World Trade...

My Ass – Neddie, a rugadh air?

When I consider writing a post, my first consideration is given to what pictures I can include and are readily available to me to give emphasis to the story, or point I wish to convey; working on the principle of a picture being worth a thousand words. All of the pictures here are my own, the majority taken with my old trusty if sometimes erratic (or is it me?) “Agfa Isolette 1” folding camera of the 1950’s.
If you have read my introduction to “blogging” you will be aware that I come from a long way back; not mentioned a small farm background in Ireland, and can trace our family name in Ireland for more than a thousand years. I began my adult working life on a wage of the equivalent of just under four euro per six-day week. I have now arrived at this point in my life where there is absolute incredulity at the pace and enormity of world commerce and trade. I sometimes meet up with an old working colleague who like me is retired from active service. At these meetings we almost always discuss current affairs. If there was one thing we always agreed on, and it is that this massive greed ridden building frenzy was going to come crashing down around our ears. People went off on holiday for a couple of weeks or so, only to return to find what had been in days gone by, the little backyard piggery and onion patch was suddenly transformed into a three story apartment block. The pace of the construction dictated by the deadline for the twenty year tax exemption. Some of the best farmland in the world was scrutinised for its potential as “sites” for rural housing development; but more importantly, other less favourable sites were identified for the same purpose, with many new developments constructed on marshland and flood plains. Soon we were to witness flooding like we have never seen before, and worse, because of inadequate sewage systems we wound up drinking our own excretement, and then there was ecoli this, and crypto that: not to worry though, there is treatment! God save us all. For some unknown reason that I cannot fathom; nothing less than seven bedrooms, three bathrooms, lounge, sitting room, study, TV room, computer room and wait for it – a sun room – in Ireland!! Very often it was a “partner” it been no longer safe to mention “wife” with one or two children that occupied this edifice that our parents would have said “would take ‘Ardnacrusha’ to light-up. (Ardnacrusha being the turbine electricity power station on the Shannon).
The Americans have given us some wonderful additions to the English language and stretched some old translations to mean something else altogether. The most recent “Sub Prime” is one such, and if it wasn’t they who introduced it, it should have been, for it was they who made prime use of it. They might as well have said “second rate” – “below par” or “loser’s” when lending prime funds to those who could not pay it back. “Here you are doggoneit!” And like all prudent bookies they spread the gamble throughout the known trading world – world trade how are you?
When I set out in the 1960s to borrow £200, I was asked “what are your borrowings to date?” I replied that it was my first encounter with borrowed finances; to be told that it would be extremely difficult to raise the necessary funds as I had no previous record in the financial market. My car dealer went on to explain: “Bowmaker, has a record of all borrowings to include defaulters in this state.” The chief executive of a practicing law firm recently left our jurisdiction owing €83,000,000 (not far off $100,000,000) to a number of banking institutions in the Irish State. He borrowed several millions from four individual banks on the strength of one old estate the real value of which was but a fraction of the borrowings. He has now intimated that he will speak to us via video link from London! Where is Bowmaker now I ask?
You could not put your nose out on the public road but you were in grave danger of being run over by a Merc, Beamer, or 4 X 4 off-road.
My picture here is of my late uncle Jack who is about to park his quadruped having transported the “scuffler” to his potato field. (Jack’s sister Delia arrived at the port of New York on board “The Adriatic” from Queenstown, Cork, on September 05, 1913. Jack was born three years later in 1916 the youngest of the family. Although both lived to old age they never met.)
A distant cousin lay on his deathbed; his sister and brother who lived with him suspected that he had a cache secreted away in one of the myriad of holes and crevices in the thick stone walls of the bedroom of this old thatched cabin; if there was any chance at all of discovery of the pile before Willie “kicked the bucket “Ellen was the one to do so. “Willie, you know you are getting weaker and not long more for this world – will you tell me where you keep the money?” If there had been any concern for his welfare with anticipation of a return to good health by the pair, it had now vanished, and Willie knew it. “It is there in the hole Ellie.” “Where is it Willie?” “It is there in the hole Ellie.” “What hole Willie?” Even now almost seventy year on from the death of Willie I could not reveal the stated location of the money as it was a personal matter between brother and sister. Strangely though, a quarter of a century later the writer here had a fattening pig in residence in the same room – the house no longer in human habitation. As regular as clockwork, almost on a daily basis over a period of very many weeks I would discover in the metal trough a shining “half-crown” or “two-shilling-piece” snouted up by the pig from the mud (dirt) floor, or who knows, perhaps he had discovered Willie’s hidden cache. This money returned to commerce even though it had been out of circulation for a long time – can the same be said for the “Sub-Prime?”
Willie of course did pass on and was “waked” in the room that for so long had been the place of his confinement. Late into the night my mother decided to pay a visit to the “corpse house“to see how the brother and sister were coping with this difficult situation for them. On entry to the house she found the pair alone, with the only light coming from a flickering flame in the open hearth. My mother had some concern about the situation as she found it, and explained to Seán that at the very least there should be a “Blessed Candle” lighted by Willie’s bedside as this was the old Irish Catholic custom for the dead. “He had the lights of Nebraska and what good did it do him,” replied Seán. As a young man Willie had gone to America as had so many generations of his kinsfolk before him. After a few years in America he returned home to Cahirduff where he would indulge his audience with tales of the new world. He told of having worked in cornfields in Nebraska that were so vast that they stretched away for as far as the eye could see in all directions. I don’t know if such existed or perhaps still exist: is there someone out there who can tell us?
This picture is of our own thatched cabin (still in the family) very similar to the cousins discussed above, but of an older vintage still; dating back many hundreds of years.

