The steady, ever ready Richie Sheirer, good shepherd of the Office of Emergency Management during the September 11 attacks and in the months thereafter, passed away this week, at 65. He represented the paragon of public service in a time of dire crisis and will be widely mourned and missed.

Don Van Natta in today's New York Times expounds on what has long been reported: that British journalists (or investigators working for one or more British tabloids) allegedly hacked into the telephones of the families of victims of the 9/11 attacks. Suspicions had been raised when callers heard clicking sounds on their telephones, secondary conversations while on the line, odd playbacks or erasures of voice messages--and salient facts about their lives and losses appearing in the U.K. press just days after those subjects were discussed over the phone. The Justice Department is investigating.

Peace.

And health, inspiration, productivity, reward, bliss, fulfillment. Too much loss and heartbreak in 2011.

May you be blessed with peace, love, enlightenment, prosperity, and good health in the coming year. And don't forget your sweater.

The leading English-language essayist of our age. Journalist. Literary legend. Firebrand. Truth-seeker. Rabble-rouser. Self-professed contrarian. Principal of principles. Provocateur. Colleague. Friend.

Christopher Hitchens, 62, passed away 36 hours ago (after a bout of pneumonia that came on during his battle with cancer of the esophagus) and already the intersecting spheres of journalism and literature have been knocked off-axis.

In this year when four friends have passed on--photographers Brian Lanker and Tim Hetherington, restaurateur Elaine Kaufman, and my dearest mate since childhood, Marc Kravitz--if I have found any consolation since hearing the news of Christopher's departure, it is in the belief that the heavens (despite his avowed atheism) will have opened up to embrace him, as George Orwell and Dorothy Parker stand ready to welcome him with a generous glass of Johnny Walker Black on ice.

As added consolation, I have found these observations by his friends to be more heartwarming than heartbreaking...

...Remembrances from Graydon Carter, Ian McEwan, Christopher Buckley, George Eaton, various friends at Slate, and the introduction to a recent book of Christopher's, written by Martin Amis.

...And I also recommend these pieces, written since this original post, by Henry Porter and Ross Douthat.

Succinct as a haiku, this video from NBC Nightly News with Brian Williams shows the progress of the new structure, One World Trade Center, already visible from all five New York City boroughs.

An uplifting sight, quite literally.

From the advance word...the Oscar buzz...the cast (Tom Hanks, Sandra Bullock, Max von Sydow, Jeffrey Wright, et al)...and the trailer, the post-9/11 film, Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close (based on the novel by Jonathan Safran Foer), looks irresistible--even if potentially unbearable.

This passage, from Rachel Wolan's Tumblr Tribute to Marc Kravitz, Modeh 365, is written by Harriet (Howie) Seitler, in the spirit of giving thanks and in the hope of advancing Marc's legacy and values.

The popular New York Times Lensblog ran a piece this week about the work of photographer Gregg Brown, who made daily sorties over Ground Zero, camera in hand, in the weeks following the 9/11 attacks.

Chapter four of Watching the World Change begins with FEMA's 2 a.m. phone call to Brown, enlisting him to shoot aerial imagery above the wreckage of the towers.

After losing one's best friend smack in the prime of life, and quite suddenly at that, one doesn't know quite when the grief will sneak up and engulf. Yesterday, it so happens--after spending two hours lugging and stacking a half cord of firewood with my son on a golden autumn afternoon--my was one of those sneak-up-on-you days.

Simon & Garfunkel's song, "Old Friends," came upon me softly, playing innocently on the radio on the dashboard, and I had to pull off the highway. To me the tune was mournful, the lyrics ominous, a song about something I had yet to lose: those years of turning old with Marc and sharing as many future autumn afternoons as we had bright springtimes in the endless noon of our youth.

"..Can you imagine us
Years from today,
Sharing a park bench quietly?
How terribly strange
To be seventy.
Old friends,
Memory brushes the same years
Silently sharing the same fears..."