Early in the morning on September 11, 2001, my phone rang. My first thought was, “It can’t be good news if someone is calling this early.” I didn’t answer it, & even in my sleep, I figured if it was really something serious, that person would call back. Not a minute later, my boyfriend Dany’s cell phone rang–& I thought, “That can’t be a coincidence.”
“My mom said to turn on the television.” Dany said.
We watched in disbelief as news footage showed the Towers billowing smoke. “Is this real?” we asked. We had no way to process what we were seeing. Wide shots showed us that the Towers were burning at the top floors. Those skyscrapers looked so sturdy still that I was certain human ingenuity had put into place all the sprinklers necessary to quench those flames, & all would be well. I’m embarrassed to admit that I said, “This is like a movie.” Because that’s what we say when something is so real, it’s got to be fake.
Close-ups revealed tiny human beings–people, real live people–clinging to the window openings. My horrified brain calculated that those windows on the top floors were never meant to be opened…that they must have been broken open by chairs, tables, god-only-knows-what in desperation & last ditch efforts. I clutched my head as I saw people, real live people holding hands & leaping out of those windows into nothingness. Rescue seemed suddenly ridiculous.
About an hour into it, the news stations stopped showing people jumping to their deaths.*
But at least all those people below the fire would get out, right? Those invincible, man-made structures of steel had well-planned & code-enforced emergency exits & stairways sure to lead to escape…
We watched as they melted before our very eyes, first one, then the other–descending in a waterfall of glass, metal, & people, real people…so tiny we didn’t really see them, but we knew they were there.
We watched in silence & gasps. We watched until we couldn’t take it anymore. And then we drove to Dany’s parents’ house a few minutes away. The streets were deserted, & in Los Angeles, if there is ever no traffic, you can be sure that is a sign that something is very wrong.
By the time we got there, the live footage on CNN was cut together with anchor commentary & statements & speculation & reports from many on the front lines.
We watched again until we were spent, & then we needed to see some life, to find some hope. We drove toward the ocean through those empty boulevards. We came to the water & carried with us the suffocating feeling of despair & disbelief at the horror that humans can bring upon other humans. The rest of the day was lost to that hopelessness; I can’t recall where I was or what we did as that day drew to an end.
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I read later in Time magazine one writer’s analysis about the difference between the flight that went into the Pentagon & the flight that went down in the field in Pennsylvania: The passengers American Airlines 11 suffered what he described as “a failure of the imagination:” they literally couldn’t imagine the intentions of the hijackers, so evil as they were. It was beyond the moral scope of regular people to believe that hijackers would use a plane–with civilian passengers aboard–as a missile. But the passengers on United Airlines 93 already heard what had happened. They didn’t have to imagine what these people had planned–they knew. And heroically, they resisted.
And so it was that our innocence was lost as a nation. As we drove through quiet streets on that day, we felt palpably the bewilderment & the confusion & fear of the city around us, our neighbors hidden in their homes. We were wounded psychically, our imaginations stretched beyond our comfort zones. I thought about Hiroshima & Nagasaki–what those entire cities must have been like after they were bombed, not the wreckage of former buildings, but the wreckage that was inside people’s heads. How cities are made not of steel & concrete but of people’s feelings & beliefs.
It’s not as though we haven’t learned from history what evil humans can perpetuate upon each other–the genocides, the atom bombs. We know. But on September 11, 2001, we watched. We saw it unfold live, & then we saw it in pictures both moving & still in the days & weeks to come.
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This post is dedicated to the photographers who brought us the images that told all the stories of loss & life on & after September 11.
Photographer Bill Biggart’s final photograph, taken just before he was killed by the falling of the South Tower is below. He was shooting two film cameras and a Canon D30–digital technology was new, & he was using it. All the film canisters found with his equipment were un-usable from damage, but his CF card in the digital camera was completely intact.
Biggart’s equipment was recovered in the debris. His body was found on September 15, 2001.
Just before he was killed, he told his wife to meet him at his studio in 20 minutes. “I’m safe,” he said. “I’m with the firemen.”
Read more about Bill & his work at his website.
* Click here to read Tom Junod’s riveting article about the photograph known as “The Falling Man.”
