she will be gone. My body jumps to attention, looks for her, and she's gone. "Would you like to share my body heat," whispered through my head. The line had a chance for two reasons. Skinny women do you sleep cold? Are your feet blocks of ice that if touched by the opposite sex sends them skyward, marry a fat guy. The body temperature is always boiling and ice cubes are a relief not a determent. Cars on trains are meat lockers. My body is never cold but even my arms and legs are looking for cover. Frequent train users carry their own blankets and pillows but who needs more to carry. My system is simply. Carry one bag, no wheels, old school duffel bag luggage with "Yellowwood film crew stretched into the fabric. My backpack is placed within the Yellowwood bag. Once arriving to a destination the Yellowwood bag is checked or stored and the backpack houses my "dob kit" and a change of clothing. My biggest dilemma is whether to wear or not to wear a sweatshirt. If in doubt drape it over the shoulders and wear like a handkerchief worn in the old west. Sweatshirts must always have a hood. You will understand in wind country. Only one type of shoe and make them a walking shoe. If you travel with a collection of shoes your either, rich, spoiled, or dumb.