September 10, 2001

I well remember 9/10/2001.

It rained all day in New York.

The day before I had almost gone swimming with my Brotosh diplomat friend, Alia, at Lake Awosting, except the park ranger blocked the path to the old granite sky lake. No one was allowed in the water after Labor Day to avoid legal problems from drunken locals and tourists.

There was no one swimming at the Coney Island or the Rockaways on 9/10/01.

Rain and a lot of it.

I recall turning on the TV and seeing the weather report for the next day.

Sunny cloudless skies and that sounded lovely to me.

ps it's cloudy this 9/10/2025 there is no mention of any swimming incidents at lake Awosting.

Conversation With Palm Beach # 2 - 7/2/2025

"Last night I was watching the TV," said Allison. "The subways were flooded by rains."

"Torrential rains. I slept right through it. I had been thinking that New York had been so lucky to have escape floods, but two inches of rain for four hours was Biblical."

"It must have been scary to sit in the trains watching the water rising. Strange the lights and AC were still on."

"The old Lenape called that island Manhattah or the island of hills. Up until the 19th Century streams ran down the hills. East 77th Street had the Sawhill stream with beeer gardens providing an escape from the city behind the tenements. Every stream had been buried under concrete, but the toprograhy of Manhattan is all downhill and the torrents overflowed the sewers. Cars were stranded on the FDR as the storm hit at high tide. The next day was sunny and no trace of the storm. New York is built to resist nature, although Sandy blew away people's sense of safety with a high tide thirteen feet over normal."

"I remember reading about families trapped in basement apartments. Drowning in terror."

"It might have happened in Sandy."

The air was thick with moisture before the storm. Heavy. Living in Florida all those years, you how a storm feels before it strikes. Downtown at Battery Park two years ago a king tide inundated the park. Three feet of the harbor. Since then the city has been building a dike, so the water will be shunted away from the downtown to other neighborhoods."

"At least there are no sharks in New York Harbor. I stopped swimming in the inlet. Bull sharks hang out there on the tides. A feeding ground. I used to swim off Lisa's place on Chilean. It was safe. Maybe still is. But I don't leave the house too much."

Strangely I've never seen a shark in the water."

"They are there."

"Once in LA, I think in 1986 I swam north of Malibu at Point Magu. Early spring. Water freezing. I stripped naked and swam out past the breaker. Floating on the current, thena surge of something came from below. I looked around me searching the surface for a fin. Nothing, but I swam back to shore. When I got to the car, a female CHiPs officer was at my car. I asked, if everything was all right and she replied, "Just making sure you got back to shore. That was a big tiger shark. We don't see them this time of year, but they are always there lurking for easy prey. If you had been wearing a wet suit, it might have mistaken you for a seal."

"A common error, but mostly sharks avoid biting humans. We must taste bad."

"Not enough fat for their taste. Not that sharks have a tongue. Plenty of sharks out off Montauk. No attacks."

"Like you said. We taste bad and smell worse."

I begged off the phone and wished Allison a good day. I got dressed in classic New England attire for the sultry weather. A rumpled seersucker suit and worn jeans. Not a cloud in the sky.

ps I have never seen a shark in the water.

foto stream on 77th street way back when___

Weather in Wyoming

Today's weather in Yellowstone Park remains faithful to winter. 30F and snow covering most of the volcanic plateau in the northeast corner of Wyoming. I have driven through that region in the late-April. The seasons change slow at that altitude and New York City is following the western state's slow lead into Spring. Flowers are sprouting from hibernation and trees are showing green buds. The sun is bright and I felt its distant warmth sitting in front of Ralph's Meats on Lafayette Street, but the chill was still in the air. Tomorrow the meteorolgists are predicting the temeperature will hit 59 at the Fort Greene Observatory. It's one of the highest point in Brooklyn. Battle Hill is the highest at 220 feet, so good-bye winter. At least for now.

Warmer Than Yesterday

Weather at the base of the Fort Greene Monument seemed warmer than yesterday even though the temperature was the same as on Friday.

I biked up to the plaza honoring the dead prisoners of the Revolutionary War and basked in the wan rays of the January sun.

A park ranger warned me not to bike down the hill.

I waited for him to enter his office and rode my bike to the weekend market in a clear example of civil disobedience.

I'm a bad man.

Somethings Never Change

In the autumn of 1997 I lived in the West of Ireland with my cousin, Ty Spaulding. We were both writing novels. His book on political intrigue was set in his native Hawaii and mine took place in Hamburg. The two of us experienced the full beauty of the Irish fall. "It's either just rained, going to fall, or will rain." That adage holds true to every corner of the British Isles, Scotland, Wales, and Ireland. To this day. But it a sunny one in Fort Greene.

Split Sky

At the age of ten I sat on our roof during a summer electrical storm with my older brother. Boston rarely offered such a dramatic show of weather. My father yelled for us to come inside. We thought we knew better and shouted that we were okay. The two of us watched in awe, as lightning strikes spoked the hills to the south. A cyclonic wind raked through the trees at the end of our lawn. The smell of ozone oozed over our flesh. My crew cut stood on end. The black clouds rippled like crow's wings. My brother and I looked at each other. He said something I couldn't hear and his eyes billowed with fear. A lightning bolt split the willow tree twenty feet from us. The flash strobed my eyes and the clap of seared thunder rattled my teeth. Smoke smoldered from the trunk. Hail pelted us without mercy. It was time to go. My brother and I leaped through the window and my father shook his head. "You're lucky you're not dead." He was right about that.

