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It was September 2001, and I was sent to New York to report on the boxing match for a newspaper in Puerto Rico. This is a world championship between Puerto Rican boxer Felix Trinidad and American boxer Bernard Hopkins.
Trinidad is a good friend of mine, and the newspaper will send me to cover most of his battles. I asked not to proceed with that particular deployment, but was told that I must go.
So, on Saturday, September 8, I boarded a flight from San Juan, the capital of Puerto Rico.
The game is scheduled to be held at Madison Square Garden next Saturday.
On the morning of September 11th, I went to Central Park with photojournalists from two other Puerto Rican newspapers. Hopkins’ team forbids access to his training courses, which is unusual, but we hope to find him training in the park. We agree that if one of us sees him, we will share the location with others so that each of us can shoot. It worked, and after the photo was taken, we went to 53rd Street for breakfast.
At that time, a person next to me received a call from Puerto Rico, telling him that a plane had crashed into the World Trade Center. At first, he thought it was a joke. Then my boss called and told me to go to the tower to take pictures of the crash.
We immediately picked up the camera and left, called a taxi to take us to the city center.
By this time, the city—from 14th Street to the city center—has been sealed off to everyone except first responders. We are as close as possible, but there is still some distance from the tower. So we jumped out of the taxi, handed the driver a 20-dollar bill, and then started running along West Broadway towards the tower. When we ran 35 blocks and shuttled in and out of the crowd, we occasionally stopped to photograph the chaos around us.
About 25 minutes later, we reached a block of the tower. In a quiet corner between Park Plaza and West Broadway, I saw a policeman looking up at the north tower. No one else around. I took a picture of him-a picture that was widely used that day.
On September 11, 2001, after an airplane hit a building in New York City, firefighters walked towards a tower of the World Trade Center, and it collapsed [Jose Jimenez/Primera Hora/Getty Images]As I continued to walk towards the tower, a man in an FBI jacket passed by me. Soon after, another person wearing a Secret Service jacket walked over. I find it very strange that they will be there because of a plane crash.
I turned around and started walking towards the West End Highway. As I was walking, I saw the first person jump up. She is a black woman, wearing a beautiful skirt and tank top. I can see her clearly. It was as if she was just floating.
I picked up the camera and took a picture. I remember saying to my fellow photographer Xavier Araujo, “Wow, someone jumped.” But he refused to believe me. He thought it was part of the building collapsed. But I was close enough to see that this was a person. I was so close, I could see her face. She looked calm and relaxed, as if she had no choice but to jump down. She didn’t scream for help out of fear. I know I was lucky not to see her hit the sidewalk.
When I reached the west side of the North Tower, I saw many people jumping from the window. Those images have always been with me, and I often wonder what they were thinking before they decided to jump off the building.
I have been there for about 20 minutes, and when I heard the North Tower collapse, it made a terrible sound, like a huge branch breaking off.
I photographed it when it collapsed, and when it no longer blocked my view, I realized that the South Tower also collapsed completely.
As I escaped the chaos, I took a picture of a man kneeling on the floor and crying, his shirt all torn. I changed the lens and saw a child running around screaming. When I took that photo, it reminded me of the “Napalm Girl” in the Vietnam War.
I realized that my digital card was full, so I ran a few blocks to the Getty Images office on Varick Street. There, when we were told that we needed to evacuate the building, I was uploading the contents of the memory card to the computer because the police suspected that a bomb was placed in the Dutch tunnel near the office.
I left and took a taxi back to my hotel, where I archived the photos I took. My newspaper published a later edition that day and used my photos.
On September 11, 2001, in New York City, people were hung from the windows after a hijacked passenger plane hit the North Tower of the World Trade Center [Jose Jimenez/Primera Hora/Getty Images]For the rest of the day, I stayed in my room. I cried a lot. I remember calling my ex-wife, but could hardly speak. Between sobbing, I screamed, trying to tell her how many people I saw jumping off the tower.
To this day, I still don’t remember what I did from 6pm on September 11th to the next morning. It must be because of shock.
When I woke up at 6 am on September 12th, I walked more than 20 blocks towards the tower. During that walk, I didn’t see a person or even a dog. I regret not taking these photos, because I am sure that it was the only time in New York City’s history that the streets were so empty. I want these images to exist, not just somewhere in my mind, because they are also part of the 9/11 story.
I spent 21 days covering the 9/11 events, then filmed the postponed Trinidad-Hopkins battle on September 29th, and finally returned to Puerto Rico.
Today, I still have flashbacks—pictures of people standing on windows before jumping off a building. I want to know what made them see the peace that helped them make this decision.
More importantly, it has always reminded me how fragile we are. As human beings, we should give respect. All races, cultures and countries should stop the scars that are constantly being caused, which have led to many wars and conflicts, such as 9/11.
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