Remembering 9/10 and the Days that Followed

On this day of remembrance, only the most unaffected among us can help but reflect on where they were and how time in our minds has forever been cleaved into two parts: before the morning of September 11th, 2001 and after. 

Like everyone old enough to retain a memory of that day, I have very distinct memories of where I was (on the Metro North train heading to Grand Central Station) and how the day unfolded. (I was lucky and never made it into the City).

As indelible are the memories of that day--making it home after a time to the juxtaposition of my then six-month old beamish boy Taylor and the images that repeated on the television screen--what I think of more is the night before the world changed.

My friend Peter Frishauf invited me to see Les Paul perform with his trio at one of his weekly gigs at the Iridium. I had to go uptown from 42nd street and got caught in an flash downpour that made every cab in Manhattan vanish, leaving me to walk about 10 blocks. My umbrella was no match against the torrent, the rain bouncing up from the ground to leave me completely drenched.  But even that was a treat as it gave me an excuse to trade my sopping wet dress shirt for a Les Paul t-shirt.

The show was remarkable in so many ways - Les' obviously arthritic hands couldn't play some of the furious riffs of his former years, but his gift for music was still undeniable. Even more, the field of musical gravity that pulled talent from the furthest reaches into his orbit. More than one famous rocker was in the audience that night, there to pay him homage, which he repaid by handing over his guitar and letting them sit in. Suddenly this big, bearded rock star turns into a little boy who has just been handed Superman's cape by the Man of Steel himself and told to try it on for size. I thought he might cry. Instead, he played it with reverence and skill--like the little drummer boy, repaying a gift he had been given with every ounce of his being.

It was an exhilarating, cathartic experience.  One that provided profoundly needed perspective for what followed.

My strongest memories of what followed are from the Friday of that first week--my first day back at work in Manhattan. No one worked, really. We all spent time making sure that everyone was okay and keeping mindful of the continuing uncertainty of when and where the other shoe would drop. Grand Central Station had dramatically changed.  Before 9/11, it represented to me the left ventricle of the world, where hundreds of thousands of people of all colors, shapes and dress traversed each day, pulsed with energy that seemed to flow from sheer momentum to the farthest corners of the world. Now it was a terrorist target, crawling with heavily armed police and soldiers and surrounded by large military trucks to protect it against bombs or chemical attack. 

Since there wasn't much in the way of real work to do, I decided to venture out to see how close I get to ground zero on foot. I had been to the World Trade Center many times, taking my nephew to the observation deck just a month before and attending a two-day conference at the Windows of the World about a month before that. But I had didn't have any true perspective on how close it was from my daily grind.

So I started walking south. The first thing that struck me was how the character of New Yorkers had fundamentally changed. These people notorious for being abrupt and avoiding eye contact with strangers, were purposefully looking directly into one anothers' eyes. "Are you okay? Really, are you? I'm here for you" were the unspoken words exchanged.

Walking through Greenwich Village and Washington Square was perhaps the most surreal part of the journey. The candlelight vigil that had spontaneously formed that first night in the square had grown into an organic memorial of remembrance. And the Village, known more for its only-in-the-Big-Apple unique form of rebelliousness that was distinctly American but hardly patriotic, was shrouded in more American flags than I could possibly count. 

But my first true sign that we would rise from the ashes of this tragedy came at the end of my journey: Houston Street, where a makeshift plywood barrier had been erected that kept all but those involved in the rescue and recovery efforts. There was a carnival of humanity--people milling about slowly, some still clearly in shock, others moving more purposefully. Within this milieu was an unmistakable sign of hope--just three days after this day of unimaginable horror, enterprising merchants had already created buttons and t-shirts commemorating the day. My favorite was one had been created in such haste that the grammar wasn't even correct: "I Survive the Attack" it read.

On further reflection, though, I decided that the use of the present tense was more reflective of our true condition. We do survive the attack and continue to persevere as Americans and as world citizens. Even now, as the long-term repercussions of that fateful day continue to make casualties of our economy, our soldiers and our psyches, we endure.

After 9/11, I wrote "United, We Stand"--one of my Infinite Poetry pieces--as a reflection on the day. You can find a hastily constructed video and recording of the song that I wrote several years later on YouTube. It says simply:

...United, we stand
   Standing, we rise
   Rising, we soar
   Soaring, we're free
   Free, we unite
   United, we stand...

Beginning as it ends, it is designed to continue on in a virtuous cycle that reflects our better selves as Americans. It is this aspect of the American spirit that I continue to strive to emulate. Even in the face of challenge and even decline, we can remain true to what has made us a great nation and people--our unity, our perseverance, and the freedoms we enjoy, which make it all possible.

Spending that night before the world changed with good friends, a soaked shirt, and Les Paul, continues to inspire me to live my life in a manner honoring the spirit of that night and I am ever grateful to have had that special moment.

The Legend of Bob the DERF

Cross-posting from informatimusicology.blogspot.com

 

From the ACMI Archives:

The Legend of Bob the DERF

Click here to listen to the song

The College has received several solicitations from potential members - requesting reviews of health IT related lyrics or recordings.  We thought it would be instructive to bring out some of the original works that led to the establishment of the College.  There is no better place to start than at the very beginning...