The Beauty of Nine Years After

Nine years ago September 9 posted a lingering day for summer. My friend Alice had a Porsche Boxer waiting at Newark. I accompanied her across the Hudson and after receiving the convertible sports car, we headed north toward New Paltz. Destination - Lake Minnewaska Park. I had been extolling the beauty of the farther lake's slanted granite beach and looked forward to a last swim before autumn. Alice's car had diplomatic plates. She kept the car below 90, except for the uphill runs on the Northway. State troopers only post downhill speed traps. we made good time listening to her collection of 80s hits. Our friendship dated back to London. Leicester Square. 1986. She had arrived at the Cafe de Paris in a rubber dress. I let her in immediately, never guessing that this sliver of blonde was a diplomat for the shards of the English Empire. Exiting at New Paltz Alice switched to the radio. NPR was reporting on America's pulling out of the South African conference on racism. The delegation contested the vote on Israel's mistreatment of the occupied territories. "That's not good." Our new president was born-again. Israel was always right in their eyes. "Israel has a right to protest any accusation as does the countries opposing it." Alice was 100% on the side of compromise to achieve peace. "Stolen lands." I felt the same way about the north counties of Ireland, but said nothing. It was too beautiful a day. The Gunks were crowded with rock climbers. People come from around the country to attack the ascent routes. We drove by these cliffs to the park. The lot was half-filled. Throwing towels over our shoulders and carrying bathing suits in hand Alice and I set out for Lake Awosting. Few hikers were on the trail. Unusual for such a lovely day. The path had been built for vacationers at the Lake Mohonk Resort. A carriage road designed to offer panoramic vistas of the Hudson Valley. Alice and I enjoyed our walk and soon Lake Awosting came into sight. Boreal blue water surrounded by evergreen pines. No one on the granite beach. A ATV rolled up the trail. “Where you heading?” She was a hefty female. 30 and thick of limb. “Lake Awosting.” I had been coming here since the 80s. Once I had jumped off the cliff into Lake Minnewaska. A good drop of 70 feet. Once was enough. “You’re not going swimming there?” Her voice adopted a tone of authority. “Why not?” I was dumbfounded by her interrogation. This was America. The Land of the Free. “Because it’s against the law to swim in the lakes after Labor Day.” "My friend has been saying that Lake Awosting is the best swim in the Catskills. We thought that we might test his theory." Alice's accent was sheer Oxford. The language of command. “There are no lifeguards.” The ranger stood, as if she had been instructed to enforce this mandate by GW Bush himself. “I can swim three miles. What’s the problem?” I knew that the problem was that lawyers were waiting for some drunk fool to jump into the lake and break their back, so they could sue the state parks for several million dollars. “It’s the law.” She touched my arm. She had diplomatic immunity. Also tact. I had neither. Only a sense of outrage. Explanations were a waste of breath. Law was the law. We turned away from our destination. Swimming in the crystal water was a forbidden pleasure. “I hate this America.” On the way back to New York the radio announced the USA bailing out of the Racism Conference in South Africa in protest of a nearly unanimous condemnation of Israel for their occupation of Palestine. “Another thing I hate about America. Israel.” Police against swimming were synonymous with the Israeli Defense Force smashing down doors in Jericho. I needed a drink. Alia and I stopped at a bar in New Paltz. Three beers later I was ready to resume our return to New York. Alia was sober. She never drank liquor. Her thrill was speed and the Porsche hit 140 on the Freeway. The next day it rained from morning to night. I nursed a hangover with more beer and woke the next morning to a thump. A funny sound. Almost like an explosion. I got dressed to see what was the problem. Black smoke filled the southern sky. A neighbor said a plane had hit the World Trade Tower. It was no joke. Neither was the second plane or the collapse of the iconic skyscrapers. America was under attack. By Al-Quada. And we were out for blood. First Afghanistan. The Taliban were sheltering the enemy. Next up Iraq. “Nuke them into the Stone Age.” My older brother wanted revenge. We all did. “Iraq didn’t have anything to do with 9/11.” 15 of the hijackers were from Saudi Arabia. None of the pilots. Something was fucked up about that, but I couldn’t put my finger on what. “why do you think we were attacked?” “It’s unimportant. Fucking the Arabs is what we have to do.” And that’s what America has done since 9/11. Bomb the shit out of Iraq. A billion bullets a year in Afghanistan. Torture the towelheads. Beat their feet with rubber hoses. Drone missiles to every corner of their backward lands. TORA TORA TORA. Without mercy. And now the towelheads want to put up a mosque several blocks from the site of the devastated WTC. “Sacrilege.” GOP. “Freedom of religion.” Democrats. An election issue for November 2010. Not for me. I believe in the temple of non-belief. How many people have been killed for atheism? Zero. But both sides hate godlessness. So let them slaughter each other in the name of their idols. There is only one truth. Peace. And swimming in Lake Awosting.