The Artist within

Only some of my very close friends (yes, you know who you are and I can count them on one hand) know that in a life before my consulting career I had somewhat of an artistic career going.  The journey of finding my “inner artist” began innocently enough when I started dating a serious artist back in the early 80’s.   When I mean serious, she was an accomplished and exhibited artist with a major portfolio of work that had strong recognition within the art community with some of it being purchased by quite large galleries and collectors.

One of my first designs - silkscreen print
circa 1984

She invested an enormous amount of time perfecting her artistic talents over the years including a Fine Arts degree from the University of Sydney, the longer we dated the more I began dabbling around the edges.  Just a little at first, but then the more I worked in the various mediums the more I began enjoying my time using a side of me I hadn’t know had existed prior to meeting her.   I guess it was always there, somewhere deep within… lurking just waiting for the opportunity to get out I suppose J

Beach at sunset - silkscreen on cotton t-shirt
1985

 Initially I spent a lot of time experimenting with silkscreens and developing paper stenciled multi-dimensional designs, primarily for t-shirts.   Yes, Darwin has a hot, tropical climate and I wanted to create designs and art that was visible in everyday life, and yes it’s pretty cool to see someone actually wearing your work in public.   She was generous to a fault and showed me all aspects of silk screening and before long I was off designing like crazy, seeing designs everywhere I looked – ah, that critical eye!

To monetize this effort (yes, even then I knew how to capitalize on my creative talents…not to mention save for my year long adventure backpacking around the world) I sought out a vendor license for a local Sunday morning market.  So with not a lot of experience but a whole lot of moxie I set up vendor stall each Sunday and began selling my t-shirts under the brand “Rics Australian Artwear”…don’t ask it’s a long story to be shared only over alcohol.  As you can imagine sales were up and down, some weeks I’d sell 4 or 5 t-shirts, other weeks up to 10, each for $20 a pop.  Not bad considering the t-shirt and inks cost less than $2 per shirt, but it was the creative indulgence that captured my interest and drew out my artistic passions more so than the money.   Although that definitely helped my traveling fund!

My rendering of the work by Henri Matisse
"Red Madras Headdress"  1907

After moving to Canada I really began to expand and explore pencil drawing and the use of acrylic paints with both paper and canvas, even dabbling in jewelry for a short while.  I was even fortunate enough to have a number of exhibitions of my work in the early 90’s in around Toronto – nothing too fancy, but a couple of minor galleries and showings.  

Although it was great to exhibit my work, get some great feedback and even sell a few pieces over the years, it wasn’t that aspect that kept me interested so much as it was the actual creative process.  

A recent experience highlighted how much I have missed this aspect of my life – while working on a recent deal at work (my real day job) I had the opportunity to help craft a creative client related vignette (short movie).  It was so much fun to write the script, then to provide my thoughts on the associated images before seeing it brought to life by our amazingly talented creative team.   It felt good to see that work admired and enjoyed not only by our clients but by our team as well!

My first business card used for art exhibits
(circa 1984)

In more recent years a number of factors have lessened my time spent on the pursuit of my creative talents – I’m sure many of you can name them off without me even having to write them down, a common challenge for us busy professionals with young families so no real surprise there, but I feel a change in the air as the kids get a little older and become less dependent I’m starting to find time again.

My latest canvas - "Sinking"
completed January 2012

In fact I finished a mixed media painting in late January, which in reality had been a couple of years on my easel but with a renewed impetus to stretch my creative juices I spent a weekend working on it.  To my great satisfaction I actually quite like it (not always the case…) and have hung in my office over my desk at home (must be reasonable...right).   And although no masterpiece it was great to step out of my normal everyday working persona and step back to a less complex world and feel the creativity and energy begin to flow once more, albeit a little stilted in these early days, but flowing non-the-less.

Who knows; perhaps I’ll surprise you all one of these days…

A collection of three pencil sketches completed during my visit to Venice, Italy in August 2010:

Ponte Canal - Venice, Italy
August 2010

Five bridges - Venice, Italy
August 2010

Piazzole Roma - Venice, Italy
August 2010


Would love your thoughts and reactions to my work - feel free to leave a comment!

Back to my roots

Strange as it sounds I was back to my roots this past week.   You see my background and undergrad is in Education…and yes I did teach for a number of years until I realized I was a crappy teacher!   I guess teaching young children and adolescents is not my thing, fortunately for both them and me I realized it relatively early in my career – if you call seven and a bit years early.