If anyone had any doubts as to how quickly and with such dire consequences a global recession can occur, as it would appear we are heading into right now and with no one really knowing how long it’s going to last, or what will be the eventual outcome for trade and the world economy: we have only to look to 9/11 – one day of madness and mayhem that shook the world to its core, and boy has it left us a legacy?
I was in the strand in Ballybunion, Co. Kerry when the news came through that one of the “twin towers” in New York had been struck by a plane; a beautiful September day in the south west of Ireland; a particularly tragic day for the Irish in New York, as we were soon to learn the magnitude of it all. Over the years since that dreadful day in September 2001 how often have we heard of the twin towers, ground zero, and so on; how easy for us in this part of the world at any rate, to forget that this place in the capital of commerce was named “The World Trade Center”

My sister who seems to have been in New York for ever, very kindly sent me a ticket to visit and have a look around in 1985, and it was a trip down the Hudson River on the Circle Line that gave me my first view of the soaring “twin towers” and yes, there was no doubt at all but they were impressive. My picture here shows the unmistakable twin towers taken from the boat on the New Jersey side of the river.
It was an agreement between the New York and New Jersey Port Authorities that in 1966 saw work commence on the construction of the World Trade Center and it was officially dedicated “opened” for business in April 1973.
On my visit to the World Trade Center on the October 24, 1985, I entered the lobby of Two World Trade Center (The towers being named One and Two World Trade Center) The information leaflet informs me that here a quarter of a mile above the pavement is one of the most spectacular views on earth. “To start your voyage skyward, take the escalator up to the ticket booth on the mezzanine.” If like me you don’t know what a mezzanine is? Mezzo, middle. A story situated between two main ones; an entresol: The Lexicon Webster Dictionary. “One of two express elevators will whisk you up to the 107th floor in about 58 seconds. Your adventure begins. Wind and weather permitting you can reach even greater heights. Take the escalator up from The Deck to the Rooftop Promenade above the 110th floor. You’ll be standing on the world’s highest observation platform.” Although the day of my visit was quite pleasant it was declared unsafe for The Rooftop Promenade and had to be satisfied with the 107th floor Deck for my view over Manhattan and New York Harbour. And I was not disappointed. With floor to ceiling glass there was a panoramic view in almost every direction. As I looked out over the harbour I could easily pick out Liberty Island with the famous Statue of Liberty clearly visible. Clothed now in a web of scaffolding, no doubt having a “makeover” in preparation for centenary year in 1986, Miss Liberty, a gift from France, was placed here in 1886; ‘give me your poor, your huddled masses’ was the accompanying invitation; an invitation that was short lived as the huddled masses came in from all over Europe.
You will see in the picture (right) just upriver from Liberty, is Ellis Island, where on January 1, 1892 a new immigration station was opened to deal with the massive influx of immigrants now arriving at the port of New York. An elaborate ceremony was planned for the occasion but the authorities in Washington directed that the opening be carried out without ceremony. There were three large steamships with a total of 700 passengers waiting to disembark, we are told some of whom were anxious as to who would be first to enter the new building and registration. The New York Times reports: “The honour was reserved for a little rosy-cheeked Irish girl. She was Annie Moore, fifteen years of age, lately a resident of County Cork... ” Annie had left Queenstown (Cobh) on board the S.S. Nevada on December 20, 1891, travelling with her were her brothers, Anthony (11) and Phillip (7). There to meet the children on arrival were their parents who by this time were already residing in New York. It was Annie’s fifteenth birthday. There are statues in her honour in Cobh and Ellis Island. The first railroad ticket to be sold in the new building was purchased by Ellen King, on arrival from Waterford, Ireland, and in transit to a small town in Minnesota.

