The Air Down There
The New York Post, along with the Metro commuter newspaper and several television stations, recently carried the story of Amit Friedlander, a young adult diagnosed with Hodgkin’s Disease.
Amit was president of my class at Stuyvesant High School. Intelligent, athletic, and with a charming tone and cadence to his speaking voice, he was a natural leader. Destined for success. Four years later, his disease, though unlikely to be life-threatening, has called this into question.
Today I saw Amit for the first time since he introduced President Bill Clinton at our graduation in 2002. In 2001, we were two of some three thousand students told to run north as the second – not the first – of the Twin Towers collapsed. Another one of those students, Lila Nordstrom, brought a few of us together for a news conference to discuss Amit’s condition. Though work made me miss the actual conference, the fact that so many of my former classmates were still there to fill me in is telling. Because so many years after the fact, it has taken Amit’s case to shock us all into demanding answers.
We hope that his case is isolated, but we fear it is not. Why did they send us back to school so soon, fires still burning, toxins still circulating in the air? Who made that call and why did they make it? And, perhaps most importantly, who will be held accountable for the impending financial consequences of this public health debacle?
Lila’s pet cause is health care and insurance, and as she filled me in on the news conference, she made a scary point. As Stuyvesant’s class of 2002 emerges from their college bubbles to seek employment, many of us will find jobs – if we find jobs at all – that have poor or non-existent health insurance. Like the very young and the very old, we are a population in dire need of governmental aid. Yes, we may have all sorts of fancy degrees and titles, but that doesn’t change the fact that we’re broke.
There’s millions floating around out there, going to this or that 9-11 cause – widows, firefighters, widows of firefighters. In their time of emotional and financial need, millions of Americans stepped up to help them. Somehow, though, thousands of New Yorkers were overlooked. If a widow’s pain and loss of income can merit monetary aid, then Amit’s pain, and our risk of pain, certainly does. Perhaps not cash-in-hand, but a cost-free health insurance plan for all those who had to breath in air that was dangerous for months after Condoleeza Rice’s office declared it breathable.
The summer after I graduated I went back to Stuy and peeked in the front doors. The entire building was sealed off, from the inside, with plastic tape. Apparently the asbestos levels were so high that the building required a thorough cleaning – the type of cleaning sometimes avoided because it can actually stir up more asbestos than already present. In Stuy’s case, however, the levels were already up there. Guess where they were the highest? The upholstered seats of the auditorium, the auditorium me and two hundred other seniors spent two months in preparing the final SING! of our high school careers.
I’m going to the doctor, and I’m sending Condy my bill.
Amit was president of my class at Stuyvesant High School. Intelligent, athletic, and with a charming tone and cadence to his speaking voice, he was a natural leader. Destined for success. Four years later, his disease, though unlikely to be life-threatening, has called this into question.
Today I saw Amit for the first time since he introduced President Bill Clinton at our graduation in 2002. In 2001, we were two of some three thousand students told to run north as the second – not the first – of the Twin Towers collapsed. Another one of those students, Lila Nordstrom, brought a few of us together for a news conference to discuss Amit’s condition. Though work made me miss the actual conference, the fact that so many of my former classmates were still there to fill me in is telling. Because so many years after the fact, it has taken Amit’s case to shock us all into demanding answers.
We hope that his case is isolated, but we fear it is not. Why did they send us back to school so soon, fires still burning, toxins still circulating in the air? Who made that call and why did they make it? And, perhaps most importantly, who will be held accountable for the impending financial consequences of this public health debacle?
Lila’s pet cause is health care and insurance, and as she filled me in on the news conference, she made a scary point. As Stuyvesant’s class of 2002 emerges from their college bubbles to seek employment, many of us will find jobs – if we find jobs at all – that have poor or non-existent health insurance. Like the very young and the very old, we are a population in dire need of governmental aid. Yes, we may have all sorts of fancy degrees and titles, but that doesn’t change the fact that we’re broke.
There’s millions floating around out there, going to this or that 9-11 cause – widows, firefighters, widows of firefighters. In their time of emotional and financial need, millions of Americans stepped up to help them. Somehow, though, thousands of New Yorkers were overlooked. If a widow’s pain and loss of income can merit monetary aid, then Amit’s pain, and our risk of pain, certainly does. Perhaps not cash-in-hand, but a cost-free health insurance plan for all those who had to breath in air that was dangerous for months after Condoleeza Rice’s office declared it breathable.
The summer after I graduated I went back to Stuy and peeked in the front doors. The entire building was sealed off, from the inside, with plastic tape. Apparently the asbestos levels were so high that the building required a thorough cleaning – the type of cleaning sometimes avoided because it can actually stir up more asbestos than already present. In Stuy’s case, however, the levels were already up there. Guess where they were the highest? The upholstered seats of the auditorium, the auditorium me and two hundred other seniors spent two months in preparing the final SING! of our high school careers.
I’m going to the doctor, and I’m sending Condy my bill.
posted by base at 4:15 PM
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