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Coverage of Terrorism
Funerals began about a week after the attacks. I went to two
funerals on Staten Island on consecutive days. There were a
large number of firemen that were killed from Staten Island.
What struck me was the first day when I saw this woman. I
just think that people’s strength and courage and some of the
code of behavior is so fascinating. If you notice, she’s actually
being held up by someone. She was literally falling down with
emotion, but she had it within her to make that salute, which
was a gesture of honor and such a dignified tribute to her
husband. And I remember, when I saw her, feeling this
overwhelming sense of sadness for this young woman.
I think often the richest moments are second and third degrees
from the main action. When they took the casket out of this
church, I turned around and I saw these two men, and I was
really struck by this guy. Afterwards, I went up to him and said,
“Excuse me, are you a fireman?” and he said, “I am a fireman,
but today I’m just a citizen and I just want to pay tribute to a
friend.” And he walked away. There was just such a sense of
humility and humbleness.
wasn’t seeing that anywhere. I was
standing where they’d set up a triage
center and makeshift morgue, right
where Brooks Brothers store is. I still
had my cameras underneath my coat
and was just hanging out. At that point
I see a photographer arrive, take a
picture, and immediately get thrown
out by the police in a very forceful way.
And I said to myself, “Just lay low.
You’re late getting here but this is a
really important scene to shoot tonight.
And if you’re here all night, you’ll be
here at first light tomorrow morning
and no one is going to be able to get
back in this area. And that’s going to be
a really important scene to see and
document.”
I spent the whole night by myself in
this office looking out at this scene, at
one of the biggest disasters of my lifetime,
sitting by myself. It was an incredible
experience of solitude, a chance to
think. What struck me absolutely, sitting
there at midnight, was looking at
these rescuers. It’s cold, really windy,
smoky. And I say to myself, “Look how
many human beings, decent people,
working-class people, have gotten out
to do the right thing with their lives, to
use their skills to help.” Welders were
busting their butts to cut through
beams. It was dangerous and dirty.
Beams were flying through the air. I
was so impressed by how quickly they
were organizing themselves and using
their skills to put wire around the beams
and lift them up. I actually asked myself
the question whether I had that kind of
strength and courage. And I wasn’t
sure, but I hope I do.
There was this humming silence. It
was very quiet and that really added to
this sense of profound destruction, of
the world coming to an end. Just quiet,
but the quiet was punctuated by the
humming of these welding generators.
The smell was very acrid. It burned
your nose. The smoke burned your
eyes and there was dust everywhere.
That next morning I stayed until about
11 o’clock and then I did get thrown
out by police. I had a whole night of
film in my pocket, and I was ready to
leave. Every day after that, for the next
four days, I made my way back in and
spent several hours at Ground Zero
each day.
When a Nieman Fellow asked
Turnley if, in taking these and other
intimate shots of people, he was ever
accused of preying on their grief, he
responded by talking about how he
works to relate to the people he wants
to photograph.
There’s no principle, no rule. It has
to do so much with one’s self, with the
person who is behind the camera.
There’s nothing objective about that
dynamic. You can most definitely show
someone in your eyes and in your face
and in the way you look at them that
8 Nieman Reports / Winter 2001