It was September 2001 and I was sent to New York to watch a boxing match for a Puerto Rican newspaper. It was an international competition between Puerto Rican boxer Felix Trinidad and American boxer Bernard Hopkins.
Trinidad was my best friend and the paper sent me to complete most of his battles. I asked to be excused from the job but was told I had to go.
So, on Saturday, September 8, I boarded a plane from the capital of Puerto Rico, San Juan.
The fight was supposed to take place the following Saturday at Madison Square Garden.
On the morning of September 11, I went to Central Park with photo reporters from two other Puerto Rican newspapers. The Hopkins team closed down the opportunity to learn, which was unusual, but we hope to see him learn in the park. We agreed that if one of us saw him, we should share it with the others so that everyone could get the bullets. It worked, and after taking pictures, we went for breakfast on 53rd Street.
It was then that one of my companions received a phone call from Puerto Rico informing him that the plane had crashed at the World Trade Center. At first, they thought it was a joke. Then my boss called and told me to come to the towers to take pictures of the accident.
We immediately took our cameras and left, asking for a taxi to take us to the city.
By now, the city – from 14th Street to the city – had been printed for everyone except the first responders. We got as close as we could but we were far from the tower. So we jumped out of the taxi, gave the driver $ 20 and started running West Westway onto the platform. As we were carrying 35 boxes, entering and exiting the crowd, we paused from time to time to film the distractions that surrounded us.
About 25 minutes later, we were inside the towers and there, at a good angle between Park Place and West Broadway, I saw a police officer, looking out at the North Tower. There was no one around. I photographed him – painting a picture of the day that has been widely used since then.
As I made my way to the towers, a man in an FBI jacket passed me by. Soon, someone wearing a Secret Service jacket passed by. To my surprise, he was involved in a plane crash.
I turned and started walking toward the West Side Highway, and as I was walking, I saw the first person to jump. She was a black woman, wearing a skirt and over the vest. I could see him clearly. It was as if they were floating.
I took my camera and photographed. I remember telling my friend Xavier Araujo, “Wow, someone just jumped.” But he refused to believe me. He thought that a piece of the house had fallen off. But I was too close to realize that he was human. I was so close I could see his face. He looked calm and relaxed, as if he had no choice but to jump. They did not cry out for help or for fear. I knew I had a chance to not see him fight on the road.
When we arrived just west of the North Tower, we saw many people jumping out of the windows. The pictures have never been with me, and I often wonder what he might have gone through before he decided to jump.
I was there for about 20 minutes when I heard a terrible noise, like a large tree branch being broken, when the North Tower fell.
I filmed when it collapsed and it was there, when I no longer hid my thoughts, when I realized that the South Tower had collapsed.
As I was fleeing from her, I grabbed hold of a man’s handkerchief and knelt down, crying, with all his clothes torn. I changed my glasses and saw a child running and screaming. As I pick up that frame, it reminds me of a picture of the “Napalm girl” of the Vietnam War.
I realized that all my digital cards were full, so I hurried to the Getty Images office on Varick Street. There, I was downloading my memory card to a computer when we were told that we had to leave the house because the police thought a bomb had been planted in the Holland Tunnel, next to the office.
I got up and took a taxi back to my hotel, where I handed over the photos I had taken. My newspaper published late that day and used my photos.
All day, I stayed in my room. I cried a lot. I remember calling my ex-wife but I could not speak. In the middle of crying, I screamed, trying to tell him how many people I had seen jump off the towers.
To this day, I do not remember what I did between 6 a.m. and September 11th until the next morning. It was probably because of fear.
When I woke up at 6 o’clock on September 12, I walked with more than 20 trees to the platform. I did not see a single person walking, not even a dog. I’m sorry I didn’t take these pictures because I’m sure it was the only time in New York City history that the streets were deserted. I wish the pictures were there, somewhere except in my mind, because they were part of the 9/11 story, too.
I spent 21 days writing the 9/11 article before filming the final battle of Trinidad-Hopkins on September 29 and returning to Puerto Rico.
Today, I still have some old problems – pictures of people standing in the windows before jumping. I wonder what they saw that helped them establish peace with this election.
Most importantly, it has always reminded me of our weaknesses and that as human beings, we should give ourselves a chance. All races, cultures and nations need to stop the permanent creation of scars that have led to wars and conflicts such as 9/11.