“St. Paul’s will always be in my mind, heaven’s outpost.”  These words, spoken by New York City firefighter Robert Senatore, refer to the Wall Street chapel that was built in 1766. That makes it the oldest church in New York and the only one to date from before the American Revolution.

Miraculously, it survived intact the destruction of the World Trade Center in September, 2001, despite being located only two blocks away.

I visited this small church two weeks ago, on my first visit to Manhattan since the great disaster. This contact with tragedy formed one event in a 48-hour stay in the city; by contrast, my other experiences while there proved entertaining and nostalgic.

When looking at the site of the two towers and later walking through the chapel, I felt anew some of the pity and fear of 9/11/01. In addition, seeing St. Paul’s gave me a new vision of the spiritual dimensions of the response made by so many men and women to unspeakable tragedy.

Of course, the debris of destruction has long since been cleared away and the surroundings of the Trade Center site are now neat and clean. But huge cavities remain where reconstruction continues. A crude cross made of steel beams, erected by a firefighter, stands in mute remembrance to those who lost their lives.

At St. Paul’s, the paper and other trash that once littered the churchyard outside are long gone and the chapel has now become a site of pilgrimage for visitors like me. But evidences of the crisis activity that once filled this space still remain. Black smudges on the backs of the pews, made by the boots of rescue workers, silently testify to their oftentimes heroic labors.

This sacred space became a place of refuge for workers where they received food, rest, supplies, and sympathetic attention. These human services at the chapel turned into a new and vital ministry where people serving others could themselves be served.

On this weekend, I would not see anything else to equal for human interest this area of lower Manhattan, the theater of events that now help define our new century. On other parts of this still-fabulous island, life has returned, if not to normal, at least to day to day existence, New York style.

But for me, being there invariably stirs some of the same magical feelings I had as a boy on my first visit. Then it was the World’s Fair of 1939 where I still remember feeling wonder, as we slowly circled around the General Motors futurama exhibit.

This time, I saw an old  play which evoked that same era. “Dinner at Eight,” written by Edna Ferber and George Kaufman in 1932, is often hilarious but it also creaks by now, with some scenes moving altogether too slowly.

However, watching old pros work their magic on stage always delights me. Notably, the veteran actress, Marian Seldes, whose role allowed her to display the flamboyance at which she is so skilled, vindicated once more the esthetic pleasures of theater at its best.

A Sunday morning walk up Fifth Avenue brought me the subtle joys of being outside on a bracing winter’s day along one of the world’s great streets. I lingered to join children gazing at some of the fabulous window displays in the major department stores. Seeing Herr Drosselmeyer, Clara, the Mouse King and others go through their paces (thanks to hidden electronics) pleased me as much as the kids.

The usual holiday season sounds filled the air, but traffic noises were muted. As one of the taxi drivers informed me, the mayor has levied fines of $500 on them and other motorists who blow their horns needlessly. Mike Bloomberg, the new mayor, is a native of Medford, MA, where, surprisingly enough, he may have grown up on quiet streets.

My stroll down Fifth Avenue was not entirely frivolous. Partly to escape the cold, I dropped into St. Patrick’s Cathedral for Sunday worship. As usual, I was impressed by the astounding variety of people assembled in that sacred space and, for that time at least, achieving a unity that I found moving.

A reunion at lunch with a cousin also brought pleasure. I think of him as a young man but, like so many other people, he has entered into advanced middle age. When you stop seeing people for a while, that’s the sort of thing that happens.

This cousin knows the New York opera scene and also, with surprising versatility, the pop music scene as well. He loves Wagner and yet had a hand in the writing of the Broadway show Dance of the Vampires.

The occasion for this 48-hour visit to the Apple was a family wedding. It turned out to be a blast, provoking even the likes of me to fairly frenetic dancing. But that’s another story that has already entered the annals kept by my extended family.

Richard Griffin

Last weekend marked my first visit to the World Trade Center site in Manhattan since the devastating attack of September, 2001. Like most other Americans, I had raptly followed the awful events on television and the other media. But actually being there, I discovered, makes a difference.

By now, the rubble has been cleared out of the huge craters where the great buildings rose. Chain link fences allow visitors to look inside but not to enter. My gaze was drawn to the awkward cross made of steel building fragments constructed a fireman to commemorate the people who died. It serves as a stark reminder of their bright lives and of what they meant to others.

The surrounding buildings show no obvious signs of damage at this time and business has resumed, though at a much lower level. Vendors stand on sidewalks nearby selling photos and other memorabilia to tourists. Down in the excavation workers continue to rebuild underground systems.

One block away, on Wall Street, I also visited St. Paul’s, the oldest church in New York, dating from 1766. George Washington worshiped there on the day of his inauguration, and at other times as well, since New York was still the seat of the federal government.

Before the events of September 2001, St. Paul’s Chapel was already a national landmark. It has always boasted a simple beauty of design, a classic building both exteriorly and inside. Now it would take on new standing because of its response to the tragedy.

