NOTEBOOK
The After-Life of a Photo that Touched a Nation
Much of what happened to me on September 11 is a blur, but this moment I clearly remember: It was 4:45 p.m., and all the firemen and rescue workers were evacuating Ground Zero after word came that a third building — WTC 7 — was ready to fall. I had only a few frames left, and an entire day's worth of pictures to develop, so I prepared to head back to New Jersey.
Before leaving, I took one last look at Ground Zero. Three firefighters were attaching an American flag to a slanted pole while standing on top of a pile of rubble about fifteen feet high. I was about thirty yards away, and I zoomed in and fired off a few frames with my digital camera. The flag-raising itself was spontaneous and unceremonious. It took only a few minutes, and I don't think the firemen had any idea they were being watched. One firefighter hoisted the flag up as the other two looked on. I shot a burst of frames as it went up, then ran to where they were. But before I could shoot any more they disappeared into the crowd leaving the area.
It was over like that, or so I thought.
This photograph of three New York City firemen raising the flag has become to many the symbol of that horrific day. From the very moment it was first published in The Record, it has taken on a life of its own, and has lodged in the public consciousness like no other photograph since the flag-raising on Iwo Jima.
I have received thousands of letters, e-mails, and phone calls. Many just wanted to tell me how much this image meant to them, how it lifted them and gave them hope at a time of deep despair. Others called it a symbol of strength and courage, a reminder that Americans were united and strong. Former New York Mayor Rudolph Giuliani called it "one of the most important photographs I have ever seen."
The outpouring of sentiment touched me, yet at times saddened me as well. A fellow photographer in New England e-mailed to say how awesome he thought the photo was, then told me about his dad, who was among the missing. His story and countless others haunt me. The pain of that day still hovers over this picture, a ghostly reminder that, behind all the attention and accolades, so many important lives were lost.
My photograph has been used in ways I never could have imagined: Christmas tree ornaments, pumpkin carvings, figurines, coins, jewelry, T-shirts, and plaques — all without authorization. It was reenacted at the World Series and the Super Bowl, and reproduced on country barns and people's lawns. It was at the core of a heated debate over a memorial statue, and was scattered across Afghanistan by the U.S. military, part of its propaganda campaign. I have driven past thirty-foot murals of it painted on the sides of buildings, and seen it staring back at me from bumper stickers in traffic jams.
While covering the World Series in October, I had the strange experience of having an unwitting storeowner try to sell me the photograph on decals. A colleague, Dave Adornato, and I were shopping for FDNY hats outside Yankee Stadium before the game, when Dave saw the decals for sale. "Hey Tom, there's your photo," he said. The man with the decals held one up and studied it, then studied my face. "Doesn't look like you," he said. Dave told him that I was the photographer. "Oh," he said. "In that case, special price for you."
The recent flap over the firefighter memorial statue, which was to be modeled after my photo, was unfortunate, yet so ironic. The three firemen in the photo are white, but the statue was to depict a white, a Latino, and an African-American. After an outcry, the memorial's planners went back to the drawing board. I am disappointed that the photograph — the source of so much unity and pride — became the subject of such division.
On September 11, it was difficult to pack my emotions away and focus on my job. I was scared. I wanted to be home with my wife and family. I thought about my older brother, Stephen, who works in lower Manhattan and takes the train through the World Trade Center each morning. But everything I saw was so worthy of photographing. The huge, smoldering mound of metal beams and concrete and cables. Firemen searching for survivors. Rescue workers shuffling back and forth, while others stood around in shock. I recorded it all. I understood how important my job was; that images like mine would be looked at throughout history.
I support the idea of a memorial representing diversity, but when you change the elements of a news photograph, or in this case the statue of that photograph, it diminishes the credibility of photojournalists as chroniclers of history. The picture I took on September 11 captures an important moment. Like history itself, the photo should not be changed, even for the best of intentions.
The fact that countless people have told me that my work has
given them hope in a difficult time gives me great satisfaction.
It's my hope that this picture can continue to unite us.
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