Many years ago now I found myself in the company of a Kerryman who was home on holiday from Boston. In the course of our conversation I gathered that he had left Ireland as a young man around the “Civil War” period (1922 – 23). He told of his setting out for America from his home, far out on the Dingle Peninsula. Early on the morning of his departure his father having tackled the horse to the common cart, they set out as the heavens opened and the rain poured down on a dreadful day that ended late that evening, where by prior arrangement they stabled the horse and stayed the night at the home of a relative. Early the next morning they set out once more for Tralee arriving there in late afternoon. On the following morning he continued on by train to Cork and thence to Queenstown (Cobh) and the boat to America. Like so many before him this was the last time my acquaintance was to see his father alive, as both his parents died in his absence. He took up his first job with a public transport company in Boston; they employed the use of horse-drawn carriages (trams) or some such, to convey people about the city. Our man was employed in the smith’s (farrier’s) farriery where teams of sweating horses were brought off the road to have thrown shoes replaced or a new set of shoes could be on order. The new arrival from remotest County Kerry found himself in the frenetic hustle and bustle of the city of Boston, swatting biting insects from the agitated animals as the smith carried out the necessary adjustments to the horse’s hooves. He later graduated to driving motor-coaches – an occupation I shared with him, and perhaps his reason for confiding in me his introduction to the free world; these were our people who gave outstanding service to the place we call America.

My second picture from the tower is of Midtown with many well-known skyscrapers in evidence – in the far distance can be seen the Empire State Building. Close up and on the left is the upper section of One World Trade.

Back to my information leaflet: “If all this gives you an appetite, grab a bite on The Deck at New York’s highest snack bar. And don’t miss the intriguing History of Trade exhibit also on the Deck. For mementos of your memorable trip, there are fascinating selections at the Sky Caravan Gift Shop.”

At this remove I cannot remember if I availed of what was on offer at this altitude but I am certain that purchases were made on coming back down to earth. I have subsequently reminisced on the many, many, thousands of trinkets, – cups, mugs, named key-rings, etc., etc., with World Trade Center emblazoned on them that sit in obscure places in homes all over the world.
Some facts about the World Trade Center:
All three New York subway systems served the World Trade Center. The elevator system in the Twin Towers had each tower served by 23 high-speed express cars. Seventy two local elevators and four giant freight elevators, travelling at speeds of up to 1,600 feet per minute.
It was occupied by more than 1,200 trading firms and organizations, with 50,000 of a working population and had over 80,000 visitors daily.
The Twin Tower floors were column-free and one acre in size: 43,600 windows with 600,000 square feet of glass. The Austin J. Tobin Plaza of the World Trade Center covered almost five acres.
You were sure to find whatever your palate dictated in one of the ‘World Trade Center’s ’ 22 restaurants, one of which is described here: “The Restaurant at Windows on the World: Situated on the 107th floor of One World Trade Center, it’s one of the most spectacular restaurants in the world. Designed as a series of terraces, it provides an impressive view of the city from every table. The wine list offers more than 600 selections, and the cuisine which is of international inspiration, won a Gault Millau citation for excellence. New York’s most exciting restaurant experience... ”
The World Trade Center Concourse was Manhattan’s largest indoor shopping mall. “New York’s busiest thoroughfare allows you to shop in any weather. There are over 60 stores, services, and restaurants... ”
The Vista Hotel: “The Vista International Hotel, located at Three World Trade Center, is the first major hotel built in lower Manhattan since 1836. Formally opened in July1981, it is operated by Hilton International. An oasis of privacy and graciousness... ”
“A huge Joan Miro tapestry is hung against a 50-foot high marble wall in the mezzanine of Two World Trade Center. It measures 35 feet in length and 20 feet in height, and weighs three tons.”

