I was 21 years old and I had just moved to New York City on August 28th, exactly 2 weeks before the big day. I was going to study photography at the School of Visual Arts. I've never documented my experiences on September 11th, but the 10th anniversary seems like a good time to get it all down in writing. I really haven't paid much attention to the 9/11 coverage, mostly because it's sad and also because I think being there exempts me from doing so.
It was the second week of classes, and I had a photography class at 9am on Tuesday. The class was structured so that we spent the morning in the darkroom, took a break for lunch, and then reconvened for a critique in the afternoon. I was already in the darkroom when the first plane hit the first tower. I can't remember what I was doing, probably assembling my chemicals or something.
One of my classmates, Doug, rushed into the darkroom, breathless. He said he just saw a plane crash into the World Trade Center. I remember thinking something along the lines of "how the hell does a pilot just crash into a building? I mean, wouldn't you see that coming and watch out?" We didn't know it wasn't an accident, but obviously it wasn't too long until we learned otherwise. I do not remember any of my SVA classmates (aside from those who became my friends), but I doubt I will ever forget Doug. Of course, it doesn't hurt that he was a bit older than the rest of us, very good looking, and Scottish, so he stood out anyway. But because he was the first to break the news of what became 9/11, he is seared into my memory. Still in the darkroom, we all got out our cell phones to call home, but there was no cell service. Class was canceled and we all left.
I headed back to the dorm and met up with some friends. Our dorm was about 2 and a half miles from the World Trade Center. (Interestingly, I never knew this until I google mapped it just right now.) My friends and I retrieved our cameras and video cameras (we were art students after all) and made our way down to lower Manhattan. We wanted to document as much as possible. Looking back, this was probably a foolish move. As everyone else was making their way out of lower Manhattan, there we were, making our way into the line of fire. On some level, I must have known it was foolish, because it would be years before I told my parents that this is what I had done. But on that day, I couldn't stop myself from going.
On the way to lower Manhattan, my friends and I parted ways. I made it as far as Chinatown, which is about a mile from the World Trade Center. I can't remember too much of what I saw, except that there was tons of smoke and dust. It was otherwise a beautiful day. The temperature was probably in the lower 70s, and the sky was clear and blue. The mayoral primary was supposed to be that day.
There was a mass exodus out of lower Manhattan. I think there was a lot of confusion. I snapped a photo of a young girl around 3 or 4 years old in a face mask, flanked by her parents, and looking quite bewildered. I lost that frame and several others in an unfortunate film development mishap.
People had face masks and some were shaking dust out of their hair and clothes.
I think that the biggest mistake I made that day was leaving my cell phone in my dorm room. This meant that I did not talk to my parents until 2 or 3 in the afternoon, after returning from my venture down to lower Manhattan. They were obviously very, very worried and frantic. I suppose that's to be expected, but I was strangely surprised that they were so worried. I guess I didn't think about the fact that they didn't know exactly where SVA was or how close or far I lived from the World Trade Center. In my defense, I had had a cell phone for only about a week, so I was not in the habit of carrying it. Plus, cell service was sketchy, so I didn't think it would matter if I left it in my room. I also don't know why I didn't borrow my roommates computer and send an email to my parents. But looking back, now I realize the mistake I'd made.
My parents would later say they were bombarded with phone calls from family and friends asking if I was okay. I don't know how long this went on. Maybe a week or so? Anyway, this was in the pre-Facebook era so I couldn't just update my status to let everyone know I was fine. This was also before I even owned a computer, and even though I had an email account, I didn't use it as religiously as I do now.
Later that evening, my friends and I went to a candlelight vigil in Gramercy Park. Then we went to Times Square. It was a ghost town. There were only a few other people there. There was a huge American flag draped over one of the buildings. The entire day was so surreal and looking back, it felt like we were in a movie. The gravity of the day really hit home when we saw a firetruck being towed down the street. One of my friends said that firetrucks are supposed to rescue people; they're not supposed to the be the ones in need of rescuing.
Classes were canceled for the rest of the week, and all of us got out of the city. I went to Providence, where a good friend went to school. Even though I emerged unscathed (I didn't know any of the casualties and I was not injured), it was a heavy and emotional week, and I needed to not be in New York.