The National Council for Prescription Drug Programs (NCPDP), is an ANSI-accredited standards development organization focused on pharmacy-related electronic information transactions headquarted in Scottsdale, Arizona.  In 2005, Dr. Ross Martin offered to compose a song for NCPDP for their Annual Conference.  His offer was accepted and a sponsor stepped forward to support the recording and reproduction costs for a CD.  Special thanks go to Lee Ann Stember, NCPDP's President, for sponsoring the song.  The lovely and talented Eric Schwartz (WARNING: he is brilliant, but uses his powers for evil, so his site is not for those of sensitive dispositions) produced and recorded the song, adding many of the vocals and most of the instrumentation.  Dr. Martin performed the song twice at the conference and several hundred copies of the CD, now considered a collector's item among devoted informatimusicologists, were distributed.  

The song, "The Legend of Bob the DERF," tells the tale of how we moved from our darker days of winner-takes-all standards setting to our current consensus process.  Those unfamiliar with NCPDP and its methods may be curious of the meaning of the term DERF.  It stands for "Data Element Request Form" and is the main document used in the NCPDP standards development process to establish or modify a standard.  Many who heard the song and are familiar with the history of NCPDP opined that the two characters depicted in the song - Bob the DERF and Margaret, aka, The Wacker - bore striking similarities to two long-time members of NCPDP, Bob Beckley of Surescripts and Margaret Weiker of EDS, both of whom are known for their strong leadership and equally strong opinions, which have occasionally put them at odds with one another, creating some of the more tense moments experienced at workgroup meetings.  Their southern accents and Margaret's diminutive stature (she is rumored to be around 4' 5" tall, though no one has had the kahunas to actually measure her or ask) provided reinforcement for some of these opinions.  In fact, the characters portrayed in the song are not based on any known individuals, living or dead.  Anyone who says otherwise is itchin' fer a fight!

The Lyrics:

Way back a hunert years ago
In a desert land devoid of snow
’Fore Scottsdale started dottin’ any maps
Snake Oil Salesmen roamed the West
Pitchin’ potions from their treasure chests
And shaftin’ any sucker wearin’ chaps

There was one man who had a dream
’Bout raisin’ druggists’ self esteem
By protectin’ the apothecary’s turf
He saw that standards were the key
For improvin’ drugstore quality
That man was known by all as Bob the DERF

Now any tale worth bein’ told
Includes a woman, guns or gold
Our hero’s rival ponied up all three
Margaret was her given name
But winnin’ gunfights brought her fame
So the name “The Whacker” fit her to a tee
And ev’ry time The Whacker flashed her gold incisor in a grin
The undertaker knew he’d soon be callin’ next of kin

CHORUS:
Hoo-ee ’n’ Yippee-ki-ee
Before the NCPDP
Consensus was a notion seldom found
Hoo-ah ’n’ Yippee-ki-yaw
The fastest shot laid down the law
The other laid down six feet underground

Now The Whacker had her standards too
And had in mind just what to do
To make sure things got done by her own rule
She called on Bob the DERF and said,
“You lily-livered pudd’nhead
It’s my way or the highway, ya’ dang fool!”

She knew her taunts would be enough
To razz him so he’d call her bluff
He slammed his whiskey down as if on cue
“Well we’ll just see ’bout who’ll be number one
High noon, tomorrow – bring your gun
But I’d skip town tonight if I was you!”

The bookies laid odds eight-to-five
The Whacker’d make it through alive
Her dead-eye aim was known throughout the land
It’s true that Margaret had her chance
But once they started in to dance
The DERF felt sure he’d be the last to stand
And so they set the stage to see whose standards would prevail
One slinger’d see sweet victory – and one the gates of Hell

REPEAT CHORUS

The clock chimed twelve – the wind was still
Too scared to see red rivers spill
And learn who’d bite the dust who’d survive
The two stepped out into the street
To face their fate at fifty feet
Then in a flash their pistols came alive

Bob the DERF’s resolve came through
His steady hand shot straight and true
A normal foe no doubt would have been dead
But one fact he failed to calculate –
The Whacker stood at four-foot-eight
And so her Stetson flew clean off her head

The DERF’s luck went from bad to worse
Didn’t even have a chance to curse
As The Whacker’s dental work gleamed through her smile
Her single shot was on the mark
It pierced his heart – the sky went dark
Right there he fell into a bloody pile
And as he died, The Whacker cried, “Oh, help me, Lord above!
All in the name of standards, I’ve just killed my one true love!”

REPEAT CHORUS

She lay her pistol down and swore upon her golden tooth
Consensus now will be pursued in healthcare’s quest for truth
“No longer will our blood be shed for standards to be set
We’ll gather round and talk until a compromise is met”

So now you know just how we formed the NCPDP
And how this modern standards settin’ process came to be
And after endless hours of meetings why my eyes will glaze
I’m dreamin’ ’bout how things got done back in those glory days when…

REPEAT CHORUS

Words by Ross Martin
Music by Eric Schwartz and Ross Martin
Lead vocals: Ross Martin
Background vocals: Ross Martin and Eric Schwartz
All instruments and sequencing: Eric Schwartz
Produced and engineered by Eric Schwartz, Claritone Music
Special thanks to Kevin So