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Enron Mail |
Tom,
Below is Bill's latest response, and the edit. They made very few changes. How about that. It strange to think that right now, as I write this, you are on the set at WGN, in the middle of the news program, perhaps putting a few finishing touches on your graphics. Just as I got up a few minutes ago (I got up early, which is the best time to get through to the line I share [and also because I'm excited[), and at the exact time I turned on the computor there was a flash of lightening outside. Then, moments later, just as a healthy downpour began, the muezzin started singing outside. (This is true, no lie.) I thought to myself I hope there aren't any more cosmic coincidences (such as a ..., well you know). I'll be on line for a bit, so maybe we'll be able to "talk" on this thing almost as if in person. Love, Mark <From: <wparker@tribune.com< <To: "Mark Skilling" <markskilling@hotmail.com< <Subject: Editing, etc. <Date: Thu, 26 Aug 1999 19:20:58 -0500 < <Hi Mark, <Below is an edited version of your piece. We've got a few questions, which <I've <indicated parenthetically through the story. Most of the editing is <designed to <tighten things a little. And we've reorganized some sentences to clarify <meaning. <This is an interesting moment in the writer/editor relationship and I <regret <that we're experiencing it in cyberspace. It's hard to show you each change <and <explain it, but hopefully they'll be more or less self-explanatory if you <compare the edited version with a printout of the original story. In any <case, <be of good cheer; this is not an extraordinary amount of editing. <I'd suggest that you answer our questions and raise any points about <editing <within the story, just as we have done, and then e-mail the whole story <back. <I'll try again to call you Friday. <You'll see some strange characters in the text; they're our computer <coding. You <can safely ignore them. <I did get through on the fax line and sent you both a contract and a tax <form. I <hope you got them. <Hayirli isler, <Bill < <By Mark Skilling <ISTANBUL?From my living room, I look down a hill, over a collection of red <tiled <rooftops, to the Golden Horn. This river, once beautiful and fast flowing, <is <now stalled and polluted. On the other side of the Golden Horn are the <hills <where the ancient city Byzantium?later to be called Constantinople, later <still <Istanbul?was founded some 2,500 years ago. Above a cement-colored smear of <apartment buildings of much more recent vintage, I can make out the <outlines of <towers that were part of defensive walls first started in the 6th Century. <They <are now rotten with age, though parts had recently been rebuilt for <tourists. <Some of these restored parts collapsed during last Tuesday's earthquake. <The <ancient parts were left unharmed. <(We've deleted the following graf because its effect is compromised by the <fact <that we don't understand the language: Less than a block away is the <minaret of <our small, neighborhood mosque. From here you can hear, five times a day, <its <"ezan" or call to prayer. That call is now as if a lament. The muezzin's <voice <seems fuller, more emotional than usual. He sings in Arabic, which I don't <understand, but I've read that his call reminds the believers that "God is <most <great" and tells them to "Come to prayer, come to prosperity." I listen <carefully, for signs of doubt about God's mercy and compassion. But I <detect no <doubt at all. Instead, it is simply beautiful and sad, and despite not <understanding what he sings, very moving.) <In the last few days I have heard many sad, tired people say automatically, <and <surprisingly without bitterness, that ``Allah verir, Allah alir [God gives, <God <takes away].'' And much has been taken away. The death toll from last <Tuesday's earthquake is likely to exceed 40,000 (we'll make this number <conform <with the best and latest wire service reports we have as of Friday), with <an <equal number injured. Up to 200,000 have been left homeless. Millions <afraid <of the aftershocks, including me, chose to sleep outdoors. <All over Istanbul, in the parks and squares, even on narrow medians between <busy <streets, entire families spent the days and nights on blankets spread out <on the <ground. Usually, you would expect hundreds of tourists to be milling about <in <the grassy Hippodrome alongside the spectacular Blue Mosque and in the <gardens <between that mosque and the Hagia Sophia.But now it was as if a great <migration <were taking place. Many of the women wore brightly colored headscarves. <Other <women, despite the heat, were dressed from head to toe in somber black. <Some <families brought portable propane burners to make their beloved tea. Many <more <had lugged pillows and mattresses, others string and rope which they strung <between trees and posts and used to hang sheets for a bit of privacy. <On the nights immediately after the quake, I was grateful to receive an <invitation to join my friend Ismail's family, to spend the night in a <little <park in the hills above the Bosphorus Bridge. The Bosphorus Bridge is a <huge, <modern suspension bridge connecting Europe and Asia that looks like a gray <version of the Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco. With the bridge's hulk <looming seemingly helplessly (i don't understand, the bridge was helpless? <it <loomed helplessly?) below us, I shared a corner of a colorful Turkish <blanket <covering the ground. We drank tea, smoked cigarettes and