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I stayed at the Tribeca Grand, where the conference was held. Those weeks the streets lay empty of vehicles south of Canal Street. No traffic. One night I walked eight blocks in Tribeca without seeing another person,
like a scene from The Third Man. Dust coated everything, doorways loomed vacant, unlit,
dark. The glow of the giant lights where the wreckage workers worked all night silhouetted the
view south.
A week or so after 9/11/01, I traveled to New York to attend the IFP’s No Borders Conference. I had never been to a film festival or movie industry event before, didn’t know what happened, and relied on two associates, Jessica
Shamash and Robert Goodman, for tips on what to do. I was there because Robert had suggested we submit the project I was working on, something about books
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