© 2002 Brian Hodges - Please do not remove the copyright from this essay

fter September 11^th, the first things placed on the wall of Penn Station were Missing Posters. Faces of men and women, young and old, tacked up by friends and relatives in the vain hope that maybe, maybe their loved ones had escaped the destruction. Within a couple weeks, the faces of the dead were joined by giant pieces of poster-paper; sympathy cards signed by thousands of people (apparently all from the same area of Texas). More cards went up, sent in by churches, schools and other groups around the country. Bible pages, flowers, prayer cards, Sacred Heart emblems, funeral programs, pictures of the Twin Towers and of course, American flags all went up alongside. And holding it all together like some kind of emotional ether are the countless writings of people who have walked by and decided to leave their own messages for New York in the spaces left on the wall.

I walk past the wall twice a day and I look at it each time. How can anyone not? Apart from the trains themselves it’s probably the most prominent thing in the station. I don’t know what anyone else is calling it, but I heard one woman refer to it as the Wailing Wall and that’s the name that stuck with me. I decided to spend a half-hour or so one night taking in a little of what was there. I ended up glued to that wall for over two hours.

The words "God bless" must appear more than any other. God bless America, the Firemen, the Police, the victims, the families of the victims. God bless us all. God bless you all. And even a few "God bless y’all"s.

"FDNY, you saved my father. God bless you."

On a Missing Poster of a happy looking fellow in a tux is written, "Chris, I haven’t seen you since 7^th grade, but God Bless You."

On a paper American flag, Sashah wrote, "Say hi to God for me."

A note written to Maureen encourages her, "When you get to the gates of Heaven and God asks you what are you here for? You will just say, "’I’m here to be with You Lord.’"

One very optimistic person wrote simply, "Enjoy Heaven!!! J"

Next to a picture of crying Twin Towers, "Bye for now. See you soon."

"I love my gummy bear."

"My honey bunny is wonderful."

Marc took the time to print up an 18 x 9 card, telling the story of his friend Joey. Joey was so cool. Joey taught Marc how to be cool, how to talk to girls. Marc tells of putting up Joey’s Missing Poster all over town because "It felt good to be doing something and not just sitting around mourning."

The station is very quiet at 10pm as I take this all in. Then a flute at the top of the stairwell starts playing When Johnny Comes Marching Home. Usually blasted by a full marching band the song is rendered a thousand times more stirring by this simple single-melody rendition. I find my eyes filling quite unexpectedly, remembering the events of that day not four months ago. At the same time, I also remember the cry of patriotism that soon followed.

Amidst the American flags there on the wall are bumper stickers proclaiming "United We Stand" and "Red White and Blue: These colors don’t run."

Some people took their patriotism and ran in another direction; specifically towards the Middle East. "We’re coming fuckers… Justice delayed is justice denied. Deport the conspirators… Just seal every cave in Afghanistan with dry concrete and pray for rain."

Over a giant picture of Osama bin Laden is printed in giant red letters, "SHAME." All around the picture are epithets reducing our arch nemesis to a sodomite of cavemen.

There are the people who decided to go tongue-in-cheek: "We have no desire to screw with Camels. We SMOKE THEM instead."

People who decided to lay blame: "Thank you Bill Clinton for cutting the C.I.A. budget by over 50%… You have blood on your hands."

And at least one person whose cryptic messages didn’t seem to mean anything: "SPACE WORDS: DOOR AS PLOW" "HIGH CITY ROCKS" "PLURAL OF CANNON?" "IN A LEGAL GRAVEYARD."

But far and wide, the messages were ones of optimism and encouragement: "New York, stick in there for all of us! Love K-Bear."

"Let peace begin on earth, and let it begin with ME."

And my favorite: "I’d rather die a New Yorker than live and believe like THEM."

But as always seems to be the case, the most poignant expressions came from children. They were simple words, written as though their authors did not fully understand the implications of everything had happened – only that it was very bad.

"Dear New Yorkers. Hello my name is Tim. Sorry to hear about the bombing. I hope your O.K. How are you doing? Are you back to school? We will get him back. America is coming back together. We will be O.K. Love, Tim."

"Dear firemen. You guys did a great job! You’re great. We hope this thig (sic) never happens again. We all LOVE you! Goob (sic) luck. You did great! Love, Victoria."

One group of kids made a ten-foot silhouette (black paper over blue) of the New York skyline. There is a noticeable gap where the Twin Towers should be. Filling the gap is the Statue of Liberty, cut from the only white paper on the picture. The symbolism is simple and obvious, yet I find myself, once again choked up and overwhelmed.

The flute player has started mixing When Johnny Comes Marching Home with When the Saints Go Marching In and the Colonel Bogey March as I now look at the cutouts of butterflies pasted above the poster-paper skyline. A personal message is written on each butterfly. "I am sorry you are sad," says Kayla. "I feel bad the plane crashed," says Joel.

In black magic marker, somebody has "defaced" the butterfly skyline, writing, "I touched every butterfly. You made me feel better. Thank You."

The amazing thing is that this is the only kind of graffiti you will find on the entire wall. No gang symbols. No cuss words (except when they are directed at the terrorists). Only one spray-painted tag that says, "R.I.P." Yet the entire wall really is one giant act of vandalism as people have written in the blank spots on somebody else’s paper, on somebody else’s artwork, and even on the wall itself. Of course, the transit police are looking the other way – as I’m sure are the original artists.

The flute player switches to the Andy Griffith Theme before packing up for the night. A flood of people come down the stairs from all sides disrupting the quiet I had been enjoying for over two hours. WWF Smackdown has just ended in Madison Square Garden. I sigh as I realize that I must catch my train back to New Jersey.

Before I go, I seek out my own blank spot on the Wailing Wall of Penn Station. I too leave a message for the people of New York. Perhaps somebody will read it and find hope or comfort or at least a ten-second break from their day. Or perhaps it will be looked over like the thousands upon thousands of other messages that I didn’t write about in these pages.