Read To Reach the Clouds Online

Authors: Philippe Petit

To Reach the Clouds (25 page)

One more thing: Philippe, you are not a coward — so what I want to hear from you is the ecstatic truth about the twin towers.
WERNER HERZOG
High wire artist Philippe Petit has performed — clandestinely or by invitation — for 35 years on five continents. In addition to writing about his art, he gives lectures on creativity and motivation, draws, performs close-up magic, practices the art of lock-picking and eighteenth-century timber framing, plays chess, and studies French wines. He has been arrested more than five hundred times for street-juggling.
He divides his time between the Cathedral Church of St John the Divine in New York City where he is an Artist-in-Residence, and a hideaway in the Catskills Mountains.
 
‘A necessary reminder of the beauty and wonder of a city, and the peculiar splendour of which human beings are capable.'
The Times
 
‘Reads like a thriller written by a poet.'
Newsday
 
‘A beautifully written heart-stopping thriller, infused with poetry and the spirit of a monomaniac artist possessed of total tunnel vision.'
Scotland on Sunday
 
‘This book is as awe-inspiring as are his accomplishments on the wire.' Milos Forman
 
‘The story of his preparation — gathering his team, casing the joint, getting hold of the gear — reads like a crime novel: it could be a bank heist … I have to admit that by the time I came to the crossing itself, my pulse rate had accelerated perceptibly.'
Daily Telegraph
 
‘An incredibly audacious magical tale of the impossible.' Debra Winger
 
‘What this book celebrates is the refusal to live life at ground level, when alternatives are available to anyone with sufficient energy and imagination … Breathtakingly life affirming.'
Sunday Times
‘It was Philippe Petit who connected the twin towers of the World Trade Center, in an act of beauty and ecstasy.' Werner Herzog
 
‘Written with poetry, passion and far less self-indulgence than anyone has a right to expect … An almost unbearable ripping yarn, made all the more poignant by the events of 2001.'
Focus
 
‘Gradually, the story takes on the tension of a thriller, with preparations as fraught and meticulous as a bank heist … The vertiginous photos speak for themselves. Compelling, terrifying and beautiful, they frame a moment when the triumphal towers became synonymous with human frailty, as they did again 28 years later.'
Observer
 
‘Philippe Petit soars on the page as he has soared in mid-air: Norman Lear
 
‘Most emphatically not another post-9/11 cash-in but an impressionistic memoir … Petit combines the story of his ascent with lost loves and dashed ideals; an entertaining, nostalgic read.'
i-D
 
‘Philippe Petit is an artist whose theater is the sky. In this absorbing book, he reveals himself to be equal parts Houdini, Nureyev, and Da Vinci.'Robin Williams
 
‘A hymn to human aspiration, ingenuity and courage, and an antidote to all the horror and suffering that is otherwise now associated with the Twin Towers.'
The Spectator
 
‘There is no one alive like Philippe Petit. So it comes as no surprise that he undertakes to do a literary act — that species of tightrope! — and succeeds. One of the trickiest tests of a memoir is to write well about a splendid feat when it is one's own. Cheers.' Norman Mailer
 
‘An invaluable historical document … and a passionate account of a grand, shameless obsession.'
Times Literary Supplement
IN MEMORIAM
 
ON THE MORNING OF SEPTEMBER 11, 2001, THE TWIN TOWERS OF THE WORLD TRADE CENTER WERE DESTROYED.
MY TOWERS BECAME OUR TOWERS. I SAW THEM COLLAPSE—HURLING, CRUSHING THOUSANDS OF LIVES.
DISBELIEF PRECEDED SORROW FOR THE OBLITERATION OF THE BUILDINGS, PERPLEXITY DESCENDED BEFORE RAGE AT THE UNBEARABLE LOSS OF LIFE.
 
EYES CLOSED, I REMEMBER AND PAY MY RESPECTS
TO THE VICTIMS AND TO THEIR FAMILIES.
Forged by fortuitousness,
forever
is a dangerous word.
 
On the morning of July 14, 1902, the floating city of Venice woke up to a low-pitched, quavering sound.
Overlooking the square of San Marco, the Campanile, the 325-foot tower that was a symbol of the city's power and prosperity, forever its pride, shivered, shook, and collapsed.
On itself.
Like that.
In a cloud of masonry dust.
A miracle for the busy crossroad—markets unfolding, churches congregating—that no one was hurt.
 
A kid picked up a brick to look at it. It was unbroken, as were the million others—a miracle of a different sort. The brick was passed to someone else. A human chain soon formed. Each brick was retrieved, cleaned, and stacked.
By evening, it was decided the Campanile would be rebuilt
com'era, dov'era:
as it was, where it was.
Before midnight, posters announcing the news, and printed free of charge by an old typesetter, were pasted all over the city by its proud inhabitants.
 