TW graduating from Ballarat University - 1980

The company I work for has a Corporate University with three main campus – St Charles (45 minutes outside Chicago), Kuala Lumpur (Malaysia) and London (UK).   Over the past couple of years I’ve had the good fortune to teach at all three.  In fact earlier this year I was the School lead at our school in Kuala Lumpur that primarily serves the management consultant practice in the Asia-Pacific region.


I’m not sure what it is about teaching in this environment but it is one of my favorite things to do!  I’ve tried to analyze what it is specifically and I’ve boiled it down to a couple of things, so here goes.


Firstly I think its partly the global make up of the attendees – literally there are people attending from every corner of the globe, you name the country we have someone attending from there.  The mixing of diverse cultures, languages and social mores makes for such an interesting and exotic collection of ideas, insights and conversations that it’s hardly a surprise that it’s new and fresh each time I teach in this environment.  

TW back left - Phys. Ed faculty - Nightcliff High School
Darwin Australia - 1984

Another biggie for me is how it aligns with my values of “giving back”.  The opportunity and ability to teach is my way of doing that I suppose.  I really enjoy the sound of my own voice (clearly, but I’m sure you knew that already) so providing my stories and color commentary on the various aspects of whatever course I’m helping deliver keeps it fresh.


Perhaps it’s just that I’m older and wiser and have more patience….  Nah, I’m still the same impatient (some might say other less kind things – yes I can hear the wheels turning) guy I always was but I think the difference is that you have a room full of enquiring minds who are there to really learn as much as they can in a short amount of time.  I’m not sure if anyone else feels the level of energy that I do but its palpable when I stand out front of a class or ballroom full of attendees.   Tapping into this electricity is I guess my secret to connecting with those in my classes.


This week’s course was about learning the art of the conversation.  Nothing too complex really - no books, no desks, no PowerPoint (I can hear the collective gasp from here… but you’re a consultant…pure heresy!).   I have them for a day at a time – a new class each day.  Six hours of learning how to have a conversation, now hard can that be. ☺  No I’m not making this up, there is a specific and “tried and true” structure and thinking behind this course.

TW centre - Core Consultant School 2008
St Charles, IL

My first instruction is that this is a “risk free” environment and what they will get from this course will be directly proportional to how much they are willing to put themselves out there.  Sounds difficult I know but to me it’s simple – just got to find a way to let your “curiosity” take root and then it’s a matter of following the “bread-crumb trail”.  Once you’ve unlocked that then the world is literally your oyster mate!


I don’t think I’ve taught this class without being blown away by how much the participants take on board and “give it a go” as we’d say in Australia.  Irrespective of language or cultural barriers the effort they put in is truly awe-inspiring.


I’m not saying that it changes lives, but it gives them a taste of the possible when it comes to having more meaningful conversations, whether it be in there personal or professional lives.  I always come away from these courses particularly jazzed about our company and the smart people we have working for us.


The bigger question is - did I really miss my calling after all?

Milestone adventures - why not?

My best mate Craig and I had decided to treat ourselves to the golfing trip of a lifetime for our last milestone birthday… 40 you say…sure, sounds good!   In fact we had been talking about going to Scotland for a couple of years off and on, but when he got serious and started emailing golf companies in Scotland I knew it was a fait-au-complet.   He did an amazing job of tracking down a number of reputable companies and lining up some of the best and most difficult (we were yet to realize how hard) courses to play.

We had decided to meet at Heathrow airport in London before connecting and heading up to Edinburgh, Craig flying in from Australia which was the best part of 24 hours away by plane, while I took the decidedly sedentary jaunt from Canada, a mere 7 hours flying time.

In typical TW fashion I had not given myself enough time to travel between terminals, I figured that as an experienced traveler I’d somehow work it out and make it no worries…    That over confidence was my first mistake!     The plane landed just 30 minutes late, but that was enough to have the airline people meet me.  Yes, one of the distinct advantages of being a top tier airline traveler was this little perk!  They had a car waiting and privately chauffeuring me across the airport and through security to avoid the line-ups and long-winded intra-terminal bus transfer.   Even with this I was still sprinting down the domestic terminal toward my gate and flight bound for Edinburgh.  I was in such a frenzy that I charged by Craig who was sitting and lazily sipping his latte while waiting for our plane to begin boarding close to the gate.  Of course this flight was also delayed – thank goodness!   As I sped past I heard a familiar voice call out – “Oi where are you off to then?”  I smiled and slowed to a walk, by now breathing hard and with droplets of sweat forming on my brow we shook hands – god it was good to see him.

