My New York Reflection on the eve of the 10 year anniversary of 9-11
In 1969, my family visited New York City for the first time. I remember our nuclear group of four being transported from our laid back hometown of Indianapolis (where we had only lived three years after our departure from Cuba) to the ultra modern John F. Kennedy terminal, via TWA airlines. I treasured my little TWA wings in my jewelry box for years afterwards. Designed by one of my favorite designers, Eero Saarinen; my encounter with this space in this great crossroads of a city laid a seed in my spirit that later in life would lead me to study the design of interior environments.
As an "almost" 10 year old, I still remember the sense of place this terminal had on me. It was a contrast of cool lights and warm colors, open and closed forms, shiny and matte textures, shadows and luminosity that penetrated and accentuated the “space age” lines and shapes. As we moved through this terminal the space seemed to speak to me, “Welcome to The Modernest City”….my young mind was engaged and ready for more of what NYC would offer! From that point on, my trip with our friends who had already established this radiant location as their home was a wonderful mix of Multi National/American/Cuban flavor; a kind of blend that could only happen in a cutting edge reality that existed in NYC as it prepared itself to greet the decade of the 70’s. Hope seemed to permeate everything.
As I have realized, Cubans thrive everywhere thanks to the diaspora that took place after the Castro revolution. That year in NYC, it seemed we were welcomed by every exiled Cuban that lived in NY. We visited Elizabeth, NJ, which was another haven for exiled Cubans; Boston, Massachusetts to visit Cuban family members. Friends of friends of our friends had networked together and although none of us had any substantial financial means, my parents and their adult friends all seemed to live and dream like the future was open to even us. NYC seemed to be the place to be to start over again in another culture. My impressionable mind understood this unspoken truth. We visited the Empire State building, United Nations, Rockefeller Center, the Statue of Liberty, the museums, Central Park, and each landmark impressed in my psyche, that NYC was an excellent blend of all that is good about being American, being modern, and being a Cuban in exile. The city was exciting and deliciously fast.
Even though I was just a kid, I could still recall experiencing the urban side of Havana, Cuba with my family. I remembered visiting El malecon, Copelia and eating ice cream, walking down the main boulevards, going to Mass in dimly lit Baroque style churches, my abuelo's second floor aparment, taking pictures next to huge monuments and fountains. Havana was a big city too, with much more history than NYC but all the energy of what had come to be a very cosmopolitan capital that impressed itself on a little girl like me before it was destroyed by a communist dictator. This journey to NYC awakened in me a little of what I had lost after I left my family and my birth place of Havana, and that experience of NYC has never left me.
As I have realized, Cubans thrive everywhere thanks to the diaspora that took place after the Castro revolution. That year in NYC, it seemed we were welcomed by every exiled Cuban that lived in NY. We visited Elizabeth, NJ, which was another haven for exiled Cubans; Boston, Massachusetts to visit Cuban family members. Friends of friends of our friends had networked together and although none of us had any substantial financial means, my parents and their adult friends all seemed to live and dream like the future was open to even us. NYC seemed to be the place to be to start over again in another culture. My impressionable mind understood this unspoken truth. We visited the Empire State building, United Nations, Rockefeller Center, the Statue of Liberty, the museums, Central Park, and each landmark impressed in my psyche, that NYC was an excellent blend of all that is good about being American, being modern, and being a Cuban in exile. The city was exciting and deliciously fast.
Even though I was just a kid, I could still recall experiencing the urban side of Havana, Cuba with my family. I remembered visiting El malecon, Copelia and eating ice cream, walking down the main boulevards, going to Mass in dimly lit Baroque style churches, my abuelo's second floor aparment, taking pictures next to huge monuments and fountains. Havana was a big city too, with much more history than NYC but all the energy of what had come to be a very cosmopolitan capital that impressed itself on a little girl like me before it was destroyed by a communist dictator. This journey to NYC awakened in me a little of what I had lost after I left my family and my birth place of Havana, and that experience of NYC has never left me.
Years later, I would again experience this gateway city with my husband when we visited as honeymooners on our way north to Canada. We stayed at the Waldorf Astoria and we were upgraded to a corner apartment suite when they discovered our new status. What a impressive moment that was to stand in the corner of our temporary living room and from one window be able to look down all of Park Avenue and then standing from the same spot, look out the other window and do the same of 50th Street. This was as awesome of a corner as any corner I have ever experienced. Looking down on taxi’s, limo’s, buses, people, lights, all moving; was exhilarating. I remember the coolness of that evening that came in through the open windows, the sharp smell of the unusually brisk summer air, and the din of the interchanges taking place between mechanical and human creatures below. NYC seemed at its best when viewed from above, like a bird. That weekend we visited many of the touristy places that I had gone as a child, plus the WTC, which did not exist when I was younger. We stood in awe at the top of this incredible structural monument; in the expansiveness of that panorama, NYC seemed to be welcoming me again.
There was one more experience I had of NYC before the fateful 9-11 day. That was when I took my oldest daughter for her 13th birthday. Like all great cities, it has to be experienced and I knew she would love it. Again, through the hospitality of our Cuban friends we were warmly greeted back. Even though it was April, it snowed the morning we arrived. I had not experienced this aspect of this great city, the light brush of white roof tops and cold gusts of air made us more excited to be in the city. Being the typical teenager, my daughter’s idea of getting to know a city is to shop in its stores. By the end of the week, we had scoped out every Claire’s jewelry store in NYC, as well, as the ever- friendly, never changing McDonald’s restaurants that she craved. Despite my desire for her to try authentic NY-Chinese, NY-Italian, or even the famous NY-Jewish bagel, my Cuban-American daughter’s taste buds were not yet matured.
One unforgettable part of this trip was our every day juncture at the World Trade Center Tower. This she savored…..probably becuase in the busy underground Mall of the WTC, there happened to be a Claire’s shop that compelled her to stop in daily. Here she purchased many souvenirs for herself and her sisters (despite the fact that Tampa also had Claire’s). As I recall, in the WTC, she got her first pair of adult trendy dark sunglasses which she wore it the whole trip, lending her a very fashionable look in every picture she posed for.
The Towers became an important landmark for us, whenever we got lost (which happened a lot) we would reorient ourselves by figuring out where we were in relation to it. My friend who was at that time, an assistant district attorney, worked not too far from the World Trade Center, in the federal district area. Cris and I would take the train to work with her every morning, watch her get off at her stop in the city and spend the day exploring a new part, always meeting her after work at the WTC. This building became our sanctuary; we knew once we got there, we would find our way back to Queens, the burough where she lived. In such a frenetic city, the WTC was our harbor. Yes, we did get to the very top of the World Trade Center tower. My child was beside herself with the beauty this view offered us that afternoon. Immediately she ran to the side of the rail and looked down, while I stayed safely along the inside center of the roof top plaza, allowing her the opportunity to pose for a picture and gasp in awe at every cardinal point.
Only 4 years later, these became pictures that we would treasure for the unique moment in history that it documented. Standing up so many feet above the earth, how could the two of us ever imagine that a few years later that view would not exist from this precise point in space in such a city that seemed so full of hope for me and my daughter on that day?
Only 4 years later, these became pictures that we would treasure for the unique moment in history that it documented. Standing up so many feet above the earth, how could the two of us ever imagine that a few years later that view would not exist from this precise point in space in such a city that seemed so full of hope for me and my daughter on that day?
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