…Yamasaki, that is. Something about his buildings..?
A beautiful post-summer day in NYC, and I went for a walk during lunch. Of course, I spent time in the cemetery of Trinity Church, where they’ve taken to putting up small informative signs for tourists, including one in front of the gravestone shown above. It says Charlotte Temple on it, which is the name of a novel that was wildly popular in late 18th century America, but there is some doubt as to why it’s there. (Reminds me of a recent article about the pseudo-grave of Nick Beef, next to Lee Harvey Oswald’s final place of rest.)
A NYTimes article from several years ago says that a researcher got the church to lift the slab to see what’s under it, but there is no burial vault, however, that doesn’t mean that no one is buried there. The little sign says that the inscription may have been carved by a bored stoneworker during construction work on the church. I like that explanation – the artistically inclined skilled artisan class, and all that.
Further on my walk, I encountered a very odd place for NYC: the sign in the window says as much – “It’s free. We know that’s hard to believe in NYC!” The place is a nice modern storefront called Charlotte’s Place, and it has tables, computers, books, and spaces for sitting, talking, meeting, and other sociable activities. It is completely free, and is maintained as a resource for the community, by Trinity Church it seems. An anonymous grave which might house no one and a free space for anyone, all from Charlotte.
In an interview a few years after the destruction of the WTC, Phillip Roth was quoted on the “kitchification” of the event and its victims. I have commented before on what I feel is a rather ghoulish or morbid preoccupation with this horrible event, so I have not much to say other than that I found the store depressing and faintly nauseating, and, as that phrase I hate goes, “It is what it is…” Seems appropriate for once.
Meanwhile, nearby, the slow, laborious work on Calatrava’s Faberge egg of a transit hub continues… As the article correctly remarks:
It is important to note how the projects within the World Trade Center are unique in the sense that they were, and continue to be, fueled by emotions associated with the 9/11 attacks.
… we waste unconscionable amounts of public money on architectural follies like the much-delayed World Trade Center PATH station, which is projected, even after ground zero is fully developed, to serve only perhaps 60,000 riders and whose exploding cost is already approaching $4 billion, a scandal still waiting to dawn on New Yorkers.
Meanwhile infrastructural crises that affect millions of people a day drag on, among them our abysmal airports; noisy, erratic subways; lack of high-speed rail; and Penn Station. No other great city in the world would abide a station [Penn Station @ 34th Street] like it.
I am a civil engineer, so I cannot help but be thrilled at the sight of the Calatrava PATH terminal taking shape (the elliptical foundation in the middle of the photo) beneath my window at World Trade Center site – it will be amazing! And the memorial park itself is pretty nice too – I visited it for the first time last week.
Of course, the base of the Freedom Tower looks disturbingly like Godzilla’s foot stamping on Bambi, but no matter. They’ll fancy it up…a bit.
In the end, as I gaze down at the massive construction site, with more people and money moving in and out of it than some entire countries no doubt, I wonder about that PATH building: let’s forget the money-losing tower for now. What is it for? Penn Station handles more than seven times the number of passengers, and this terminal will do nothing to increase capacity. It will simply look fantastic. Is it worth $3.5 billion, and counting? That would buy a lot of nitty-gritty upgrades for the cars and tracks that actually move people around the city.
I have to conclude that it’s a colossal waste of money, what used to be known in architectural circles as a ‘folly’. All those bridge and train tolls gonna rise…$3.5 billion and counting. We will pay for the megalomania of the PA NYNJ directors. From the Wiki article:
A large transit station was not part of the 2003 Memory Foundations master plan for the site by Daniel Libeskind, which called for a smaller station along the lines of the original subterranean station that existed beneath the World Trade Center. Libeskind’s design called for the space to be left open, forming a “Wedge of Light” so that sun rays around the autumnal equinox would hit the World Trade Center footprints each September.
In early 2004, the Port Authority, which owns the land, modified the Libeskind plan to include a world-class transportation station downtown that was intended to rival Penn Station and Grand Central Terminal.
For a little perspective, consider that Grand Central, completed in 1913 for $80 million, $1.9 billion today, has 44 platforms, on two levels, and 67 tracks. It was built with private money, and marked a tremendous advance in the design of complicated rail terminals, besides being a Beaux Arts monument. The PATH terminal will have, uh…four tracks?
If I go back to using the PATH, I will go from Hoboken, left and center, to NYC, at the right, in the photos below.
Three Days of the Condor (1975) is a conspiracy thriller by Sydney Pollack about a renegade CIA section. There were a lot of movies then about that sort of thing: Watergate; JFK’s assassination; Vietnam – any nutty theory seemed to have some traction. Unlike The Parallax View of 1974 by Pakula, which is darker and takes itself much, much more seriously, I thoroughly enjoyed this film, while I found the Pakula number predictable and pretentious. I guess I like Redford more than Beatty too. (I still want to know how they filmed that scene on the Seattle Space Needle at the start of Parallax though!)
