By Russ Layne
3 a.m., Thursday, Oct. 6. 43 degrees. I had been preparing myself emotionally. But did I really want to make the trip to Wall Street? Especially on a weekday, when I’d have to grapple with rush-hour traffic? Don’t misunderstand: Under certain circumstances I enjoy being among the throngs – at music festivals and peace demonstrations, for example. But I had been following what was transpiring down in the Financial District and felt the tug.

The day before, I went to the local health food store to buy a case of chocolate bars for the folks who had already been sleeping and living in Zuccotti Park, two blocks from Wall Street. There were no chocolate bars so the owner recommended tasty new protein bars. I revealed that the protein bars were not for me, but were headed to Wall Street. Not for the bankers but for the folks who could not get jobs, who perhaps had lost their homes. These bars were for the people camping out in the cold, committed to a more equitable economic system, I told her.

“Here, another box on me as my contribution,” she said. There you go, I said to myself. This movement is impacting a lot more people than I thought. Her single action alone gave more purpose to my mission.

I beat the rush-hour traffic and parked at the PATH station in Harrison, N.J. By 4:30 a.m. I was climbing the long staircase out of the World Trade Center station. Chilly. Forty-eight degrees. Yet there were more people out and about than I was likely to find in downtown Warwick, but by Manhattan standards, it was quiet, serene.

At Zuccotti Park, I saw hundreds of people wrapped in sleeping bags on the pavement, some covered with tarps, but no tents. Virtually everyone was asleep save for a few individuals holding down the information desk and the kitchen. In an adjoining area, some people were working the electronic communications systems. On the street, for at least one entire block, mainstream media trucks were parked bumper to bumper. And, surrounding the park were lots of unsmiling patrolmen who looked bored.

As I delivered the protein bars, I had a spirited conversation with a member of the kitchen help. He talked about the inspiring march and rally the previous day that drew thousands of participants. It helped re-fuel the impetus to “stay the course.” We had a good laugh over his choice of words, recalling that President George W. Bush was wont to use them. I was impressed with his ability to clearly articulate his assessment of the economic crisis. I wish Fox or CNN would have interviewed him.

With time to spare before participating in a planned noon march, I went back to the information desk and made a monetary contribution and became engaged in another sobering conversation. The person to whom I handed my money was a recent graduate from a New Jersey university who had expected to be a school teacher. Our conversation started with how our country’s wealth was totally lopsided. “Sixty percent of the wealth to 1 percent of the population; the rest for the other 99 percent,” he said. We chuckled when he mentioned trickle-down economics.

On a more serious note, there’s no joy among young adults such as himself, who can’t find work. “I applied to 42 school districts,” he said.

I winced. I’m a recent retiree from the Paterson, N.J. school system and despite chronic labor unrest during my 36-year tenure, I always had work. My research indicates that last year, New Jersey lost more than 6,000 teaching positions, ranking it fifth among all states in public education job losses.

Meanwhile, many of the organizational meetings were scheduled for 11 a.m. in Zuccotti Park. So to escape the now bustling streets of the Financial District, I sought refuge in the timeworn cemetery of Trinity Church two blocks away. There I came across the grave of Alexander Hamilton, the founder of Paterson. I paused and reflected on the conversation I’d had with the aspiring teacher. Had it not been for the financial meltdown, caused by institutions that now surrounded me, that young educator might very well be gainfully employed.

Later in the day, I was filled with the hope and optimism that once again – as had happened during the Vietnam War – it would be the young people to wake us to our feelings of powerlessness and become the real catalysts for change in America.

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