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In Tribeca, apparently, there are people who still go home for lunch. The other day, a man returned to his building, on Hudson Street, near Jay Street, to discover half a dozen strangers occupying his lobby. They had set up card tables, where many of the man's neighbors sat, intently filling out forms. When the man asked one of the strangers what they were doing, the stranger said, "Sir, the American people are here to help you."
The man said, "Excuse me?"
"We are here to help you, in your time of need."
The strangers, it emerged, were representatives not of the American people, exactly, but of the American Red Cross, and they had come to this building, which, it must be said, is a very nice building, full of very expensive duplexes and lofts, to offer relief. Volunteers from the Red Cross, which raised eight hundred and fifty million dollars after September 11th, were visiting other buildings, too, as part of a campaign to give money to the residents of Manhattan below Canal Street who might have been displaced, traumatized, or merely inconvenienced by the collapse of the World Trade Center.
The stranger explained the deal. The Red Cross was offering Tribeca residents the equivalent of three months' mortgage and maintenance payments (or rent), along with money for utilities, groceries, transportation, and medical expenses, if applicable. In a building like the one on Hudson Street, some victims could expect more than fifteen thousand dollars.
The man was stunned. He said, "That's obscene." He said that he didn't begrudge anyone's collecting the money, but that he didn't want any of it himself, and he headed for the elevator.
As the elevator doors closed, the building's superintendent slipped in behind him. "You're being a fool," the superintendent said. "They're giving it away."