Kansas State University - Royal Purple Yearbook (Manhattan, KS)

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In the shape of a peace symbol candles are arranged Sept. 14 in New York City ' s Union Square Park. Located at 14th Street, it became a memorial for the victms of the World Trade Center attack. For most New Yorkers, Union Square was the closest they could get to the Wit, as m ost streets were closed to residents. Union Square is located about two miles north of the Wit. (Photo by Cary Conover) Awakened continued from page k9 I got about one third of the way across and the first tower collapsed. That was when it got really scary. Until that point. I thought the worst was over; it all seemed to be under control. I thought the towers were simply burning but repairable. But to see one collapse entirely was the breaking point for me. It felt choreographed; the timing was horrifyingly schematic. It was no longer a ' ' story or an opportunity to make good pictures. Of all the different phases of that morning, this was the one I photographed the least. Suniival mode kicked in. People started screaming and holding on to each other at that point, not to mention walking much faster to escape the dust cloud that fast approached. The mood before the collapse was speculative and conversational, almost like people evacuating from a fire drill. After, there was more terror in people ' s faces and voices. One man yelled to the people in front of him, Hurry up, people! This bridge could be next? I realized I really didn ' t want to get across the bridge and be stuck in Brooklyn all day with an already-dead cell phone and maybe no way of getting back home. So I sort of gathered my wits, turned around and walked in the opposite direction of all the people, bound and determined to get off that bridge. By that point, fighter jets were flying overhead. Walking back into Manhattan, everybodyyelled at me, asking me why on earth I wasn ' t headed over the bridge into Brooklyn. As I got closer the dust cloud became pretty strong. It was a thick, coarse dust Beige. You could see the individual dust particles approaching before they contacted your eye. It was like footage of an underwater camera at the ocean floor with all the plankton passing in front of the lens, illuminated by the camera ' s spotlight. Eventually I hopped a fence and was in the Manhattan-bound traffic lane. I had my shirt over my mouth so I wouldn ' t breath in as much dust. I came out into the clearing in front of the Municipal Building. People were walking out of the subway station at that time in total amazement. Police were especially vocal, telling people to walk north, away from the towers. I was walking up Bowery when I heard a crowd of people scream. My immediate fear was that the Empire State Building had been hit but soon I heard people saying, the other one fell, and the north one is gone? I went back up to my roof to take another picture; sort of an after version of the first picture I had taken that morning. 18 Student Wei ' In the weeks since it ' s been non-stop walking and photographing the emptiness of Lower Manhattan, vigils and memorials, life slowly returning to normal. But its true— nothing will ever be normal again. My camera felt heavy that week, I felt that the creativity had been sucked out of me. Wondering and wandering with constant, searing mental images of people still trapped under the rubble, still alive. I tried to think of anybody I knew who worked down there. That ' s the thing about New York; you ' re so crowded that surely you ' ve crossed paths with people who worked in or near the towers. You think of acquaintances who may have worked there, a person you met at a party, friends in midtown and uptown who were probably nowhere near the financial district but you wonder anyway and lire a quick are you all accounted for? e-mail. This tragedy has definitely been a mix of sadness and anger, but mostly disbelief. I loved looking at those towers on nice evenings hanging out on my roof with my friends. One October evening, nearly a month after ' the attack, some friends and I walked by a fire station that lost 14 men. There weren ' t as m any flowers or candles as during the week . of the attack. I sensed that passersby weren ' t stopping to thank the firefighters anymore, nor did they offer cheers of support as fire engines passed by. You feel guilty for the ease with which you ' re able to get on with your life. There the firefighters were, sitting near the station garage entrance chatting with one another. You give them a nod or a small salute and pass by, wondering if it would be awkward to turn around and go back for a hug or a handshake.

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With a thick cloud of dust following them, evacuees walk out of Manhattan via the Brooklyn Bridge. After the towers fell, high heeled shoes were found scattered in the streets, kicked off by women as they ran. People used clothing to mask dust and debris from their faces. Bottled water was used to clear their vision and wipe the ash from their mouths. This photograph was taken a few minutes after the south tower collapsed. (Photo by Cary Conover) fusion defined 17

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Minutes after the collapse of the Wit south tower, residents flee Manhattan. Those walking were confronted by an approching dust cloud. (Photo by Cary Conover) ( ' In the Pentagon the phrase. ' It ' s nice to sec you again. ' has an entirely new meaning. ' By Aaron Otto Moving On On Sept. 11, an unbearable number of our countrymen and women who left for work in Washington, D.C. did not return home. Brady Howell was one of those. Along with civilians and military personnel, Howell was a fellow Presidential Management Intern and one of my best friends in the Chief of Naval Operations shop. He was killed in this attack. However, we work for the U.S. Department of Defense, specifically the U.S. Navy, and our job is to make the world safe for democracy Tragic events like this remind us that freedom is certainly not free. I cried when saw the outside of the Pentagon (or the first time after the attack. Sept. 13, with that large scar ripped in the exterior of the building, Following the attack, Navy PM1s attended a meeting with senior civilians and admirals on the Chief of Naval Operations staff to talk about the attack and our lost co- workers. It was one of those meetings you never want to go to. However, the opportunity to see my fellow co-workers and Mends together for the first time since the crash greatly outweighed the strong feelings of grief and sorrow. Listening to the stories of people escaping from the building was almost too much. One fellow Kansan. hired on the Navy staff only seven days before the crash, was probably the closest PMI to the impact site who survived. By the end of the week about a third of the Pentagon was operating ' normally ' . Those who still had an office to return to, said they were filled with emotion to return to a building with water standing in the hallways and smells of smoke from the 24-hour fire that caused evacuations. As the first few weeks after the attack come and go. I find myself working on routing the 33 Purple Heads through the Navy chain of command. These awards are being given to the military enlisted and officers killed in the Pentagon—a couple of whom 1 knew. We also worked on awarding the new Civilian Defense of Freedom Award to the 10 Navy civilians killed including my friend and fellow PMI. Following those grim tasks, we worked on heroism awards for those who were injured and who demonstrated great acts of courage. Needless to say, these are tasks I never want to have to do again. Every time 1 hear fire truck sirens or a helicopter, 1 stop and wonder where it is going. I look up when I hear an airplane, but move on with faith that Sept. 11 can ' t happen again. Aaron Otto, K-State alumnus and policy analyst in the Assessment Division for the Chief of Naval Operations, returned to the Pentagon after being in Norfolk, Va. on business to find friends and co-workers missing and dead. He wrote his personal account in the week following the tradgedy. fusion defined 19