Word: dusting
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Historical analogies are a ticklish business, especially when they are proposed while a fine, cruel dust still blankets the desolation of Lower Manhattan. So I will not compare the events of last Tuesday to Pearl Harbor, or to the sinking of the Lusitania, or the assassination of Franz Ferdinand in Sarejevo, or any of the other terrible “turning points” in the long and bloody 20th century...
...Bush administration's global anti-terror campaign has given it an overriding interest in restarting some form of Israeli-Palestinian peace process - and America is not finding Prime Minister Ariel Sharon particularly eager to play ball. Before the dust had settled on the World Trade Center ruins, Sharon ordered his foreign minister, Shimon Peres, to call off cease-fire talks with Yasser Arafat, who Sharon likened to Osama Bin Laden. And he has since sent his army into three Palestinian cities amid escalating violence. Bush administration officials phoned Sharon five times in the past week to urge him to allow...
...closer than I?d ever been to knowing what it was to lose a hundred friends in an hour. The Dow?s losses had stabilized in the 600-point range by mid-morning, and the only thing to do was to shuffle back though the smoke and the dust and an impertinent sun, back to my usual market-watching perch in front of the TV in my cubicle. Just in case the bottom dropped...
...stock trading Monday was also arguably the most breathlessly anticipated session of all time. Three thousand traders crowd the floor of the NYSE every day, but as we all milled around outside in the hours before the reopening bell - breathing air still gray and bitter with smoke and dust and dawn - they were easily outnumbered by the professional gawkers who had descended on the Big Board from all over the world, panning for soundbites, owing copy...
...Japanese reporters in dust masks accosting men in suits like the natives of some new planet with an uncertain atmosphere. German radio correspondents leaning over police barricades with grapefruit-sized microphones, shouting "Are you a trader?" to anyone who walked by. Dutiful wire-service scribblers forming Oscar-night gauntlets along the path of anyone who would talk...