A new tower, an exact replica, was inaugurated in 1912.
 
Remember the World Trade Center tragedy.
Establish a memorial site.
Build again.
 
Let us pass from hand to hand the bricks of renaissance. Let us print WE SHALL NOT BE DOOMED and paste the message high in the sky, for all in the world to read aloud.
Let us rebuild the twin towers.
We need the fuel of time and money, the mortar of ideas, and the million bricks of everyone's concern. Bring yours.
Here is mine:
I envision the twin towers
com‘era, dov'era,
but with a twist, a dash of inventive panache. Architects, please make them more magnificent—try a twist, a quarter turn along their longitudinal axes. Make them higher—yes, one more floor, so they reach 111 stories high. And make them stronger, as well as stronger-looking—smoothing the base outward, like those coffee cups that are impossible to topple, is one way. I'll wait. We'll wait.
 
When the towers again twin-tickle the clouds, I offer to walk again, to be the expression of the builders' collective voice. Together, we will rejoice in an aerial song of victory. I will carry my life across the wire, as your life, as all our lives, past, present, and future—the lives lost, the lives welcomed since.
We can overcome.
The Very Reverend James Parks Morton, my spiritual father, Dean Emeritus of the Cathedral Church of St. John the Divine, once said, “Philippe does not believe in God, but God believes in Philippe.” How else would I have been blessed with the superb craftsmanship of the world's best editor, Rebecca Saletan? Our frequent eight-hour-long sessions were joyous brainstormings rather than the bloody combat I had anticipated. Without impoverishing the story or curtailing my style, Becky improved the structure of the book and refined the texture of my writing to such a degree that I owe her a compliment inspired by the film As
Good As It Gets
: “You make me want to be a better writer.” In the process, the unbelievable happened: I now count a literary editor among my friends!
 
Thanks to the continuous support of Andrew Wylie and the vision of my literary agent, Jeffrey Posternak,
To Reach the Clouds
reached North Point Press/Farrar, Straus and Giroux with the swiftness of an arrow shot by Jean-Louis.
 
Jean-Pierre Pappis of Polaris Images aided me literally day and night with the illustrations. When it came to maneuvering my way through my vast archive of film and video—an essential part of researching the story—John Love and his New Vision Communications provided invaluable technical help.
 
I shared my concerns about technical accuracy regarding the twin towers with Guy F. Tozzoli, and received, along with colorful stories, a personal introduction to Leslie E. Robertson, the principal structural engineer.
 
During the writing of this book (and before), Jay Goerk, Judith Friedlaender, Debra Winger, and Joe DeBellis contributed a resource I know little about—money—exemplifying friendship at its most generous.
What do you call an invitation to break bread with the best restaurateurs in the worid—culinary friendship? Thank you Karen and David Waltuck, along with Sara and Jake, for opening your home to Kathy and me, and for the earthly delights from your sublime Chanterelle.
Valerie Fanarjian, inspiring Catskills artist of vast talent, opened her heart and her home to encourage the author—the public reading she organized helped me put the manuscript to the test.
Elaine Fasula, Steve Moore, and little Raimi the frog-hunter in their house at the top of the hill were always eager to share their
pasta al pesto
on short notice, and to listen to the latest chaptersin-progress.
A storm fells a tree, cutting power? My neighbor T.J. Kellogg, with his wife, Charlene, their children, and his backhoe, was a speedy warrior against the forces of nature that tried to prevent me from writing.
A few miles away, renaissance artist John Kahn offered myriad forms of friendship and support. On the other side of the ocean, Dr. Catherine Dolto, my
Valet d'Epee,
knows my every move, and waits with love to assist me.
Living legend Francis Brunn, performer extraordinaire Nathalie Enterline, and flamenco guitarist Raphael Brunn were the perfect Manhattan hosts during the period of numerous meetings with my publisher. Francis and I have brought the art of interruption to new heights, but his opinions, even expressed in the heat of our crisscrossing monologues, carried weight with me and influenced the book.
 
A special bow of gratitude to producer-director James Signorelli, who was the first to believe in this “true crime” story, and who helped so much in assembling the mosaic of information I needed to write it.
 
Welcome to the Right Reverend Mark S. Sisk, fifteenth Bishop of New York, and to the Very Reverend Dr. James A. Kowalski, ninth Dean of the Cathedral Church of St. John the Divine. I cannot wait to start daydreaming about new projects in my triforium office at the Cathedral, which I salute and thank here for continuing to shelter and inspire this poet-of-the-sky.
 
To Reach the Clouds
opens and closes with an immense thank you to Kathy O'Donnell. Only she and I know how many words were processed, copied, challenged, replaced, retyped and changed again, all with her unflagging literary expertise and energy. I am eager to work with her on the next book, on the next walk.

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