All utterly destroyed, and the consequences of this dreadful act are still with us today. You may well ask, with what purpose do I put this information before you? And of course the answer is, I happen to be in possession of it, and having visited the place and keeping in mind that up on 3,000 people died, I still consider it a miracle that so many got out alive. And now with apologies to all who have suffered as a result of this dastardly deed I will tell you of my thoughts following the destruction of the World Trade Center.
I think of the New York Fire Service and Police Department very many of whom traditionally come from Ireland or have an Irish background. Of that day and in particular I think of Ron Clifford from Cork who in the midst of horror and turmoil with debris and bodies hitting the plaza, jumpers, from high on the doomed tower, he stopped to aid a distressed woman who had suffered severe burns; he speaks of seeing six firemen rush past him into the tower building: in doing so their fate was sealed. Ron was not to know then that by another quirk of fate his sister Ruth and her young daughter Juliana were on the “United” flight that crashed into the tower above.
I think of the first casualty to be brought out of the tower by the firemen, it was that of Father Mychal Judge – he, a chaplain to the New York Fire Service. What was he doing there you might ask? He was simply there to give support to his fellow firemen in a desperate situation the likes of which they had not seen before – he was doing his duty as he saw it – it cost him his life. Fr. Mychal Judge was born in Brooklyn, New York, in 1933; his parents with little means had emigrated from County Leitrim. His father died when he was six years of age, and Mychal hit the streets as a shoe-shine-boy to supplement his mother’s income to help support two sisters and himself in very difficult times. He joined the Franciscan Order in 1954 and was ordained a priest in 1961 and became a fire-chaplain in 1992. It is ironic that Mychal as a young boy dreamed of being either a priest or a fireman; “now I’m both,” he said, on being appointed chaplain to the Fire Service.

One could not help but think of Police Officer, Moira Smith, whose parents were from Dublin, and who was on the mezzanine directing an orderly exit from the building when the tower collapsed. She had shown exceptional courage in returning to the building even though the first tower had already come down. She was the only female officer to lose her life in the Twin Tower’s disaster; she left behind a policeman husband and young daughter. Of the 3,000 that died, it is thought that up on 1,000 of these were of the services, and it was largely due to their efforts that so many escaped the doomed buildings with their lives.
Is it any wonder then that we were the only Sovereign Nation to totally and without exception shut up shop in a day of mourning for all who died in what has come to be known simply as 9/11? And it was a day that changed the world in so many ways. It had serious repercussions for trade and economics. Who would have thought that we would find ourselves in airports, bare-footed and holding up our pants with both hands? Or to see a little old lady being asked to step aside to have a nail file removed from her handbag. Yes, we have seen many airlines depart the scene and for a couple of years at least all manner of difficulties was blamed on 9/11.
In extolling the virtues of the Irish in America, I could go back to those who stood with George Washington in his campaigns for American Independence, but I feel there is no need to go there. What I would like to refer to is the many Irish who are fine decent upright working people; as good, if not better than their compatriots that have gone before, but nowhere is there a “document” to be found. No, they are left scurrying around trying to keep out of the gaze of the authorities. They are left to mourn the passing of their loved ones in Ireland with no possibility of seeing them to their final resting place. There are people in “high places” in America who say they are illegal and should go home. Give us a break!! I wonder if anyone asked the council of “Sitting Bull” or whoever is the Chief at the present time for his opinion? All we are talking about is a poor attendance day in Croke Park with much of the Hogan Stand empty. A simplistic view of the intricacies of running a nation where proper order and regulation prevails perhaps, but ponder this then if you will. Having spent in excess of forty years working; having over all this time made regular contributions to a pension scheme, paid all taxes, been thrifty, putting a bit by for my old age; time now to pull the old rocker on to the porch and do a bit of whittling. I talk to the people who have been minding my savings for all these years, explaining that it was now pay-back-time. “This is a bad time to be thinking of retirement, Sir. Stocks, bonds, shares, and all kinds of investments are at rock bottom right now.” You don’t understand – it’s my pension fund I’m talking about? “Sorry old timer, the ass has fallen out of the cookie jar.” “Where is the money Willie.” ”It’s there in the hole Ellie.” “What hole Willie?
(Click on the photo's to enlarge if that is your wish.)

This is Danny’s Quaint Ireland; it is Cóipcheart © Copyright and may not be used in any form without my express permission. Danny Quain Cois Má 2008.

Post Script:
In writing the above I wish to state that I was conscious of and fully acknowledge all those from so many backgrounds, nationalities, class, and creed that suffered grievously as a consequence of the destruction of the World Trade Center.