by Cheryl DePaolo
checkpoints, presenting authorization to work in the area known as Ground Zero, and our vehicle was
searched briefly.
The Red Cross Respite Center housed at St. John's University was bustling, even in the middle of the night.
We stepped into the foot washing station and then showed our ID yet again at the entrance. My eyes had
become quite red and irritated after spending an hour standing amid the rubble and smoke of the World
Trade Center, and it was here that a friendly Red Cross nurse flushed my eyes out with great care. It did not
matter that I wore a Salvation Army jacket and she wore a Red Cross apron. Services are provided
regardless of affiliation, and many agencies share space here.
Downstairs was a warm dining area, in sharp contrast to the tent across the street where my friends and I
had been serving the rescue workers in the bitingly cold wind. There were cards and letters written to the
rescue workers scattered about on the tables and taped to the walls.
We found a supply room with goggles and masks, both of which I had neglected to wear on my foray into the
rubble. A first aid area housed the eye wash station and was supplied with Tylenol, toiletries, much-needed
Chapstick and a wonderful almond scented hand lotion. A recreation and relaxation room was occupied by
about a dozen people, most of them police officers. A few were watching TV, and there were books,
chessboards, CD players and recliners available. Several officers were playing Sony Playstation games,
looking silently determined to shut out the horror of the world outside the door and immerse themselves in a
more kindly fantasy world for a short while.
Upstairs were college classrooms now assigned for different purposes. One room contained three
chiropractic tables, unoccupied on this night. Although no massage therapist was available during our visit,
we heard two Red Cross nurses discussing accommodating a rescue worker in need of a neck rub. Another
room housed an around the clock AA meeting, and pastoral counseling was available as well.
At the top of the stairs a sign pointed to the left for male sleeping quarters, and to the right for female
sleeping quarters. Two Red Cross workers greeted us warmly and explained the services available. A table
contained toothbrushes and toothpaste, shampoo, deodorant, towels and a myriad of other comfort items.
Workers were welcome to sign in and rest for 20 minutes, an hour, or the night. In addition, wake up calls
were available, guaranteeing that workers would be back at their post when needed. We were assured that
we would be welcome to stay at any time.
Couches and love seats scattered around the area were made up as beds, with fresh linens for each guest.
A large classroom had been divested of desks and chairs and now contained two neat rows of cots. The
blackboard contained a message inviting guests to relax and rest for a bit. A teddybear was placed on each
bed, and on each pillow lay a carefully placed chocolate.
I am a veteran of summer camps and roughing it, and the area seemed more conducive to sleep than most
of my summer vacations had been. I regretted that we would be leaving at 2 AM for the two hour ride home.
A friend and I determined that on our next visit we would stay there and sleep a bit, enabling us to work a
longer shift. We laughed as we realized that my husband would have to say goodnight at the door and go to
the separate male sleeping area.
I wondered briefly, here in the heart of Manhattan, how it was that this center was not overrun by the
homeless, loaded as it was with free food, warm beds and donated supplies of all kinds. And then I
remembered the guarded checkpoints, the acrid and perhaps toxic air, the horrific graveyard that was
Ground Zero, and the dubious honor of earning a bed in this cozy makeshift motel.
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