Finding Don

This isn't mine, but I want to help out, especially today.

From Sars:

OPERATION FIND DON

Don: A (Very Very) Brief History

Don is a man I met on September 11, 2001. Don and I became "disaster buddies," and ever since, I've wanted to thank him for hanging out with me and helping me keep it together — but I haven't seen or heard from him since we parted ways late that morning.

What Don Looks/Looked Like

Don is an African-American man. I would estimate his age at between 25 and 35 on that day — probably not younger than that; possibly older, but not much. That means he's 30-ish to 40 now.

Don is between 5'9" and 6' tall, and probably weighed 160-180 pounds. (I suck at estimating men's weights.) In any case, at that time Don had a fit build — not pudgy, not skinny, well put-together.

Don had short hair and a goatee at that time. I do not recall any jewelry; he may have worn a watch, I don't remember. No glasses.

Don had on a grey windowpane-plaid suit and was carrying a black soft-sided briefcase.

Don didn't really resemble anyone famous, except Blair Underwood around the eyes a little bit.

Other Possibly Relevant Facts

Don and I met in the lobby of the Bank of New York building, located roughly at Wall Street and Broadway. We left the bank together at approximately 11 that morning.

Don lived at that time in Jersey City, or thereabouts — he took the ferry to Jersey City to get home, from a slip somewhere around Hester Street on the west side.

Don had come into the city that morning via the PATH train, and had gotten off at the World Trade Center stop. He had come into the city for work, but I don't remember whether his business that day was actually at the WTC complex; I don't believe it was. If he had gotten separated from any work colleagues, he didn't mention it. I don't know what he did for a living, and I don't know if his job was based in Jersey City or in lower Manhattan, but I got the impression that he was in the city for an errand or meeting, and that he didn't regularly commute in.

As I said, I don't recall a wedding ring; Don did not mention a wife or any other family at that time as far as I can remember.

Don's birthday is September 11. No idea what year, but based on my estimate of his age it's probably in the late sixties or seventies.

Why You Should Care

Because it's a mystery, a puzzle, a story that needs an end. Because Don is everything good and friendly about the world. Because I owe him my thanks, and possibly a cold beer. Because it's his birthday.

What You Can Do

Do you know anyone in Jersey City, or anyone who lives or works near there? Have you heard a story like mine — secondhand, thirdhand, on someone's journal? Do you recall reading or hearing anywhere about people who ran for the Bank of New York, walked uptown a bit, and took a ferry to New Jersey? Post in the comments, or email me at sars at tomatonation dot com.

And if you are in fact Don? Well, don't just sit there. Show yourself. My mom's friend swears you were an angel and she'll keep believing that shit until I can prove otherwise.

Suggestions? Clues? Conspiracy theories? Send 'em my way. I'll add any new information as it comes in.

In short: Don. He's still out there. And he's another year older.

Update, 2009:

The latest news is that there is no news; if I hear anything, I will let you know, but I haven't heard anything…and it's starting to look like I won't. I don't think I would recognize Don if I saw him on the street, anymore; I doubt he would remember me, especially now that my hair is so different.

It's also possible that Don does not in fact want to be found, or that he's in the Yukon or something, but I've done the paid name/birthday searches and I've hoped that six degrees of separation would loop around, and I still haven't turned him up.

Thanks again to everyone who's mentioned it on sites they run or frequent, or to friends of theirs in the media, and to everyone who's sent words of support. I appreciate it. If you hear anything, or you want to mention it on your blog, please feel free — you never know.


Anybody know anything? Pass it on.

Death and...

I think that I need to clarify something for the U.S. government.

I don't mind taxes, in the grand Swedish pseudo-socialist universal-health-care sense. I think the government should provide services to its citizens, not for the 90% of us who are perfectly able to put roofs over our heads and medicine in our medicine cabinets, but for those of us who aren't able to do those things. I have enough, and even if the government isn't the most efficient machine for distributing the money, I don't mind sharing.

But when I say that I don't mind taxes, I do not mean that I don't mind DOING my taxes. That, I mind deeply. I spent all week calling financial institutions and collecting paperwork and checking form numbers and parsing through the exact wording of the tax form. I got them filed, but in response, I'd like to say: Shut up, IRS.

And I'll see you again next April.

Let it be told to the future world that in the depth of winter

So, my motto lately has been, "Sometimes I just don't understand my life." I mean it in a good way--in the best way. I don't understand how I got to be in Washington for this moment in history, but it is (so far) full of surprises and sightings and moments where I just have to laugh at being in the right place at the right time, and that is exactly what I wanted--exactly what I needed?--from this move. I don't even know this city yet, but I am completely excited to be here.

Today was, simultaneously, utterly chaotic and remarkably smooth. My friend Grace and her friend Guy have been crashing in my living room this weekend, and we were up and stepping all over each other for the bathroom before the dawnzerly light (Ramona Quimby? Anybody?) even showed its face. We left the house at 7:00 and hopped on the bus (this after extensive Plan-B/Plan-C/Plan-D-ing, in case my peaceful corner bus stop suddenly turned crazy) and zipped down to Foggy Bottom, where Guy headed for the Metro--he had a standing ticket to the ceremony--and Grace and I followed the throngs towards the Mall. (Incidentally, I kept thinking of that scene in Groundhog Day, where Bill Murray asks some nameless redheaded woman where everybody's going, and she says, like he's a total moron, "To Gobbler's Knob!") There was plenty of space, and we grabbed seated spots on a piece of the WWII Memorial, and waited.

