I remember work, then emotion on 9/11

I first remember my company cell phone, a big plastic brick with that awful ring to wake me in case of news. And I remember my news editor at the Daily Press, the Victorville, Calif. newspaper where I was a too-young chief photographer, on the other end of the phone. Something about “turn on the TV” and “terrorist attack in New York” and “come into work.”

So I got ready in a disjointed way, constantly running back to the TV to find out the latest.

The remainder of the day consisted of pure work, of big decisions and high emotion. I started by driving around town, and found it strangely quieter than usual. At the local mall, I found a mall manager and her assistant posing a “closed” sign.

Jackie Hodges, left, Marketing Manager for the Mall of Victor Valley, and her assistant Kendra Hankins put in a sign at one of the Mall of Victor Valley entrances explaining to customers that the mall is closed because of terrorist attacks on Set. 11, 2001.

In the darkroom (that’s what we still called the photo department’s room, though we rarely used film), photos were streaming from the AP wire at a pace I’d never seen. Grainy amateur video stills of skyline, some with a tilted jetliner. The towers smoking or exploding from every angle. People running, covered in a strange tan dust. Chaos on the grass at the Pentagon. Crowds watching TV with tears and clenched faces. Each image arrived with the all-caps slug “TERROR ATTACKS.”

The Daily Press page editors took to printing out the photos and tacking them on a wall under construction in the newsroom. The drywall began to resemble the walls of missing-person flyers in New York City. The publisher ok’ed an eight-page special section to wrap around the paper. I soon found that editors of one section were unknowingly ordering and placing photos that were already used in another section. We began writing editors’ names on the photo wall to “claim” photos. I reserved pictures for a double-truck (two page) photo story in the special section.

Staff photographer Richard trolled the city and found what I had — empty or closed businesses. Nearly vacant streets. He brought back photos of bartenders watching a bank of TVs above their bar. Wire images showed the same across the country — empty stadiums, malls, and airports, people watching and waiting.

Disturbing images began arriving on the wire — silhouettes of people dropping over the edge of the towers to their death. We held an impromptu meeting to decide whether or not to publish such a photo. I argued 100% yes. This was a horror that needed to be shown. Shielding the public from this extreme decision made by trapped victims would sugar-coat the tragedy. I chose one of these photos to run across six columns (a full page) in the photo story. It showed smoke billowing from the north tower, and a single person, arms and legs outstretched, falling.

Rows of people from many faiths gathered in a Presbyterian church in Apple Valley, to sing songs and pray after the terrorist attacks on Sept. 11, 2001.

It’s funny what I vividly remember and what I can’t remember at all about September 11th. I don’t really remember a multi-faith prayer service I photographed that evening, but a photo of ladies with arms raised in a back row ran across five columns on the A1 page, with the headline “High Desert faithful pray for victims.” Above it, with a separate story, is the headline “Bush promises justice.” On the cover of the special section, the managing editor, John, chose a giant headline with an editorial slant: “Cowardly Acts.” Under it is a grainy TV image of the skyline, with a tower collapsing and smoke shooting sideways down the city blocks. I remember staying until the section rolled off the presses, and I took a few copies home. Only then did emotion get the better of me.

The A section and special section of the Sept. 12, 2001 Daily Press.

A detail of the photos in the special section. The main photo was made by Richard Drew/Associated Press.

Keep well on this anniversary, and may you remember September 11, 2001 in your own way.