G is for Ground Zero. NYC.

Early October 2001 and I’m in New York. The World Trade Centres had only recently come down. There was still dust in the air, as was the smell of burning, of fires recently burnt.

The week I was there was the week that the police barricades on Broadway were being moved back, moved closer and closer to Ground Zero. New Yorkers, and others, were getting their first glimpses of the carnage.

I hadn’t been in New York on the fateful day, and neither had my good New Yorker friend Jason, but for this one week, we both worked the streets, photographing, up and down, all along a stretch of Broadway beside Ground Zero. We photographed the crowds, the crowds of New Yorkers, the tourists, the visitors, the mourning, the businessmen, everyone. Everyone was coming to stand, and to stare at the devastation, to stand staring quietly. Some people wept, some people read bibles, some people prayed, some left flowers, most stood quietly, and shook their heads. It was a real cross section of humanity, young and old, white and black, hispanic, everyone.

For a week Jason and I photographed the crowds, with our backs to the devastation. Mostly we worked a two to three block stretch, photographing the people looking at Ground Zero, and their reactions to seeing the scorched buildings, or what remained of them. I don’t remember anyone complain at being photographed, it felt like everyone gave their approval that week. It felt like they knew it had to be done, they had to be photographed, this tidal wave, this cross section of humanity coming to pay respects, everyone together, quietly, looking, reflecting. I was right in amongst people, in front of them, my Leica looking them in the face, but no one complained.

For a week Jason and I’d be there from about 9am until late afternoon, we’d stop to eat spinach pie sitting on a wall or some steps, or slope off for a coffee and a slice of pizza. Occasionally to freshen things up we’d go to Wall Street, have a walk around, shoot more pictures. We’d go at lunch hour to shoot pictures of Corporate Stock Broker types buying framed photographs of the World Trade Centre from vendors in the street.

One morning Jason asked me, “wanna see a good Wall Street pic ?”, “Sure”, I reply. And off we went, round the corner to Wall Street, and sure enough, there he was – Mr. Corporate. This was about 8.50am, a businessman sitting on the stone steps, reading the paper, smokin’ a cigar. Perfect. How could it not make a picture. We both shot like film was going out of fashion. A few minutes later, without noticing us, Mr. Corporate gets up, and walks off into work. Jason turns, always knowledgable, says, “he’s there every morning”.

Next morning I’m in town early, ready for the days work, the days photographing. I’m early, but perfect time for Mr. Corporate I think, so I go round, down to Wall Street. He’s there. Right on time. Right on the same corner. He’s there. Photographing. Jason’s already there photographin’ Mr Corporate smokin’. I walk up, and slowly stand beside Jason, slowly elbow him out the way, seeing his cheeky grin as he comes out from behind his Leica.

We went for a coffee, rest our weary feet. Sitting in the sofas in some coffeehouse, a homeless guy comes in and searches down the sides of all the sofas, lifts the cushions, looking for lost Quarters.

Back on Broadway and there’s lots to be done, lots to shoot. Every day more barriers were removed, closer, closer, closer ever still to Ground Zero. And always more people coming to stop, to look. The grey dust was everywhere, covering windows, messages written in the dust. A bike stood chained to a lampost, covered in dust, it’s owner never coming back for it. I photograph it.

There’s a lot of Stars and Stripes being worn, a lot of t-shirts with World Trade Centre on them. I see one old man wearing a ‘Purple Heart decorated’ skipcap, and a watch on top of his jacket sleeve. Only later do I find out that helicopter pilots in Vietnam wore their watches like this, as they need both hands on the helicopter controls and thus can’t move jacket sleeves to check the time.

A young Latino looking guy sees me shooting and wants to be in the picture. He knows I’m looking, he knows he’s in the frame. He moves as I move, playing up for the cameras, first he’s here, then he’s here. It leaves a bad taste, but I shoot it anyway.

A young guy holds his girlfriend who is sobbing. I take their picture and as I walk past I nod to the young guy, he nods back. No words spoken, but we understand each other.

At the end of the day there is fine dust on our arms and clothes, little specks of soot. And all the time the smell of burnt materials.

Jason knows of a building, it’s location being shared amongst a small circle of photographers, where there is access to the roof, and from the roof you can see Ground Zero. We wait outside the bulding, waiting for the door to be opened. We go in but we get caught, and get told to leave. We go back another time, no problem, door is open, straight into the elevator, up to the top floor, and up stairs, through a door onto the roof. We’re there at dusk, Jason and I, and a Russian photographer. We can look down on the devastation, and we photograph. Timing it correctly so the lights are on in buildings around us. All around us on the rooftop are white plastic deckchairs and broken masonry.

We take the ferry, I forget to where exactly, Hoboken perhaps, but it’s the ferry which gives us a view of the new Manhattan skyline. We try to go late afternoon, to get corporate Wall Street type people on the ferry and in the pictures.

Jason’s shooting on a Widelux, but he’s not happy. He’s not sure how to “use it” properly, he’s not happy with the results. A week or two later (once I’m home in UK, and he’s still there shooting) he tells me he’s got it sorted, now he “knows how to use it”. He gets the pictures of everyone, including the Hassidic Jews he’d wanted to photograph all week, and he produces a book dummy of the work.

Every day for a week we were there, then I had to leave NY, Jason wanted me to change my ticket and stay, to keep shooting. But I left. Later I wished I had stayed longer, shot more. But I’m glad I shot the 20 to 30 rolls that I did that week. I’m still proud of the work and one or two frames in particular. My own take on a part of history.