There were many September 11th makeshift memorials throughout the city, so many that I eventually felt desensitized to them. Sections of lower Manhattan were closed off for quite some time, but I went down from time to time to take pictures. Eventually I did see Ground Zero. It was a big, huge hole. There was still a lot of dust, and I happened upon this piece of paper:
I felt like it summed up 9/11. I don't remember actually seeing the World Trade Center, and I find it a little strange that I've seen Ground Zero instead. In fact, I didn't even know there were two towers. My ignorance would be a source of jokes for the remaining year (as in, "yes Kris, there are two towers. That's why they're called the TWIN towers."). Oh, and my mispronunciation of FAO Schwartz (turns out that you say each individual letter, as in F-A-O Schwartz).
A year later, SVA had an art exhibit commemorating 9/11. I didn't return to SVA, but these pictures did. I wish I could have seen the exhibit and been there for the opening, but I'm glad that at the very least, my photos were a part of it.
It was the second week of classes, and I had a photography class at 9am on Tuesday. The class was structured so that we spent the morning in the darkroom, took a break for lunch, and then reconvened for a critique in the afternoon. I was already in the darkroom when the first plane hit the first tower. I can't remember what I was doing, probably assembling my chemicals or something.
One of my classmates, Doug, rushed into the darkroom, breathless. He said he just saw a plane crash into the World Trade Center. I remember thinking something along the lines of "how the hell does a pilot just crash into a building? I mean, wouldn't you see that coming and watch out?" We didn't know it wasn't an accident, but obviously it wasn't too long until we learned otherwise. I do not remember any of my SVA classmates (aside from those who became my friends), but I doubt I will ever forget Doug. Of course, it doesn't hurt that he was a bit older than the rest of us, very good looking, and Scottish, so he stood out anyway. But because he was the first to break the news of what became 9/11, he is seared into my memory. Still in the darkroom, we all got out our cell phones to call home, but there was no cell service. Class was canceled and we all left.
I headed back to the dorm and met up with some friends. Our dorm was about 2 and a half miles from the World Trade Center. (Interestingly, I never knew this until I google mapped it just right now.) My friends and I retrieved our cameras and video cameras (we were art students after all) and made our way down to lower Manhattan. We wanted to document as much as possible. Looking back, this was probably a foolish move. As everyone else was making their way out of lower Manhattan, there we were, making our way into the line of fire. On some level, I must have known it was foolish, because it would be years before I told my parents that this is what I had done. But on that day, I couldn't stop myself from going.
On the way to lower Manhattan, my friends and I parted ways. I made it as far as Chinatown, which is about a mile from the World Trade Center. I can't remember too much of what I saw, except that there was tons of smoke and dust. It was otherwise a beautiful day. The temperature was probably in the lower 70s, and the sky was clear and blue. The mayoral primary was supposed to be that day.
My parents would later say they were bombarded with phone calls from family and friends asking if I was okay. I don't know how long this went on. Maybe a week or so? Anyway, this was in the pre-Facebook era so I couldn't just update my status to let everyone know I was fine. This was also before I even owned a computer, and even though I had an email account, I didn't use it as religiously as I do now.
Later that evening, my friends and I went to a candlelight vigil in Gramercy Park. Then we went to Times Square. It was a ghost town. There were only a few other people there. There was a huge American flag draped over one of the buildings. The entire day was so surreal and looking back, it felt like we were in a movie. The gravity of the day really hit home when we saw a firetruck being towed down the street. One of my friends said that firetrucks are supposed to rescue people; they're not supposed to the be the ones in need of rescuing.
Classes were canceled for the rest of the week, and all of us got out of the city. I went to Providence, where a good friend went to school. Even though I emerged unscathed (I didn't know any of the casualties and I was not injured), it was a heavy and emotional week, and I needed to not be in New York.
There were many September 11th makeshift memorials throughout the city, so many that I eventually felt desensitized to them. Sections of lower Manhattan were closed off for quite some time, but I went down from time to time to take pictures. Eventually I did see Ground Zero. It was a big, huge hole. There was still a lot of dust, and I happened upon this piece of paper:
A year later, SVA had an art exhibit commemorating 9/11. I didn't return to SVA, but these pictures did. I wish I could have seen the exhibit and been there for the opening, but I'm glad that at the very least, my photos were a part of it.
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