So after all these years we were finally on our adventure and as we boarded the plane bound for Scotland little did I know that my bags, golf bag included was to miss the flight?   You see it hadn’t been as fortunate as me to have personal transportation.

After my night flight across the Atlantic and the urgent race against time at Heathrow I was exhausted and so slept for the short hop (1:15 min) flight to Edinburgh.   As I waited rather impatiently for my bags, a sinking feeling settled over me – realizing that if I only just made it there was no possible way my bags made it.  Finding the decidedly apologetic British Airways agent he assured me he would locate my bags and have them sent on the next flight and transported to the hotel at St Andrews.  I almost felt bad knowing that it was entirely my fault that they’d missed the connection, but I was going to still pay the price.  All well and good except that we had decided to play golf that very afternoon, but me with no golf clubs or appropriate attire was going to be somewhat problematic and costly!  

Our driver was brilliant as he said he knew of a ‘wee course’ that he could get us on even though we hadn’t booked this as part of our tour figuring that we’d be tired after our trip and likely not play the first day, but given the circumstances we both felt great and ready to take on the best that Scotland could dish out to us in terms of golf.

The grand entrance to the Rusacks Hotel
St Andrews - Scotland

First stop however was our hotel in St Andrews; we were staying at the Rusacks Hotel overlooking the 18^th fairway of the Old Course and had an old world charm that harkened back to the 19^th century with its sweeping parlors and broad corridors.  This is the Mecca of golf and we were on its doorstep, a mere 200 meters from the starters hut at the Old Course.  

The first afternoon we played a great local course called the “Dukes” which was absolutely fabulous, after me shelling out an inordinate sum to rent clubs and buy pants, golf shirt and shoes….   What can I say the price paid for not allowing myself enough time, now you’d think I’d learn (seems to be a constant issue…. hhhmmm).   Fortunately for me my clubs and bag arrived late that first evening just in time for our game on the Old Course scheduled for the next morning at 6:30 am. 

Almost too nervous to eat before we headed out the next morning (I can hear you asking why after all its just a golf course?)   Yes and no, true it’s just a golf course, but its “the” course where almost every golfer in the world aspires to play at least once in their life – the history and atmosphere are completely overwhelming, but the most innocuous were the to play a bigger factor – the caddies, crowds and expectations.

St Andrews Old Course (Scotland)
Note: starters hut left, Royal & Ancient Golf Museum and view
of the 18th green - front right.

You see it’s mandatory to take a local caddie when you play the Old Course – no exceptions and so each person in the foursome have their own caddie.  They have unbelievable knowledge of the course and know ever nook, cranny, bump and swale on the course regularly saving the amateur golfer (that’s me!) anywhere between 5 – 8 strokes.   This in itself is a little scary as these guys have been caddies on this course for most of their adult lives and have seen every level of skill and caddied for everyone from Professionals to the truly terrible amateurs over the years…  To say they were a little judgmental and short of patience was an understatement of enormous proportions.  I completely lucked out as my caddie was a young 30 something guy who had taken law at the University of Edinburgh, passed the bar, moved to London to take up his legal career and then decided that his passion was golf and so he tossed it all in to return to St Andrews and be a full time caddie.  It was refreshing to chat to this highly intelligent guy who had forsaken everything to follow his first love.   He was smart, funny, very relaxed and truly made the experience a memorable one for me…my score you ask?   I very respectable 91 on the Old Course thank you very much!

