The People in the Pictures:
Remembering the Faces of 9/11/01
A decade later, StageZine's editor reflects on the victims
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By Scott Harrah
The thing I remember the most about September 11, 2001 was the endless barrage of “missing” posters of people last seen at Ground Zero. The posters were plastered all over the city, particularly in my quiet Kips Bay neighborhood of Manhattan in the East 30s.
I worked downtown and saw the first plane hit the North Tower at 8:46 a.m that fateful day. I wrote a much longer draft of this memoir that was more than 5,000 words, but I now realize you have heard the sad story of that day far too many times. By now, the photos and videos have saturated the media because of the 10th anniversary. This past week, we have all relived the horror and gore of September 11, 2001.
Rather than chronicling the surreal, grisly details of an otherwise gorgeous autumn day a decade ago, I instead want to focus on the faces on those posters. Ten years later, they still affect me the most, for they symbolized the humanity and identity of the souls who were murdered just because they were Americans.
As I went to get something to eat the night of September 11, 2001, I saw hundreds of posters with pictures of the missing start going up. Some of the faces were familiar. At first, I didn't grasp the intensity of them, but as the days passed and thousands of pictures of "missing" posters were put up, I realized how many faces I recognized, and that these were people I passed everyday in my neighborhood. I did not know that one day, I would never see them again. It devastated me and I was filled with grief and remorse that I would never see these people that, although I never talked to, I felt a kinship to because they were my neighbors. After seeing the pictures on the posters, I felt I knew these folks and their deaths were a personal loss.
As I strolled down Second Avenue the evening after the attacks, I was shocked by the flyers with photos of missing people last seen at the World Trade Center. They were posted everywhere: lamp posts, stores, on the sides of buildings.
These were not just photos of bankers and stockbrokers or the kind of people we think worked in the World Trade Center. Yes, there were many businesspeople missing and presumed dead, but the posters also contained the faces of people from proverbial "all walks of life": young men and women who were entry-level assistants, cleaning women, waiters/waitresses and kitchen staff from Windows on the World to security guards—folks of all races, genders, and ethnic backgrounds.
One poster really haunted me. It contained a photo of a young brunette woman in her early 20s. I often saw her at the gym. She lived down the street from me. Her poster was everywhere. I didn’t know her name, but I knew her face distinctly. She had a beautiful smile and flawless hair, and was always impeccably dressed. The poster said she worked at Cantor Fitzgerald, a company with offices at the top of one of the towers.
There were even a few people in Islamic head scarves reported missing. These were not fake posters of Muslims put up as propaganda; these were just a small number of people I had seen in the neighborhood for years. In fact, I did not know just how many people in my neighborhood actually worked in the Twin Towers, but I recognized their faces. To me, 9/11/01 was not merely an attack on America; it was a sickening assault on my city and people who were my neighbors. My immediate thought was: If Osama Bin Laden’s intent was to murder innocent Americans, did he ever stop to realize that Americans are not all white Christians? The terrorists had brutally murdered people of all types, including those who practiced the Islamic faith. It made no sense to me. The victims all had one thing in common: They were Americans (or were immigrants who came here to work and live out their dreams). Their murders had been senseless, pointless, and in vain, all in the name of radical extremists with some “cause” to attack America and our way of life. A decade ago, it literally made me ill, both physically and mentally.
I have mixed feelings as we mark the 10th anniversary of September 11, 2001. Nothing will ever bring the people who were murdered back. Osama Bin Laden might be dead, but there are thousands ready to take his place. I honestly believe nothing other than a memorial should be built on Ground Zero. It is a giant tomb. I realize it is prime Manhattan real estate, but aren’t the memories of those who died more important than some office building?
The security of our country is something we no longer take for granted. A lot has happened since 9/11: We experienced two expensive wars, and have seen our economy and way of life constantly challenged. 9/11 changed America forever, but we must all work together—people of all political parties and religious faiths—to preserve the safety and dignity of our nation.
Nothing can bring back the people in the pictures on those posters, but we can preserve their memories. After seeing the faces of those anonymous neighbors of mine that sometimes looked at me and smiled, I feel that I lost a few friends that were nice people just trying to survive in New York and go to work like all of us. Unfortunately, I never had the privilege to know these everyday New Yorkers and Americans firsthand.
Published September 9, 2011
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