After narrowly escaping destruction, this church was reborn on September 11; it quickly became a center for providing food and respite to the emergency workers at the site. Visitors can still see the black smudges on the pews where exhausted workers lay down to rest with their boots on. Wisely, the church authorities have left these marks as a sign of the dedication of people who worked themselves long and hard.

St. Paul’s thus became the site for various forms of ministry over the next several weeks and months.  Meals were served, healing conversations took place, clothing and needed gear were provided, and people were given a sense of a community of caring.

So the rich background of this oldest New York church took on an additional layer of history. Now, in addition to being valued for its association with the beginnings of the American republic, St. Paul’s will be associated with the events of September 11th as long as the structure endures. If every church is a holy place, this place is doubly so by reason of its invaluable role in responding to a national tragedy.

The building would have been leveled by the blast that leveled the twin towers except for the force being absorbed by an old sycamore tree that stood in the church yard. According to information on a panel outside the church, the building could not have withstood the physical forces that destroyed the twin towers. As it was, the church exterior was covered by ash from the great fires and the church yard and burial ground overlaid with papers and other debris.

Can one see in this escape the work of God’s providence acting to safeguard a spiritual resource for the community devastated by so much loss? Whatever the answer, the ministry of St. Paul’s continues and now envelops tourists who come from all over the world to relive the events of that fateful day.

As I walked slowly through the interior of the church, I felt the sacred character of the place. Along side aisles of the church, colored banners are hung as tributes from people who live in other parts of the country. They give testimony to the devotion people at large feel toward those who died on September 11th  and to those who worked to recover their bodies.

Something stirred within me as I reflected on the dire events of that time as well as on the generous responses of both those in the rescue forces and those who ministered to them. This was an outpouring of charity, the greatest of spiritual gifts and the sign of God’s presence. I felt glad finally to be in this spot so many months after the dire events commemorated here.

Richard Griffin

The faces of the people in the studio audience are positively worshipful. Television cameras focus on them frequently as the smooth dermatologist tells them how to beat aging. They seem to believe everything he says, no matter how far-reaching his claims.

Dr. Nicholas Perricone has become a public television star in cities across the country. His programs, “The Wrinkle Cure” and “Healthy Aging: the Perricone Prescription” have probably been watched by millions, especially during fund-raising periods.

During its recent drive for money, KQED, the San Francisco PBS channel, reportedly devoted four hours of prime time to Perricone programming. No wonder another writer has called his tapes “the best fund-raising gambit these stations have ever had.”

WGBH, Channel 2, our public television station in Boston, has featured this same medical performer as recently as last month. Presumably he helped this station; I am sure he also helped himself at the same time.

If my words here seem negative, you’ve got it right. What we see operating here is a conflict of interest being sponsored by a public entity. To say the least, one must distrust doctors who have a vested financial interest in their practice.

Yet Dr. Perricone unabashedly hawks his skin care products as remedies for the “disease” of aging. Many beauty shops around the country, notably the 80 stores in the Sephora chain, with outlets in Boston’s Prudential Center, the Burlington Mall, and the Chesnut Hill Mall, carry his creams, lotions, and other products in which he has a major financial interest.

Sephora’s web site lists Dr. Perricone’s  Prescription Starter Kit, a $210 value available online for $150, as one of its top sellers. The high priest of skin is not growing poor while he doubles as a physician/television star.

He is doubtless not the first physician to assume an ethically awkward posture. What is surprising, though, is that public television should choose to abet him.

In response to this criticism, John Abbott, Vice President of WGBH for TV Stations, defends the choice of the Perricone programming. His purpose was “to bring in a range of viewer interests.” Deftly finessing the issue, he says: “I tried to watch it like Joe Everybody.” Listening to Abbott, one would never have guessed that fundraising had any role whatsoever in the decision to air Perricone’s programs.

Apart from ethical issues, however, I distrust anyone who peddles simplistic remedies for human well-being and happiness. Or anyone who says, as does Perricone at the beginning: “Aging is a disease” and “Aging is optional.”

Our lives are too marvelously complicated for a person of any wisdom to say, as Perricone does, that his approach will guarantee positive results: “If you do that, you will have a long healthy life. More important, you will have a good quality of life.” The length of our life and its quality depend on a lot more than health care.

And Perricone’s pedagogy stirs serious objections in me. His explanations are long and complicated, replete with pharmacological terms that are obscure to educated lay people. Does this qualify as good adult education? Is it acceptable practice to tell the general public that they should all take certain treatments?

At his web site this doctor presents himself as a “pioneer in the field of appearance.” Such a field is new to me and, I suggest, bears an instructive double meaning. Magicians, too, are experts in “appearance.”

Another coinage favored by Perricone is “Cosmeceuticals” a designation he puts after his M. D. He counts himself among the “world’s foremost anti-aging specialists,” a claim that, in my opinion, does him little credit.