TW and Craig standing on the famous
Swilcan Bridge - 18th fairway St Andrews (Old Course)

The other intimidating factor were the crowds that milled about the starters box (yes, even at 6:30 am in the morning), and as your name, country and club are announced there is often a polite applause from those 20 – 40 people standing about.  The crowds actually grow larger as the day goes by often with tour buses depositing their cargo steps from the 18^th green and first tee.   It was very nice to have people around and provide some encouragement, but then the moment of truth comes as you step up to your ball and endeavour to make some form of contact – truly terrifying.   So many irrational thoughts run through your mind as you step up to drive off the first tee…   I kept on saying to myself – “please just make contact and get it in the air…please god just this once - I’ll be good, I promise!”    And this from a non-believer… 

All in all Craig and I spent seven fabulous days in Scotland playing golf at some of the worlds best courses – Carnoustie, Kings Barns(twice – so good the first time we had to play again), St Andrews New course and the ‘piece de resistance’ – Scotscraig (founded in 1817 and the 13th oldest course in the world!).   This last course was an unexpected gift from a couple that we played with one afternoon at Kings Barns – but that’s a story for another time :)

Iconic photo of TW in London - 2009

We then headed back to London for five days re-living our University days…truly it felt like we were transported back to 1978, walking the city from end to end (no really at least 15 km a day), people watching and laughing non-stop with a few beers thrown in for good measure.  The time we spent was a wonderful birthday present and a memory that I’ll always cherish.  

Where to next mate?   The planning has begun that’s all I’m saying…

The reliable farm hand

When you have a lot of enthusiasm and drive and you want to get ahead in life you tend to take a few more risks especially when you’re young and single.   I didn’t care too much for ego when it came to making my way in life hence have worked in some pretty interesting jobs and situations over the years.

A classic from my early years was a summer farming job I took on to help pay for university.  The farm was close to 5000 acres, which translates into 20 square kilometer’s in size…so, yes a rather large property and although I had worked on his farm (Max was the manager).  I had worked for Max in the past but mostly just for harvest.   However, this particular year was different cos’ although my job started as a hired hand for the harvest it became quite apparent that I was his most reliable worker.   You see living in a small farming community the men who generally worked on farms were itinerate and to a fair degree unreliable in that as soon as pay day came they pretty much went straight to the pub and drank their wages away.   Sometimes showing up for work, sometimes not….this particular year was particularly unreliable in terms of attendance which pissed him off and drove him to ask me to take on more responsibility.

Scary and hard to believe that a skinny 19 year old was your most reliable worker, but in any event there I was being asked to do a little more each week around the farm, not just related to the harvest.  The farm itself was dedicated to cereal crops (wheat, barley and some oats), as well the owner had a number of race horses for breeding purposes and a rather large herd of prize Hereford bulls plus a reasonable herd of assorted cattle and livestock.   This farm was one of the larger ones in the district and one of the most successful.  

Max had 2 full time farm hands and himself all tending to the large variety of jobs required to run a farm of this size and scale.   The owner was a wealthy Melbourne businessman whom I actually never saw in all my years working on the farm.

The first job that year prior to the real harvest was the carting of the hay, in those days we still cut, raked and baled the small rectangular bales of hay, then waited for them to dry in the paddock before loading them onto trucks from an elevator attached to the side of the truck, then stacked carefully into one of the many covered hay-sheds dotted across the broad expanse of his property.  From the homestead it would sometimes take us an hour or more over dirt roads and farm tracks to get to the paddock where we were working that day.

I became his foreman on the hay harvest, leading two guys in their late 30’s and 40’s.   One of us drove the truck, one up top loading the bales as they came up the elevator and the other either slashing additional paddocks, raking the drying grass or baling anew.   In those days we each received the princely sum of 1 cent per bale of hay stacked in the hay-shed, we had to account for every bale carted and stacked each day.   On average we would cart and stack between 1000 and 1200 bales per day depending on the drive from the paddock to the nearest hay-shed - you do the math on how much I made per workday.

GM Holden utes - modern day vs. 1950's classic

One day Max left me in charge as he had to drive into the closest town (30 miles away) to take possession of his new ute (“pick up truck” in North American vernacular). He was away most of the day but checked in on us mid afternoon.    All was going swimmingly, until he arrived back and pulled in behind the large hay truck we were unloading.   I was up inside the haystack, some 15m high above the ground sorting and tying in the bales as they came up the elevator to me. It wasn't long before we had reached the end of one section of the stack and had to move to the next area to finish unloading.   

Max had been quietly observing the operation from next to the truck and saw me motion my offsider to move the truck back into its new place so we could continue unloading.   However, before I could get his attention he had quickly jumped down off the back of the truck and climbed into the cab, starting it and slamming it in reverse and with a rev he reversed straight back into Max’s new ute.   The look on Max’s face said it all as he screamed, “Bloody murder and raced to the trucks cabin pounding on the door.  Alas, it was too late…the corner of the bed of the truck had literally “can opened” his new ute from the front headlight, through the front panel, taken the door off as it continued its vicious path along the side of the vehicle until he was able to finally stop the driver from any more damage.  Of course I was to blame as I was the foreman.  A virtual write-off thank you very much - nice work Mr. Wallis!  And less than 100 km on the clock….

