O artigo A Father’s Pain and an Empty Pizzeria no Times de hoje, mostra o outro lado das histórias com que a tv domina as audiências.Esta semana as autoridades americanas prenderam 6 alegados terroristas suspeitos de planearem um ataque ao campo militar de Fort Dix, em New Jersey, onde se treina a grande maioria dos soldados americanos que vão para o Iraque e Afeganistão.
O artigo fala da história de um imigrante turco que veio para NJ com a mulher e três filhos e que começou por lavar pratos num restaurante italiano. Com trabalho e força de vontade, conseguiu ao longo dos anos poupar o suficiente para em 2002 comprar o seu próprio restaurante a cerca de 5 km de Fort Dix. O restaurante era um sucesso até terça feira passada, quando o filho do esforçado imigrante foi preso junto com cinco outros radicais Islâmicos.
A situação de um pai que não fazia ideia do que o seu filho andava a planear é, já de si, dramática. Ser o restaurante pagar a factura é cruel. E lembro-me da familia (também imigrante, mas da Coreia) do autor do massacre de Virginia Tech com um drama semelhante por de trás da história que faz vender os jornais.
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(...) Mr. Tatar’s story echoes the oft-repeated immigrant tale. He brought his wife and three young children to Cherry Hill, where Serdar went to the same high school as several of the men accused of being his co-conspirators. He began washing dishes at an Italian restaurant there, and began dreaming at the same time. He watched the chefs prepare pasta and pizza. In 2002, he bought Super Mario’s, about three miles from the entrance to Fort Dix. (...)
Mr. Tatar, who has a gentle, easygoing manner, quickly made friends, and business boomed. Meanwhile, Serdar, who worked at the restaurant the first few years, moved to Philadelphia and found a job at 7-Eleven.
The father said the son fell in with a bad crowd (...)
At noon on Friday, five cars were in the restaurant’s parking lot, which has spaces for five times that many vehicles; business, Mr. Tatar had said the day before, “is 99 percent dead.”
Inside, the restaurant’s four-person staff was left to wander among the 18 barren tables at the pizzeria, where posters of Italian cities are on one wall, near two framed prints of the World Trade Center, the lights of the twin towers glistening at night.
“Everybody love me,” Mr. Tatar said of what suddenly seems another life. “Now I am bad person.
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(...) Mr. Tatar’s story echoes the oft-repeated immigrant tale. He brought his wife and three young children to Cherry Hill, where Serdar went to the same high school as several of the men accused of being his co-conspirators. He began washing dishes at an Italian restaurant there, and began dreaming at the same time. He watched the chefs prepare pasta and pizza. In 2002, he bought Super Mario’s, about three miles from the entrance to Fort Dix. (...)
Mr. Tatar, who has a gentle, easygoing manner, quickly made friends, and business boomed. Meanwhile, Serdar, who worked at the restaurant the first few years, moved to Philadelphia and found a job at 7-Eleven.
The father said the son fell in with a bad crowd (...)
At noon on Friday, five cars were in the restaurant’s parking lot, which has spaces for five times that many vehicles; business, Mr. Tatar had said the day before, “is 99 percent dead.”
Inside, the restaurant’s four-person staff was left to wander among the 18 barren tables at the pizzeria, where posters of Italian cities are on one wall, near two framed prints of the World Trade Center, the lights of the twin towers glistening at night.
“Everybody love me,” Mr. Tatar said of what suddenly seems another life. “Now I am bad person.
He must find a new chef: the last one, who said that he had a son serving with the 82nd Airborne, quit in disgust on Tuesday as Mr. Tatar’s son appeared in federal court.
The one thing in which he might find solace, work, is denied to him because there is no one at the restaurant to serve. (...)
The one thing in which he might find solace, work, is denied to him because there is no one at the restaurant to serve. (...)
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