In explaining his formulas for the war against aging, this much-hyped physician favors simplicity. “If the program isn’t simple,” he pronounces, “there’s something wrong with that program.”

Admittedly, Perricone does prescribe some good practices. For instance, he urges careful control of what we eat and proposes diets that control intake of fat and carbohydrates. He also recommends physical exercise, especially because it boosts the immune system.

However, another Perricone promise is of more dubious value: “You will never be a burden on anyone,” he assures those who follow his plan. Can you imagine this being a human good?

As must be obvious by now, I do not believe in fighting against aging as such. For me, it serves greater happiness and fulfillment in life to accept aging gracefully. Science and technology, though they bring us marvelous benefits of many kinds, cannot assure us of happiness and fulfillment. Fortunately, human life is much more intricate than that.

I also find repugnant some ideals of Perricone and his tribe of anti-aging crusaders. Again, the promise of never being a burden on anyone else seems to me not only unrealistic but humanly abhorrent. Sharing one another’s burdens, after all, goes far to build relationships that enrich our lives.

Richard Griffin

Fifty years ago, in January 1953, my father wrote a long front-page editorial in the Boston Sunday Post hailing the forthcoming inauguration of Dwight Eisenhower as a “momentous day in American history.”

He welcomed the new administration in Washington and rejected those who criticized Eisenhower’s cabinet appointees because they were wealthy businessmen. My father also felt enthusiastic about reversal of a philosophy whereby “the domination of the individual by the State has progressed to a point where it is dangerous to the American way.”

By contrast with my father, I did not “like Ike,” as a presidential candidate and had voted for his opponent Adlai Stevenson. Though, by contrast with my newspaperman father, I stood far removed from public affairs, I would have strongly rejected his scathing appraisal of  “the motley crowd that found its way to Washington and into governmental agencies” in the earlier administrations.

To me, Roosevelt’s appointees and, to a lesser extent, Truman’s had led us to both a greater measure of economic fairness for ordinary citizens and to victory in World War II. I admired the work and thinking of people like Harry Hopkins, Frances Perkins, and George Marshall, stars in the two Democratic administrations.

Given our tensions, it would have been difficult for us to exchange views about politics, but I now wish we had been able to. At the time, I was in monastic seclusion in Lenox, Massachusetts, for from the public arena. This business between us will always remain unfinished, much to my continuing regret.

Were he looking at the national scene this January, my father would presumably not mind the presence of wealthy businessmen in the Bush cabinet. The president’s and the vice president’s devotion to big oil companies would not cause misgivings in him the way they do in me.

But the enlarged role of the federal government in the private affairs of  individual citizens might well give him pause.

Looking toward 2003, I feel anxious about what is happening to our country as mobilization for war continues. Memory of what happened to us in the early fifties stir in me fear of repression like that led by Joe McCarthy.

Of course domestic Communism posed some threat to the well-being of the United States at that time, but the witch hunt by McCarthy and his henchmen did considerable damage to our fellow citizens and threatened even more. Eisenhower himself seemed afraid to intervene for fear of adverse political reaction.

Apparently more wary of Communism than of the loss of civil liberties, my father sided with McCarthy. Even now I find it poignant and distressing that among the wreaths that arrived for my father’s funeral came one from Senator Joe McCarthy.

But I still believe proposals for the “Total Information Awareness” program that Admiral John Poindexter has been appointed to engineer would trouble a journalist worried about the “domination of the individual by the State.”

Total Information Awareness seems to me a term based on hyperbole but nonetheless terrifying in its import. It would be a way of linking electronic data from sources such as credit card transactions and calling card uses. This so-called “data mining” would be used with “profiling technologies” to reveal suspicious behavior that could be spotted by government bureaucrats.

Thus government could snoop on the actions of private citizens no matter how inoffensive their business might be. Citizens of certain backgrounds would likely suffer suspicion simply by reason of their religion, national origin, or organizational affiliation. All would be done in the name of patriotism and the defense of our country against foreign and domestic attack.

This system has been planned by the Pentagon and would thus give to the military widespread and unprecedented power over civilian life. It would mean the triumph of technology over individual freedoms to a degree that I find frightening. Perhaps the time has come for ordinary citizens like me to voice our misgivings about this system before it becomes too late to exercise any control at all over it.

I take heart from resolutions passed by some two dozen cities and towns, including my own, urging local government officials to oppose the federal war on terrorism when they see it as violating the rights of private citizens. Even places not known for radicalism,  like Tampa and Fairbanks have passed such municipal resolutions.

A terribly destructive war in Iraq is a daunting enough prospect for the new year without adding to it a campaign repressive of American’s civil rights. The older I get, the more important these rights appear as the bedrock of our democracy.

Though we disagreed on so much, and he did not consistently uphold it, perhaps I can invoke the same principle that my father espoused at the beginning of the new year 1953. We, too, must be on guard against antiterrorist programs that violate civil rights.

Richard Griffin