Debby Smith and Michael Steven Smith share a small farm house in the Catskill mountains with their son, Eli, and Charlie the parrot, who runs the household from his perch in the kitchen.

ATTACK OF THE METAL BIRDS

In the 29 years we have lived together with Charlie we have shared many important life events. But while the current pandemic may yet eclipse it, none were more momentous and terrible than 9/11.

On the morning of 9/11 Michael was supposed to meet a friend for breakfast at Windows on the World, the restaurant on the top floor of 1 World Trade Center. They were to meet at eight o’clock. But his friend called to say something came up and he couldn’t make it. It was the narrowest of escapes. We were still at home in our building, just across the West Side Highway from the Towers when the first crash shook our apartment. The reports were that a small plane had hit the World Trade Center. When it shook it again we thought we were being bombed. We actually saw the underbelly of the second plane from our living room window as it banked over the Hudson River and flew north past our building and into the second Tower. We went down to the street before the first Tower came down. If it had fallen over sideways it would have crushed us. But it came down on itself. We scrambled back to our apartment. The air filled with gray smoke, paper and particles, all swirling around our building. It looked like we were inside a tornado. We looked out the window but couldn’t see a thing. It was literally dark as a mine. Then gradually it cleared. Everything was covered in a layer of thick white dust. Soon the second tower came down. A second blackout. We were lucky to be home so we could shut all the windows. It had been a beautiful September morning and many people had left their windows open before going to work. They came back to ruined apartments, inundated with toxic dust.

With Charlie and our big sixteen pound cat Moe we weren’t very portable, so we stayed put the first night. We were actually so freaked out we didn’t know what to do or where to go. We tried to get our car but the parking garage door was electric and wouldn’t work since the electrical generator was in Building Two of the World Trade Center. Everyone in our building left except for us, and a blind bass player on the 6th floor.

The FBI rousted us the next morning demanding that we vacate, saying it was dangerous. There was also no electricity or water. We left large Moe for later retrieval, having been told an animal rescue van would be made available, packed up Charlie in his traveling cage, and headed up to the West Village, to the house of some friends who we had managed to reach by cell phone.

Everything was blanketed with a thick layer of toxic dust, the ash from the ruins of the buildings and their contents. We trudged north with Charlie swinging in his cage. “It’s O.K. It’s O.K.” he assured everyone we encountered along the way. But it was not O.K. We almost lost him. Five weeks later Debby and Eli, now nine years older than when we first bought Charlie, and home for fall break from Oberlin College where he was a sophomore, noticed that Charlie kept closing his eyes and nodding out. He even fell off his perch. We rushed him to The Animal Medical Center on the upper east side where they have a specialist vet who cares for parrots. She checked out Charlie, put him on an I.V., and said she was keeping him in overnight. This was undoubtedly a serious situation. Parrots are very fragile.

Debby Smith and Michael Steven Smith share a small farm house in the Catskill mountains with their son, Eli, and Charlie the parrot, who runs the household from his perch in the kitchen.

ATTACK OF THE METAL BIRDS

In the 29 years we have lived together with Charlie we have shared many important life events. But while the current pandemic may yet eclipse it, none were more momentous and terrible than 9/11.

On the morning of 9/11 Michael was supposed to meet a friend for breakfast at Windows on the World, the restaurant on the top floor of 1 World Trade Center. They were to meet at eight o’clock. But his friend called to say something came up and he couldn’t make it. It was the narrowest of escapes. We were still at home in our building, just across the West Side Highway from the Towers when the first crash shook our apartment. The reports were that a small plane had hit the World Trade Center. When it shook it again we thought we were being bombed. We actually saw the underbelly of the second plane from our living room window as it banked over the Hudson River and flew north past our building and into the second Tower. We went down to the street before the first Tower came down. If it had fallen over sideways it would have crushed us. But it came down on itself. We scrambled back to our apartment. The air filled with gray smoke, paper and particles, all swirling around our building. It looked like we were inside a tornado. We looked out the window but couldn’t see a thing. It was literally dark as a mine. Then gradually it cleared. Everything was covered in a layer of thick white dust. Soon the second tower came down. A second blackout. We were lucky to be home so we could shut all the windows. It had been a beautiful September morning and many people had left their windows open before going to work. They came back to ruined apartments, inundated with toxic dust.

With Charlie and our big sixteen pound cat Moe we weren’t very portable, so we stayed put the first night. We were actually so freaked out we didn’t know what to do or where to go. We tried to get our car but the parking garage door was electric and wouldn’t work since the electrical generator was in Building Two of the World Trade Center. Everyone in our building left except for us, and a blind bass player on the 6th floor.

The FBI rousted us the next morning demanding that we vacate, saying it was dangerous. There was also no electricity or water. We left large Moe for later retrieval, having been told an animal rescue van would be made available, packed up Charlie in his traveling cage, and headed up to the West Village, to the house of some friends who we had managed to reach by cell phone.

Everything was blanketed with a thick layer of toxic dust, the ash from the ruins of the buildings and their contents. We trudged north with Charlie swinging in his cage. “It’s O.K. It’s O.K.” he assured everyone we encountered along the way. But it was not O.K. We almost lost him. Five weeks later Debby and Eli, now nine years older than when we first bought Charlie, and home for fall break from Oberlin College where he was a sophomore, noticed that Charlie kept closing his eyes and nodding out. He even fell off his perch. We rushed him to The Animal Medical Center on the upper east side where they have a specialist vet who cares for parrots. She checked out Charlie, put him on an I.V., and said she was keeping him in overnight. This was undoubtedly a serious situation. Parrots are very fragile.