I’m not sure I’ve seen someone more upset than Max that afternoon – the air thick with a litany of profanities that would have made a sailor blush!    In any event he blamed me for the tragedy that befell his new ute, clearly I was the idiot who parked behind a large hay truck :) Although I was never to live it down that didn’t stop him from continuing to employ me.   Did I hear you say “glutton for punishment?” – that’s your outer voice!

Wheat harvest - Victoria, Australia 

His second mistake was to occur later that summer after yet another bumper crop and the main harvest complete.   Max was going to take his family back to Tasmania to visit his parents and so asked me to be caretaker of the farm for a couple of weeks.   Fortunately for me I knew the inner workings of the farm pretty well by this time and so agreed - along with a little bump in pay if I was able to manage it okay.    He was a little anal so he left me a huge laundry list of activities to do at certain times and days, very specific instructions …no worries, what on earth could go wrong?

To be honest it was a great two weeks, just me and the farm as his other farm hands were also taking a well-earned break.   I had taken amazing care of the farm, until disaster struck late on the Saturday afternoon the day before he was due back.   He had warned me that when I went to feed his prize cattle that I had to take a very specific track and to not deviate from his directions pure and simple.  

Well, that was all well and good until I was running late that Saturday afternoon – yes, a young ladies charms beckoned and I had agreed to pick her up but given the last task I was going to be late.   So rather than follow his specific directions, I had decided to take a shortcut…. I wondered why, albeit briefly why I hadn't thought of taking this route before.  I hitched the new John Deere (air-conditioned no less – very fancy) tractor to the trailer, loaded it up and roared off across the paddock toward the gate, ignoring the perfectly good track about ½ mile away that he had insisted I take.   I guess I was about 150 meters across the paddock and I heard an almighty “bang”.   The front window of the tractor cabin was immediately covered in some sort of fluid….

I stopped the tractor and jumped down from the cab to witness the enormity of what I had just done.

Hereford Bull - Royal Sydney Show

I had hit the electric fence wires that ran overhead from the wool-shed to the fences surrounding his prize bulls.   In fact it had actually hit the chimney of the tractor, snapping it off clean; which then flew straight into the air conditioning unit which sat on top of the cab – spearing it cleanly.  The coolant was now pouring over the cab and on the ground around me.  Holy shit!!!

So not only had I taken down the overhead wires and electric fence – the bulls were now free to run amok amongst the herd of cattle in an adjacent paddock (nice work eh?).  I had caused irreparable damage to the AC unit on the tractor (clearly this wasn’t going to go down well and I could see the bonus fly away at that point – shit I might even have to pay him for the privilege of working these two weeks.   It wasn’t long before the bulls found their way into the adjacent paddock…now I was in big trouble. 

Eventually I was able to fix the electric fence and get it powered back up later that night.  It was just a little too little too late.   This saw me not only miss the date that night (no mobile phones in those days – so yes, in theory I did stand her up, not that she ever agreed to go out again) but also spend much of the next day with the cattle dogs rounding up and separating his bulls back into their rightful place only hours before he was due to return….

I wonder why Max still hired me the following year, I think deep down he still liked me but just couldn’t believe the “stupidity of what I had done” (his words – not mine!)   His version of the story became bigger every year, as he loved to regale the new farm hands in the ineptitude of this guy names Wallis!    I guess that’s why I work in an office and about as far away as you can get from a farm.

Unexplainable in New York

To be clear I love New York!    Who doesn’t is the question…. it’s big, it’s bold, it’s a city of dreams and mystery.  The town I grew up in was the antithesis of New York City; but here I was walking the streets of this famous city, it was early spring of 2005 and I was here for work in my pre-Accenture days….  I can hear you all now, is that possible…..was there a life before Accenture for TW???  Surprisingly yes, I had been to New York during my travels on many occasions, both pre and post 9/11 and in fact had worked on and off at the North tower of the WTC (32^nd floor) while working on a project in the late 90's.  

