I couldn’t help but notice the faces of my fellow New Yorkers as I passed them on the street. We shared quick glances and half-smiles, then shrugged at each other as if to say, “Who knows?” I was reminded of that awful day in September 2001, when Manhattan was under siege. We shared glances back then, too, as we ran to collect our children from school or check on loved ones. But on that day, there were no half-smiles on our faces. Just worry.
Much is written about the peculiarity of New York City: our bluer-than-blue politics, our white-collar professionals, our red-blooded crackpots. But since moving here in 1978, I’ve grown to appreciate the camaraderie we share, especially when we’re coping with common angst.
A month after I arrived, all three of New York’s daily newspapers went on strike, leaving a town of news junkies, sports fans and coupon-clippers bereft. While I can’t recall how we managed this burden, I vividly remember walking to work the day after the strike ended and seeing a sidewalk vendor selling T-shirts bearing the slogan, “I Survived the Great Newspaper Strike of 1978.” That’s New York.
Why must it always take something like a hurricane — or a news blackout, or a terrorist strike — to remind us that we’re all in this together? The tide will eventually recede, it always does, and take with it the memory of Sandy’s wrath. I just wish this sense of unity could linger a little longer. It is the one thing the storm brought that’s worth saving.
Full Article by Bruce Kluger, USA Today