Tue, Sep 18, 2001 page5

• Americans show their true colors

  STARS AND STRIPES US citizens of all persuasions have been buying all the American flags they can find. In New York, patriotism is on sale at just US$4 per flag

  • NY TIMES NEWS SERVICE
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  The signs of the pain inflicted by the terrorists span New York, from the dust cloud over the southern tip of Manhattan to the faces of the missing tacked onto walls in the East Village to the thousands who watch heartbreaking images of the World Trade Center hulk on giant television screens in Times Square.

  But covering all that hurt, not only in New York but across the nation, are countless bandages in red, white and blue. In this city that is so often slow to show its feelings, the American flag bloomed in Manhattan and the boroughs, waved and worn by countless New Yorkers who wanted to do something, anything, to vent their anger and sorrow.

  

  Thousands wave flags in Niagara Square in Buffalo, New York on Sunday during a remembrance rally for victims of last Tuesday's terrorist attacks in New York and Washington.

  PHOTO: AP

  Tiny American flags fluttered from the radio antennas of taxis driven by men from Pakistan, Africa and Latin America. A bicyclist from Belgium, a florist from Korea, a Vietnam veteran from Puerto Rico, all flew the flag in Greenwich Village. Vendors hawked them from midtown sidewalks, patriotism at four bucks a pop.

  Watching them, watching us

  "Just as the terrorists know that we are watching them, we know that they are watching us," said Moses Davila, an unemployed teacher from Puerto Rico. "When they see us in the streets, wearing the flag, they know that we are not afraid of them, and that we will defeat them."

  That sense of patriotism, and defiance, blanketed America.

  In Miami, where protests of the government's handling of the custody battle over Elian Gonzalez had included flag desecration (a tow-truck driver dragged the flag through the streets behind his truck), American flags blossomed from porches in Little Havana.

  In California and in the South, hardware stores and department stores sold out. In the heartland, tiny flags fluttered like wildflowers in highway medians.

  Mohammed Jaje, a cab driver from Pakistan who lives in Brooklyn, had one on his cab until Friday night. Someone took it, he said.

  "I am not mad," Jaje said. "Maybe someone needed it. God bless America."

  In Hammond, Louisiana, about 130km northeast of New Orleans, Melissa Webb wore a T-shirt decorated with the flag on a shopping trip to the mall.

  "We can't do anything to help them because we're down here," said Melissa Webb, 36, who works in a sporting goods store. At least, she said, she can fly the flag to show that her heart is with the rescue crews in New York.

  Flag sightings were countless in the nation's capital, one of the biggest billowing from a staff lugged about the city by 82-year-old Joseph Doria, a Filipino-American veteran of World War II.

  "For years, I wave this flag in the streets and my neighbors think I'm crazy or a communist," said Doria, who seemed in danger of toppling as he grasped a flag twice his size.

  "We divided and scattered after the war. But now, my friend, history repeats," he said of the terror attacks. "And we are learning America's heritage again."

  In Greenville, South Carolina, stores sold out of flags by the weekend. Home Depot and Wal-Mart did not have any left.

  Around the city, thousands flapped in the wind, outside houses, on mailboxes, everywhere. It seemed that at least one in every three cars in Greenville had a flag on it, sometimes two.

  Some did not have to shop for a flag. Bob Krause, a former marine, had flags that have been in the family for generations, flags that flew over old wars. Brock Sanders hung a 48-star American flag inherited from his grandfather who had flown the same flag after Pearl Harbor was bombed.

  On Peachtree Road in Atlanta, signs of patriotism marked almost every block -- flags flying at half-staff in Buckhead in front of Lenox Square and Phipps Plaza malls, at the Marta train station. Expensive homes with neatly trimmed lawns have flags draped across the front door.

  A red Cadillac with four large flags in each corner, its radio blaring "Stop, hey, what's that sound, everybody look what's going down," pulled out of Rocky's Italian Restaurant on Peachtree where a band was playing a "USA Jam" to raise money for the Red Cross. A woman walked out of a church on Peachtree wearing an antebellum-style Southern bonnet with red, white and blue ribbons.

  On a football weekend in the Deep South, cars that would have normally flown college flags now flew one, the same one.

  American heartland

  In the heartland, the flag waved from the antennas of hot rods. In Brookville, Ohio, gasoline stations and the Holiday Inn pushed flags on 2-foot sticks into their grounds. Hastily made paper flags appeared in windows of trailers and rich people's homes. Flags appeared on the tops of buildings that had never before wore one. In Rockford, Rochelle and Le Roy, Illinois, the flag hung at half-staff and from poles in front of courthouse squares, schools, town halls and police stations.

  "There is hope in that familiar sight," wrote Carin Chappelow, in a column for the Journal Review, a daily newspaper with a circulation of 10,000 in Crawfordsville, Indiana. The Wal-Mart there ran out of flags on Wednesday.

  At the start of a prayer service in front of the court house in Crawfordsville, Glen Long, a member of the local post of the Veterans of Foreign Wars, clutched three small flags. "Five minutes ago I had 48," he said.

  Near Washington, in the well-to-do, normally sedate Chevy Chase Village, on the northwest edge of the capital, six flags appeared on a single block of Grafton Street. John Klein, a retired federal worker, usually puts one up on holidays. Klein's flag is there again. But there is another on the home of Laurence Alvarado, an accounting firm executive, and another at the home of Peter Yeo, a Senate aide, and Ann Urban, a consultant. Another waves across the street, from the stoop of Emilie Downs and Clark Evans Downs, a partner in a law firm in Washington. "Because of what happened," said Julia Downs, one of the couple's two college-age daughters.
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