For 'DP' team in New York, a chilling sight

NEW YORK -- Smoke smudged much of the skyline as our train turned toward Manhattan.

We could make out the spire of the Empire State Building. Park Avenue skyscrapers reached upward.

But one sight was conspicuously -- tragically -- missing from view.

Where the Twin Towers of the World Trade Center once stood, there was only billowing clouds of smoke and dust.

As we arrived at Penn Station, nothing seemed out of the ordinary in a city that had just experienced the worst terrorist attack in American history. The only suggestion of Tuesday's strike was the hundreds of police officers milling around every corner, some even patrolling the streets with dogs.

As we walked toward the 14th Street barrier separating Manhattan from the site of the terrorist attack, it seemed like any other day in the trendy Chelsea neighborhood, but with fewer people on the streets, and a few more policemen replacing them. And, of course, the people wearing gas masks.

Construction even proceeded at one site, where workers had defiantly draped an enormous flag across machinery in silent recognition of Tuesday's attacks.

Then we passed the police line at 14th Street, pausing only to show a photo ID to pass through.

We were in a ghost town.

The streets of Greenwich Village, regularly packed with cars and pedestrians at 10 a.m., were deserted. People walked and skated down the middle of Manhattan streets -- but no cars were in sight. Some local businesses remained locked tight, while others were beginning to open their doors. Few, however, saw customers yesterday.

At the end of Fifth Avenue, the social and commercial heart of the city, we found Washington Square Park. The ground of the central plaza was still covered with wax drippings, and on a chain link fence surrounding the arch hung hundreds of signs, flowers and candles.

The arch in the park, a New York landmark, had been the site of a candlelight vigil the night before.

"Why?" one sign asked.

Another handmade sign expressed gratitude for those sacrificing their own security just blocks away in the rescue efforts: "Thank you to all the ones who risked their lives trying to save others."

We stayed in the park for half an hour, absorbing the scene of mourning for many NYU students, then headed further south to get as close to "Ground Zero" as possible.

The air got thicker as we walked, seeped with the pervasive smell of cement dust and smoke. People were breathing through gas masks, surgical masks, bandannas and torn T-shirts. Many carried American flags and wore patriotic paraphernalia, walking around aimlessly in a strange cocktail of disbelief, anger and pride. You could tell the volunteers by their shoes, which were caked with concrete dust.

Then Houston Street -- more police blockades and tighter security. And one man expressing a rage alien to the sympathetic signs at Washington Square. He called himself "Mosaic Man" and sported a pieced-together helmet, an American flag and sandwich boards urging violent retaliation.

"Kill the bastards," it read. "Bomb the entire Mid-East. Fuck all religion. It's war."

One of our photographers with a Philadelphia press pass was able to get through, and we later learned that he had made it almost to the site of the Twin Towers. Within viewing distance of the wreckage of 7 World Trade Center, he saw the devastation first-hand. Charred cars lined the streets, and thick dust filled the air. Media buzzed near the site and on roofs -- CNN had rented a section of a nearby rooftop -- and construction workers, military and policemen filled the area.

Meanwhile, we gathered what information we could outside the dead zone, talking to local residents and rescue volunteers. People everywhere were putting up signs and photos in desperate hopes of locating friends and relatives -- some even wore photos and descriptions of their loved ones pinned to their shirts.

One woman saw our camera and stopped us to plead that we run her fiancee's photograph in the paper.

The outpouring of volunteers and donations was incredible. People appeared left and right, offering food, supplies and their assistance to the rescue effort. Some locations were overwhelmed with the influx of people, sending them to other locations or simply turning them away. And some do-gooders wandered the streets just looking for anyone to help, offering surgical masks and advice to people who seemed stranded.

The mood of lower Manhattan was mixed. Mail was delivered, restaurants saw business and residents were trying to go about their daily lives. But many people were still waiting to hear news of their friends and family, and it was obvious that the nearby rescue efforts weighed on everyone's mind.

Uptown, the city that never sleeps was still going round the clock, and life downtown will soon return to some semblance of routine.

We, however, were lucky. A mere 13 hours after we arrived in the city, we returned to Penn Station overwhelmed, exhausted and, admittedly, relieved. We were relieved to be returning to Philadelphia, slightly removed from the scars we had witnessed.

For millions of New Yorkers, however, there was no relief in sight.

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