I wasn’t in New York City during 9/11, but I was there when a blackout plunged the Northeast into darkness two years later. I worked at a motorcycle shop in Hell’s Kitchen that year. And it was a completely ordinary day at work up until the power went out. Nobody “sensed” anything ominous on the horizon that day; no prophecies foretold of the event (that I know of). Instead, it was all very simple and sudden. Our computer screens flicked off, and that was it.

At first we just thought it was a temporary problem due to “creative” wiring in the building. Other similar things had happened before. But after a few minutes with no power, we began to realize something unusual was going on. We looked out into the street. Cars and pedestrians bustled along as usual, even though other nearby buildings didn’t have any power either. Aron checked his cell phone. No signal. I checked mine. Same thing. We began to sort of half-theorize about a terrorist attack, or more outlandish scenarios like an electro-magnetic pulse. For some reason, a simple blackout never sprang to mind. I guess that’s just the type of world we live in today.

We wandered downstairs to see what everybody else was doing. Except for Aron and I, everybody else in the shop was Israeli and they were all working busily like nothing had happened. It figured; they were pretty much workaholics, putting in 60-70 hour weeks on average. Nothing could put a bump in their progress. Not even the possible terrorist attack we were considering. They were all pretty used to that kind of thing, having served out their terms in the IDF (the Israeli Defense Forces).

Humoring us though, they checked their cell phones as well. They all had the walkie-talkie feature, and they worked even though the cellular system was down. Through them, we learned that Brooklyn and Queens were down for the count too. Somebody dug out an old battery-powered radio, and we caught the report that a huge area from Canada down through Michigan had gone dark. Nobody knew precisely what caused it, but authorities were saying it wasn’t a terrorist attack. Somewhat pacified, we decided to head home since there wasn’t too much we could do without electricity.

I lived in Brooklyn, so I had a big walk ahead of me. Since it ran off the electrical “third rail” the subway system was screwed up too. Otherwise I would have hopped on that no problem. Instead, I joined the mass exodus of people moving homeward.

All at once, Manhattan coughed up all it’s people into the streets. Hundreds of thousands filling up every sidewalk. Some people darted about with fierce determination, but I meandered slowly southward, taking it all in. Even though it was going to be a good three hour walk, I was happy that I lived somewhere I could get back to on foot. I passed by plenty of other stranded commuters who were staking out good spots to rest: like on the steps of the Post Office and other major buildings. Nobody was really sure how long the system would be down for, and some seemed to be preparing for the worst.

Overall though, the mood on the street ranged from calm, to good, to downright festive. Maybe it was just something about the city or its people, but during civilization’s momentary hiccup, everybody was whirring along without missing a single beat. If anything, people seemed more active, more alive – even more friendly. Down in the Village a man on a street corner passed out free ice cream and other frozen treats to the voyagers. I got some Haagen Dazs vanilla caramel, and he even gave me a spoon. Who knows if it was charity or just pragmatism. Better to give them away than have to throw them away, I guess. It seemed like most of the restaurants and bars stayed open too. Blackout or no blackout, it was New York, and people still wanted to spend money and eat food. Candles came out, gas grills got fired up and people tried to gulp down beer before it got warm (and continued long after).

Traffic everywhere was terribly snarled and it wasn’t helped by those of us who’d taken to the street to cut around the crowds. In SoHo, people with trucks and big vehicles were picking up passengers to take over the bridge – some negotiating for money, others just for the hell of it. Police (and even some civilians) directed traffic at various intersections, and gave directions to tourists and to New Yorkers who weren’t accustomed to having to walk everywhere.

I was so caught up in all the excitement that I walked down way too far, missing my bridge. By the time I backtracked up to the Williamsburg bridge, they’d closed off several lanes of traffic, and people were streaming over in droves. For some reason, crowds of people walking across a bridge stands out as one of the most apocalyptic images I can imagine. It was like something out of The Stand or some other doomsday movie. Women in heels with children, the elderly, and the rest of us all mixed together, all plodding slowly onwards amidst the ruins of civilization. Did all these people even know how to get home on foot, I wondered? I was only vaguely sure myself, but I’d figure it out.

Over the bridge, the crowd split up in different directions. The little corner stores - the backbone of Brooklyn - kept their doors open regardless. Shoplifting, I’m sure, ran even higher than normal as people navigated the narrow aisles in the dark, stocking up on emergency water, food, toilet paper and cigarettes.

I got home a while later, took a shower and tried to nap on the couch. The heat was stifling with no fan, so I didn’t get much rest. When my roommate Drew came home later, we decided to go out on the town. We weren’t too keen on walking the back alleys of the ghetto in total darkness, so we hopped in his truck and went looking for action. Up by the East River we found it.

