A Reflection on 9/11 Twenty Years Later

“Start spreading the news…I’m leaving today….I want to be a part of it, New York, New York.” That one line crooned by Frank Sinatra as written by Fred Ebb and John Kander, has the power to take me back. Back to the backseat of my grandfather’s Buick where I excitedly asked (over and over again) “Are we there yet? Are we there yet?!?” From my home in Bethlehem, PA, it was an endless (to a 9-year-old) drive, cruising along Route 22, past NJ cornfields and forests, headed into “the city”. It wasn’t long before forests, tilled earth and crops gave way to grungy industrial buildings whizzing by my window. And before I knew it, there it was – the New York City Skyline, Twin towers distinctly visible amongst the stair step of buildings that stood watch over a city that held the promise of adventures like Broadway plays, Bloomingdales, a carriage ride through Central Park (before it was unsafe and scammy), and the most wonderful toy store a child could ask for – FAO Schwartz. This was my childhood. 

My grandmother was a huge influence in my life when it came to travel. She called it the “good life” and it was. But it wasn’t always. I lived a life full of very high highs and very low lows. But both have helped me become the person I am today. And it all started with New York City. Only an hour and a half by bus, and a little longer by car, it was the place my grandmother escaped to when she wanted to get out of town, and I was the fortunate benefactress of her affections (as the only granddaughter at the time) so I went with her. I look back now and think to myself, man – how lucky was I! I saw CATS and Phantom of the Opera and RENT with the original cast on (and off) Broadway. I saw the Rockettes perform their famous Toy Soldier routine every year at the Christmas Spectacular at Radio City Music Hall. I saw the Nutcracker at the New York City Ballet. I had croissant-with-strawberry-jam breakfasts at famous hotels and steak dinners at the now-closed Benny Benson’s Steak House. I had pastrami at the great Carnegie Deli (also now closed) and Easter Kielbasi from Polish delis. I had trips to the Central Park Zoo to watch the penguins and Polar Bears swim. And I had dinner more than once at the Windows of the World Restaurant on top of the North Tower  – Building One of the Original World Trade Center – until it literally all came crumbling down.

It’s hard to believe it’s been TWENTY years since the terrorist attacks of September 11^th. And still, it feels like yesterday. Growing up so close to the city, and the city being so close to my heart, it literally rocked my world the morning it all went down. My first thought was: “No way. This isn’t real.” My second thought was: “It’s going to be ok – see! The Twin Towers are still standing.” And then my third thought – as it became very clear that it wasn’t going to be ok – was: “Where is my family? Where are my friends? Are any of them in the city today?” I know my concerns pale in comparison to those who lived there, lived through it, in the moment and in the aftermath. I cannot even imagine. I was lucky. Everyone close to me was safe. I was living in South Carolina at the time – a world away – so it took a while to know that because all the phone lines were busy and all the news was dire. But they were safe. I lost a piece of my childhood that day, but so many lost so much more…lives, loved ones, futures.

I often believe everything happens for a reason. But I had a hard time reasoning this one out. Whether there was a reason or not, what I saw in the days and weeks and months and now decades that followed after was a rallying of people –from New Yorkers, who really, literally, will NEVER forget, to United States citizens who hung flags from every highway overpass and draped them across every window and building as a statement of solidarity, of support, to give hope where there seemed to be none.  I watched the tireless, often thankless, efforts of the first responders and passers-by who dug through the rubble for days, weeks. And then I watched as those who were left built a memorial so that the lost would not be forgotten.

I know that some of you may be reading this and wondering why we still talk about 9/11 twenty years later. Does it matter? I think, if anything, what matters is not just that we remember but perhaps, to connect it to what I do as a photographer, the way in which we remember. Twenty years later, what do we have? How do we remember? Photographs. Photographs that tell the story of how it happened, of who it happened to, of what happened after; heart-wrenching photographs that even today fill the space at the 9/11 Tribute Museum and National September 11th Memorial & Museum.  I have been to those places and they are heart-wrenching. I have walked the 8-acre memorial that stands on the site where the World Trade Center complex used to be. I have gazed upon the inscribed names of the 2,977 people killed that day. I am thankful none of them were mine. And my heart is with those who were not as lucky and how they will deal with what this day means to them even twenty years later. Because they belonged to someone. And yes, the children affected by 9/11 are grown now, with lives of their own, and perhaps they only remember those they loved and lost through photographs  – printed, digital, photocopies of copies, it doesn’t matter the medium. Photographs may be the only thing left to remind the ones who are left of what once was.

If I’ve ever wondered whether what I do matters, questioned whether my job as a photographer is important, doubted my ability to impact, I try to remember this: Photographers are necessary, essential, critical. Photographers are the architects of memory. Photographers are the conduits of time travel through imagery. Photographers are visual storytellers, capturing moments that will survive long after simple human existence has run its course. Whether it’s due to old age, or a global pandemic, or a tragedy like what happened on 9/11, my clients experience loss, we all experience loss. And I, photographer, help others remember. Just as, even today, twenty years later, we still see photographs of that horrible day and we remember.

I have visited NYC post 9/11 many times, and I’ve found myself going for far different reasons than I did as a child. I have created new memories that begin with the New York as I know it now – a city where I enjoy the food and culture of the old New York, the lower east side where the pace is a little slower, a little less touristy, and a lot more authentic. This is my post 9/11 New York. It’s a place where I can travel, and still find adventure, but it’s also a place where two beams of light shine nightly, straight into the stars, marking where the towers used to be and reminding me of what was lost. From the outside looking in, New York City seems to be healed. But if you ask a New Yorker, you might hear a different story – a story of survival, yes, but also of hurts and scars that are closer to the surface than you might imagine. Because when you live in it, through it, when you lose something that cannot be found again, you are marked for life. But here’s the upside – whether it’s a terrorist attack or a global pandemic – New York City is a survivor. And it’s waiting for you. So start spreading the news.