joked about being <?MDUL?gocebe?MDNM? [nomads], and about the Turks finally returning to their <forgotten nomadic roots. I practiced my Turkish with the children, who, <unlike <most adults, were able to correct me in English. During the night, while I <slept, someone put a jacket over me. <A week or so later, the rains and cooler weather have come, and the experts <have <given an all-clear sign, most of us have returned to our homes. Back in my <apartment, I glance at my walls, at my ceilings, and find it impossible not <to <think of all those still buried underneath theirs. Last night, at our <favorite <tea garden, I joined Ismail and his wife, Dilek, who had just learned that <three <of her cousins had died in Adapazari, a town that was leveled by the quake. < We <talked about whether people here will ever be able to forget. It hadn't <started <raining yet, so we stayed late, a bit nervous about returning home. <The government, the army and construction contractors are being severely <criticized in the local press and on the streets (for slowness, <carelessness, <greed?). There have been other problems as well. (we've deleted the <following <because this problem seems sort of trivial: In an open area near the caf? I <mentioned above, where dozens of families had come to spend the night, an <old <man had his shoes stolen.) I was told the story of a Turk in Yalova, one <of the <hardest hit areas, selling bottled water for 1.5 million TL (Turkish lira <perhaps?) ($4), 10 times the normal price. The profiteer, however, was <subsequently beaten by the storyteller himself, while a nearby police <officer <did nothing to intervene. <Yet notwithstanding the official response, which has inspired widespread <anger, <the response of ordinary Turks has been overwhelming and impressive. A <large <truck from my relatively poor, working class neighborhood was quickly <filled <with needed supplies -- water, bread, medicine -- and sent to one disaster <site. < The company of one of my students sent along a similar truckload of <supplies, <and has now set up a fund to collect money for the homeless. Efforts like <these have been going on everywhere. Thousands of people from all over <Turkey <have gone to the stricken areas to help, including Kurds who want to prove <their <commitment to the Turkish State. <I recall the criticism I heard after the 1989 San Francisco "World Series'' <Earthquake, which I unfortunately experienced as well. Though admittedly a <much <less serious affair, the cries about lax enforcement of building codes were <similar. Everyone promised to do better, and I hope they have. (We deleted <the <following, which seemed a bit off point: I recall my own pathetic plans, <never <implemented, to prepare for the next "big one". I had cut an article out <of the <paper, which listed the emergency supplies that should be kept close on <hand. <Though I kept that list near to the top of my pile of important papers, <over the <years it simply grew yellow and torn. I finally threw it away at the time <I <packed up for my move to Istanbul. Significantly, b) Before I left San <Francisco last fall, damage from that quake was still being repaired, some <ten <years later, and complaints could still be heard about the government's <continuing failure to enforce building codes rigorously enough. <In the XX months (how many?) I have spent studying and teaching in Istanbul <(is <that accurate?), I have enjoyed almost unending Turkish hospitality. When <I <first came here, on vacation, some two years ago, I met a fine man, Ilyas, <who <makes Saz (is this usage correct? should it be a Saz? Should Saz be caps?) <(a <stringed musical instrument that is as important here as the guitar is in <America) and bought a beautiful one from him. When I returned to Istanbul, <this <time to live (and work?), I visited Ilyas again. When he learned I was <looking <for an apartment, he took most of the next day off and showed me around his <neighborhood, eventually helping me find the place I now live. The Saz <lessons <he eventually gave me were free. My friend Ismail has spent countless <hours <with me, roaming the city, looking for deals on used furniture. He and his <wife <have also lent me a beautiful rug, a blanket, and several other very useful <items in my apartment. I occasionally get gifts from my students, and <never an <unkind word from anyone. After the earthquake itself, several of my <Turkish <friends kept in frequent touch with me. <Several days ago, on the television, I saw and heard a crowd burst into <applause. A young boy had just been rescued from one of the many collapsed <buildings. He appeared dusty but unscathed. As they carried him to an <ambulance a reporter followed, asking him questions. Were you scared? <"Cok <korktum [very scared]!'' His response was perky. He was clearly delighted <to <be back in the world, by the attention he was getting. Then he was asked <about <his family. His eyes grew wide, his face long. "Annem [my mother], <kardesim <[my sister/brother], sesleri duydum [I heard their voices]. Duydum!'' By <the <time they reached the ambulance, he was screaming. "Sesleri duydum! <Sesleri <duydum!'' <I hope the rest of the world hears Turkey's cries for help. <?_va2??MDUL?Mark Skilling is San Francisco attorney who is spending a year <(?) <studying and teaching English in Turkey (again, is this accurate?).?MDNM? < <Bill < ______________________________________________________ Get Your Private, Free Email at http://www.hotmail.com
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