Museum
I went to see the 9/11 exhibit at the NYS Museum.
At first, it didn't move me because it's so quiet and still, and the room is fairly dark. Museum-like, of course. You don't REALLY get a sense of the chaos of that day, walking around a dim, nearly silent room looking at the exhibits, especially if you're with small children who don't linger.
There are two helmets on display. One is from Ireland, one from England. Sent covered with written messages, of condolence and support. A coat from West Palm Beach fire department. When you have time to READ the messages, it's so much more powerful. "Stay strong" (with a little drawing of a hatchet). "Our hearts are with you." Names, badge numbers of other firemen who were reaching out.
To the right of the jacket is a piece of the fence. It's dotted with bouquets, which are dried out now, of course. You can see that the paper around the flowers is rippled from being out in the rain, and the sun, and the wind. Stuffed animals. Photos. Notes. Wreaths. It's when you stop and read, that you really can reflect on the avalanche of pain that fell down around so many people.
There is a fire truck, from company number 6. It was under a pedestrian bridge, which collapsed. The back is partially crumpled, parts bent here and there. But the front was ravaged by fire. It's rusted and thin and somehow the wires are visible for all of the lights and sirens. It looked to me like a skull. The face of the truck is just gone. Peeled away - the skin of bright red paint, the "eyes" of headlights, the grillwork. Obliterated.
On the front bumper of the fire truck, more flowers -- roses. People seem to be bringing flowers and laying them on the railing at the front of the truck, because there were two bouquets , dried and resting there.
The walls are large photo murals of the images we know as "Ground Zero". The height and size give you only a faint sense of actually standing near the scene.
Along the barrier around the truck, on the long edge, is a printed timeline, with photos. At 6:30 am the entry reads, Sunrise in New York. Temperature 66 degrees. You can walk down the length of the firetruck and see the events unfold. Maps of flight routes. Details of each step in the day. The mounting chaos (bridges shut down, tunnels closed, part of lower Manhattan evacuated...parts of the Pentagon building collapsing...)
There's a charred seat belt / buckle assembly from one of the planes, at the beginning of the timeline. It all started with men buckling themselves into their seats. Bastards. I feel a sudden surge of anger. How dare they?
If you turn away from the truck and look behind you, there are pieces of plane. Any one of them would fit in my car. A PLANE is in little pieces. The magnitude of the collision starts to sink in when you see how far away from the footprint of the towers these pieces were found.
There is a piece of a beam from one of the towers. It's surrounded by a very low barrier, only about a foot high, which is very close to it. I couldn't help myself, I didn't mean to be disrespectful, but I just had to touch it. Maybe they placed it that way, so that you COULD put your hand on it, to try to absorb the reality. I don't know.
At first, it didn't move me because it's so quiet and still, and the room is fairly dark. Museum-like, of course. You don't REALLY get a sense of the chaos of that day, walking around a dim, nearly silent room looking at the exhibits, especially if you're with small children who don't linger.
There are two helmets on display. One is from Ireland, one from England. Sent covered with written messages, of condolence and support. A coat from West Palm Beach fire department. When you have time to READ the messages, it's so much more powerful. "Stay strong" (with a little drawing of a hatchet). "Our hearts are with you." Names, badge numbers of other firemen who were reaching out.
To the right of the jacket is a piece of the fence. It's dotted with bouquets, which are dried out now, of course. You can see that the paper around the flowers is rippled from being out in the rain, and the sun, and the wind. Stuffed animals. Photos. Notes. Wreaths. It's when you stop and read, that you really can reflect on the avalanche of pain that fell down around so many people.
There is a fire truck, from company number 6. It was under a pedestrian bridge, which collapsed. The back is partially crumpled, parts bent here and there. But the front was ravaged by fire. It's rusted and thin and somehow the wires are visible for all of the lights and sirens. It looked to me like a skull. The face of the truck is just gone. Peeled away - the skin of bright red paint, the "eyes" of headlights, the grillwork. Obliterated.
On the front bumper of the fire truck, more flowers -- roses. People seem to be bringing flowers and laying them on the railing at the front of the truck, because there were two bouquets , dried and resting there.
The walls are large photo murals of the images we know as "Ground Zero". The height and size give you only a faint sense of actually standing near the scene.
Along the barrier around the truck, on the long edge, is a printed timeline, with photos. At 6:30 am the entry reads, Sunrise in New York. Temperature 66 degrees. You can walk down the length of the firetruck and see the events unfold. Maps of flight routes. Details of each step in the day. The mounting chaos (bridges shut down, tunnels closed, part of lower Manhattan evacuated...parts of the Pentagon building collapsing...)
There's a charred seat belt / buckle assembly from one of the planes, at the beginning of the timeline. It all started with men buckling themselves into their seats. Bastards. I feel a sudden surge of anger. How dare they?
If you turn away from the truck and look behind you, there are pieces of plane. Any one of them would fit in my car. A PLANE is in little pieces. The magnitude of the collision starts to sink in when you see how far away from the footprint of the towers these pieces were found.
There is a piece of a beam from one of the towers. It's surrounded by a very low barrier, only about a foot high, which is very close to it. I couldn't help myself, I didn't mean to be disrespectful, but I just had to touch it. Maybe they placed it that way, so that you COULD put your hand on it, to try to absorb the reality. I don't know.
posted by Carly at 4:39 PM
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