Just so you know: If it is 25 degrees outside and you think that your body heat will eventually warm up a granite wall--after all, it's only your butt-print that needs warming--YOU ARE WRONG. We sat on the wall for nearly five hours, unwilling to give up our spot, and I am not sure I have ever been so cold in my life, hand-warmer packets (in mittens and shoes) or no. Foot pain gave way to numbness, which gave way to the pain again, and I half-expected my toes to have snapped off by the time I took off my socks. But: sitting up high was cool, and ideal for photographing the ridiculous hugeness of the crowd, and we could see the Jumbotron just fine. It was worth every second, even though I was sure my underwear was freezing solid.

It was just as well that we'd missed the We Are One concert on Sunday (though it was a source of some distress at the time); they televised it on the Jumbotrons all morning to keep the earlybirds entertained. And then the San Francisco Boys' and Girls' Choruses sang, and Aretha performed looking fierce in that hat with the bow as big as her face, and Yo-Yo Ma and Itzhak Perlman and some other people I didn't know performed the special John Williams piece (called, in my head, "What Spring Sounds Like, or People's Hearts Are Beginning to Thaw"), and it was so fabulous that I was totally okay with my blood freezing in my veins. And I continue to want to be BFFs with Michelle, Malia, and Sasha (Michelle = hardcore for her lack of bundling; Malia = Princess Composure; Sasha = hilarious and adorable just for showing up). And then our new President took his oath of office, and I cried a little, and he gave a really wonderful speech. Did you hear the fire in him? It was all on huge screens, of course, but there was this spot towards the middle, right around "all are equal, all are free, and all deserve a chance to pursue their full measure of happiness," where I thought, "preach it, brother."

After, Grace and I had planned to meet up with Guy and his friends, but meeting up with anybody was clearly out of the question--we couldn't walk (five hours straddling the wall, remember), and neither of us could stop shivering (scary!), and the tide of the crowd just bore us along. (What is it Barbara Kingsolver says about the stream of ants in The Poisonwood Bible? Stick out your elbows and raise up your feet? Not a bad philosophy in this situation; you could probably get halfway to Maryland that way.) We went back the way we'd come, stopping in at the Ritz-Carlton to thaw out and use the bathroom and check our phones, and ended up walking all the way home because we couldn't get a cab or a bus. So maybe there was a bit of a Bataan Death March vibe to the end of the day, but it was worth it. I'm so glad I went. I am so, so proud of President Barack Obama, and so, so thrilled for our nation, and now I can't wait to see what he actually does.

Welcome, Mr. President.

I was there.

...and one more thing:

Completing the arrow

Mr. Maharry, my twelfth-grade American Political Process teacher, would be so proud of me today. He may have looked like an insect and voted Libertarian, but something he said must have stuck: I considered the issues, did my research, made an informed decision, and marked my choices down in black ball-point pen. I voted.

See, though, I love voting. I love elections. I get that they're absurdly long, that they tend to bring out the worst in people, that they're riddled with injustices large and small even after centuries of practice. But I don't think I'll ever get tired of going to a place in my community, standing in line with the neighbors, and making my voice heard. It's the same feeling I get from going to the public library--I am community-minded! Hear me roar!--only about ten billion times stronger. I am nation-minded! Listen to what I say!

That said, my voting record is terrible. In nine years of voting, I don't recall voting for a single winning candidate in a major election. It all comes down to the wave of idealism that washes over me when I find myself at the voting booth: I'm there, and I'm excited, and once I start thinking about my duty as a citizen of the United States, it's all over. I've voted with my conscience, and I wouldn't have it any other way, unless my conscience saw fit to endorse a winning candidate every now and again. Like...today, maybe. I wouldn't mind. I'm just always surprised to find that, as far as I can tell, I can't have it both ways: a conscientious victory. And yet: every time.

I did see something great this morning, though. The intersection at the Grand Lake Theater (natch) was packed with campaign volunteers of various left-leaning stripes, mostly divided by corners: Clinton folks in one place, Obama folks in another (Oakland is a Republican-free zone, apparently, which is a post for another day). But as I looked, I saw a few people who'd snuck from one camp to another: a few Clinton signs waving among the sea of Obama, a couple of Obama supporters sprinkled into the Clinton crowd. They were all getting along, smiling and chatting as they incited much honking and hollering and waving, possibly disagreeing on the details, but having a good time nonetheless. It was a cheerful way to start Super Tuesday.

So, happy voting day, Mr. Maharry. As someone I know used to say, "I hope your candidate wins!"

Haiku Friday

Barack Obama
to start a committee for
the Presidency!

Haiku Friday; Life Update

Quick, before I head off to Mount Hermon for the weekend:

It's Haiku Friday!

Days off are the bread
and butter of the writer/
procrastinator.

Also,

Current NaNo word count: 12,018, which places me a little behind, but I discovered this morning that I'm ahead of where I was on this day last year. Not bad. Week Two is the toughest week of the month--it's where most people drop out--but I think my novel is actually going to get exponentially more interesting (I hesitate to use the word "better") in the next few days. I'm still excited, though I need to find places to write that aren't on my couch, just for sanity's sake.

I had a long post about voting and Democracy planned, but I've been too busy with NaNo and Cinema Hype to actually type it out. I'd still ideally like to write it one of these days, but the gist is this: regardless of my political beliefs, I am so pleased to live in a nation where the right to change that nation is built into the infrastructure. Representative Democracy isn't the only system out there, and maybe it's not ideal for everyone, but I am proud to have cast my vote on Tuesday. More later, in my "free time." (That was a joke.)

So: Alive and kicking; just trying not to replace my brain with my laptop.