TW and Sami in front of the Flatiron Building -
23rd & 5th Avenue, NYC - circa 2010 

I still remember being at a meeting in the financial district in downtown Toronto on that fateful day.  Seeing the terror and drama of what was unfolding in New York City on a nearby television, but this isn’t a story about 9/11 or where I was that day or how I felt that terrible day. 

It was four years removed and I had just put in another long and exhausting day working with my team at a well-known Investment bank developing a Sarbanes-Oxley solution (Financial Reporting).  As I trudged up Liberty Street toward Broadway, feeling tired and hungry, the shadows getting longer and the light beginning to fade on that relatively clear evening.  

I rounded the corner onto Broadway and in the distance I spotted Modell’s Sports store just a short walk away and always worth a peek I thought to myself as my pace quickened. I began walking north along Broadway in the direction of my hotel and noticing a bookstore nearby I decided to nip in and get myself a new read before my eventual stop at Modell’s.  I paused briefly to cross the road, looking hastily so as not to get run down by one of the well renowned New York cabbies.  

The next instant I was thrown into a strange new world, almost jumping out of my skin as a deep and loud wail began jarring my senses albeit slowly at first.   I froze, as did everyone around me, including the cars that now began to slow and then stop in the middle of Broadway.

I’d heard this sound before - it was the sound was of an air-raid siren.   Strangely it felt just like a scene from London during the blitz – the noise was deafening as it wailed all around me.  What was going on?   You could feel the mood of those around me change from curiosity to fear as the deafening noise continued unabated.

People began flooding from the stores and shops and stood along side me on the sidewalk (footpath for those in Australia), we were just a couple of blocks from ground zero, a place where too many memories haunted these streets.  Clearly the feelings of that devastating day were still etched deep and raw in the psyche of the local shop owners and residents, fear visible in their faces as they starred in disbelief at those around them unsure of what was to come.

The longer it went on the more afraid I actually became, the eeriness of the sound made me extremely skittish and rather than wait around for whatever was going down I made my way into the book store, pushing past the two assistants craning from the doorway speaking in hushed tones as I moved quickly toward the back of the store, not sure where I was going or what I was doing, all I knew is that I didn’t want to be close to the street if there was a bomb or some such.

Looking uptown along Broadway from Liberty Street

The air raid siren went on for about 3 – 4 minutes, and just as quickly as it started it stopped mid howl, replaced by complete silence except for the wind moving amongst the tall buildings. Broadway was littered with cars as their drivers stood rooted to the street all-looking to the sky.

It took a minute or two for everyone to regain their composure, the strain clearly evident as people resumed their business.  I was done; I didn’t really need a book that badly, Modell’s would have to wait for another day and I quickly made my way back to the hotel – was it to change my underwear perhaps?  (You’ll never know J).  

Was it a false alarm?   Were they testing a warning system of some sort?  The lobby was full of hotel guests, stranger’s moments before now sharing their thoughts and feelings with one another.   A rather nervous and decidedly pale-faced hotel staff member assured us that everything was okay and there was no need for concern….   It didn’t help calm my nerves one little bit! 

When I got to my room I quickly switched on the television expecting to see the story unfolding and so I began scanning the news channels one by one – NBC, ABC, CBS, FOX, CNN…. still nothing, that’s strange I thought?   It was at this point I tried to call home, but the cell signals were all out and now I became increasingly worried and paranoid that something major was happening, if not here then somewhere in the US, but with the lack of information it was hard to remain calm.   I retreated to a hot bath and an early bed my immediate hunger lost.  Sleep eluded me for much of the night as a deep unease settled over me.

Next morning I expected the newspapers to be awash with coverage of the air raid siren story.  I scanned the front page of the New York Times – nothing, quickly flipping page after page, but still nothing.  Had I dreamed the whole thing?   The other people I saw in the hotel lobby that morning were asking similar questions so it couldn’t have been a dream for all of us….

All I know is that whenever I go down to lower Manhattan the hairs on the back of my neck still stand on end as I recall that eerie experience.  Standing on Broadway with the deafening sounds of that siren surrounding me, cars stopped in mid street, their drivers gazing into the sky and the looks of disbelief and sheer panic on the faces of those around me….  

To this day there hasn’t been a story reported or broadcast to acknowledge what happened that evening and I guess we’ll never know, just another mystery in that wonderfully strange and inexplicable city.

New York I still love you!