Redford plays Joe Turner, a CIA researcher who returns from a lunchtime errand with the office’s sandwiches to find everyone murdered. Why would anyone rub out a bunch of nerdy intelligence analysts? He may be an egghead bookworm, but he’s also Redford, so he can fight and think on his feet like James Bond: not quite believable.
He forces Cathy (Faye Dunaway) to shelter him, she falls for him, of course, and they sleep together. The next day, she’s feeling a bit skittish. He tells her, “You don’t have to help me.” She replies, “Oh no, you can count on me, the old spy fucker…” He’s annoyed. A funny bit; part of what makes this thriller a little quirky.
The film is shot in New York City, and it’s a real treat to see the locations. It’s NYC in the 70s, the NYC I remember, even when I’m walking around the spic-and-span streets of today near Central Park – The NYC of humungus cars lumbering down potholed streets, garbage on the sidewalk, and grime. Several of the shots of CIA headquarters in NYC are in the World Trade Center, a deliciously sick irony, given the fate of those structures and the CIA ineptitude that helped bring it on. Here, the Hoboken train station take on a noir/Casablanca atmosphere as Turner walks away from Cathy, maybe to his death.
Cliff Robertson (sporting a massive, windblown rug) plays Higgins, the CIA guy trying to get Turner: is he on Joe’s side, or does he put The Company first? Here he stares at a primitive version of Google Maps trying to locate Joe from a phone call, but Joe was too clever to be tracked.
Joe finds the CIA guy who rubbed out his friends so that a secret rogue CIA plan to invade the Middle East wouldn’t be uncovered. Turner realizes it was all about oil. Sounds familiar. The 1973 oil crisis was a recent memory.
John Houseman is the old CIA hand who craves “the clarity” of yesteryear. Max von Sydow is Joubert the hired murderer who has found clarity in “the precision” of his work. He doesn’t have to worry about which side pays. He has found peace. He and Joe have a little man to man outside of the renegade’s house. Joe seems cool with the fact that Mr. Death (yep, Max has a lot of experience with The Grim Reaper) knocked off his colleagues: he’s a bit overwhelmed by it all, and asks for a lift to the train station. This was another of the enjoyable, unpredictable elements in this film.
Joe is not quite through with The Company. He meets Higgins again, who tries to justify the whole dirty business, although, of course, that renegade went too far. They have a little debate about democratic accountability with Turner taking the high road, “ask the people what they want,” and Higgins telling him that when they are out of gas, hungry and cold, they will just want the ‘authorities’ to get it done, and not ask why. He has a point, doesn’t he?
The moral ambiguity of the ending, the unresolved romance, the unknown future of Joe Turner is what makes this movie really fun. Joe tells Higgins that the New York Times now has the whole story. He thinks that will protect him: he doesn’t quite trust Higgins to be gentle with him, despite Higgins’ show of concern for his welfare. After all, Joubert told him not to trust anyone. Higgins is aghast – another Pentagon Papers debacle – but as Joe walks away, he calls to him. How far can you walk? “How do you know they’ll print it?” “They’ll print it,” shouts Joe, but he doesn’t seem totally convinced.
Sydney Pollack turns up at the end of Eyes Wide Shut, Kubrick’s final work, and a terrible disappointment to me. He gives the low down to Tom Cruise who cannot fathom the corrupt orgy he’s witnessed. Pollack tells him that the high and mighty, the secret governing class, they do things you wouldn’t believe, if you only knew. Yeah, yeah, I read the papers, we know. It’s a pretty silly denouement.
Oops…what if they don’t print it?
I am very happy that the tenth anniversary of our humiliating victimization by a band of fanatical terrorists falls on a Sunday. That means I don’t have to fight the crowds of visitors and dignitaries, security personnel, and media hordes to get to my cubicle where I toil for my salary. Other than that, the only observation I have is that the ‘remembrance’ often strikes me as morbid and a bit ghoulish. Certainly, there are individuals who have tremendous losses to mourn, and I wish them the best, but that’s an individual drama and anguish. I’m not sure that the articles, TV comments, speechifying and whatnot support and nurture that.
How admirably short and direct was Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address. Perhaps we will be lucky, and receive the same.
The reasons for my relative sang froid regarding this event are illustrated by this quote from the journalistic blusterer, Ross Douthat:
They can strike us, they can wound us, they can kill us. They can goad us into tactical errors and strategic blunders. But they are not, and never will be, an existential threat.
This was not clear immediately after 9/11.
As with his fellow windbag, Thomas Friedman, as well as many, many, politicians and talking-head wannabee pundits, he takes far too long to learn his lessons. The sense of those two sentences that are in bold was very evident to me in 2001, and to John Kerry in 2004, and to the writer of an op-ed piece that I recall from the NYTimes shortly after 9/11 (citations, please, if anyone can find it![Here it is.]) that stated that Osama bin Laden’s was a form of ‘politics’ doomed for the dustbin. Yes, there were plenty of reasonable people who understood what was what, but the hysteria of people like Ross and his fellow scribblers, not to mention GWB, made it hard to understand what they were saying.