Stopped at an intersection, we suddenly heard a strange noise and peered ahead in the darkness. What the hell…? Some kind of spontaneous parade had sprung up out of nowhere! I couldn’t believe it. Eight or ten people with brass instruments formed the head of a huge writhing mass of people. They just seemed to be walking the streets, singing, dancing, making noise – just for the hell of it. Immediately, we parked the truck and jumped out to join them. People grabbed garbage can lids and debris off the street and pressed them into service as noisemakers. One guy lit bottle rockets and assorted small firecrackers. People cheered. All to the sound of a raucous Dixieland jazz band leading us inexorably down to the river.

I didn’t see anybody being baptized down there, but I can only describe the whole thing as a religious experience. Everybody was happy and laughing; even the most uptight Brooklyn hipster had a smile on his face. The band played on as the moon rose over the river. People danced and sang. Until the cops showed up, that is. But when they got out of their cars, the cops laughed and got excited too. They loved it! They swayed to the music and swiveled their flashlights back and forth over the revelers. They weren’t here to bust us, but to join in the fun. It was unreal.

Eventually, our party took back to the streets. We didn’t get far before the entire crowd poured into a tiny dive bar. The band took over the stage. Somebody manned the house drum set, and before we knew it, the place exploded in dancing and warm beer. I was barefoot by then, having broken my sandals inadvertently in the parade. And now with blackened beer-soaked feet, I danced with everybody else. We climbed on top of tables, chairs and whatever we could find. Not to be outdone, the bartender aimed the water hose from behind the bar and started spraying the whole crowd. The only word I could use to describe it is: glorious. It seems like a dream looking back.

Electricity came back slowly the next day. Some rich areas in Manhattan had supposedly gotten power back the night before. Those of us in the ghetto didn’t until late afternoon.

What little food was left in our refrigerator was spoiled, so Drew and I set out on foot that afternoon for a cold drink. Ice became our Holy Grail. None of the shops could help us though. Everything everywhere was lukewarm, room temperature – which I guess will be one of the defining characteristics of the end of civilization. We passed by all kinds of neighborhood people who were making the best of it though. They sat outside and grilled meat, sharing what they had and giving out burgers to people who went by before the meat went bad.

Of course, there was plenty of gouging – which is only to be expected. Anytime something bad happens, somebody manages to figure out how to make a killing off it. I remember one crappy little restaurant had a sign out front advertising five dollar peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Ridiculous. Drew and I eventually managed to track down one of those food trucks: the type that goes around the city selling coffee and juice for breakfast. Since they were “off the grid” these trucks had managed to stay cold. I think we paid something like $3.00 for a bottle of soda. But I’ll tell you what: it was damn worth it. More than anything, I think it was the quest to find it that tasted so sweet.

As we passed through neighborhoods, electricity came back in waves. You could tell because when it did, a section of the street ahead or behind would suddenly let up a cheer. When we finally caught up with it, we were so in awe that we went into a shop just to see what it looked like with the lights on again. What a weird feeling that was. Exciting, but also somehow disappointing. It meant the fun was about to end, and that everybody was about to go back to the “real world.” I didn’t really want to. Warm drinks aside, I was starting to like it there in fantasy land.

The news stations reported later, with admiration, how little crime there had been. The people of New York City had managed to band together and get through a tough time, with very little problems. I guess everybody was paranoid too because back in the big 1977 blackout, looting and riots had broken out. Maybe that would have happened if ours lasted longer though, who knows. About the only “bad” thing we saw in our walk was an Off-Track Betting place with a smashed door. Hard to resist, I guess. Once the blackout was history, there was a lot of buzz about 9/11 and how that collective tragedy had somehow prepared people emotionally to get through this situation without all the stupid turmoil you’d normally expect. Really though, I think we just don’t give people enough credit when the chips are down. We’re not raging savages; we’re actually pretty awesome.

For me personally, the experience of the 2003 blackout was life-altering. It showed me real solid proof of a potentially transformed world – even if it only lasted for a short time. The blackout showed me life in New York need not consist solely of crowded subway trips where you tried not to make eye contact with people around you. Instead, we could get together and just freakin’ dance like it was the end of the world. And we could all share a real experience instead of zoning out, each of us cocooned in our iPods and New York Times best-sellers.

Religious fanatics love to scream at you about how “The end is near!” Even though a lot of what they say is bullshit, I think they have a point. They think God’s gonna come down with a flaming sword and then… KABLAMMO! It’s all over. Better luck next time. Me, I believe that the Apocalypse happens to one person at a time. Throughout life, each of us reaches a point of no return and undergoes our own private “End of the World As We Know It”. Rather than being a bad thing though, these “little Apocalypses” become a place where we can start over with a clean slate and see life and the world with fresh eyes. That’s actually what the word “Apocalypse” means: a revealing of what was hidden. The thing to keep in mind is that end really is near – as near as the next moment, which could transform you completely if you allow it to. And after that is a whole new beginning. Ironically, the lights going out in the city allowed me see more clearly than I ever had before. It was my own little Apocalypse and I loved it.