PRE
North Pool, NYC
September 11, 2001,
It is a mid-Tuesday afternoon. I'm in a Dutch electronics store. A wall of screens all show the same footage. Is it an accident? Why else would there be an airplane there? Terrorism, attacks, Al Qaeda – those terms did not yet exist. Or at least they were not as common as they are now. A second plane. This is not an accident, this is intentional. The TV department of the store is filled with customers and staff. What on earth is happening there, on the other side of the ocean? Nearly 3000 people die that day.
11 years later, I am in New York City. The Freedom Tower (WTC One) is almost finished and the 9/11 site is open to the public. Monuments in the shape of enormous waterfalls have been built in place of where the old Twin Towers once stood. On these monuments (the North Pool and the South Pool) are all the names of the people who died on 9/11, including victims of an earlier attack on the Twin Towers in 1993. As a tourist, I walk around the grounds and start taking some pictures. Fascinated by the waterfalls, I decide to work with a long exposure time at the North Pool. I set up my camera and aim at a random spot on the monument. A man standing next to me asks me whether I knew Paul Robert Eckna. I look through the viewfinder of my camera and see his name. I say: "It is pure coincidence that I am standing here." He tells me that he did know him. His non-verbal attitude seems to imply, "A pity, we could have talked about him." I am shocked and realize that there is a story behind every name. Every name represents family and friends left behind.
Paul Robert Eckna, aged 28, worked for Cantor Fitzgerald as an international equity trader. He was crazy about football and played number 77 for the Garden City Trojans, and later for the University of Nebraska. The man tells me that he’s living in the former house of Paul Robert. I notice that he is sad. He asks me if I know why Paul Robert's name is right there on the monument. It is not in alphabetical order and I cannot detect any other logic either. A 9/11 Memorial employee with a tablet, who is a few meters away from me, might know more. The man walks over to him and repeats the question. Taps are made on the screen, but I don't hear the answer. They are too far away from me. Later I find out that the names were put together in different ways. The company or floor where they worked, people who interacted with each other, requests made by families left behind, etc. The wife of the man who spoke to me previously was resting on a bench behind me. She stands up and walks towards me. She asks me what name I am photographing. Apparently she was not aware I had just spoken to her husband. I point to the names that are within the reach of my lens. But I feel uncomfortable in some way. Because after the few words I exchanged with her husband, I now know more about one of those people. It touches me. Her husband is coming back. "We knew him," the woman says and points to the name of Paul Robert Eckna.
Paul Robert Eckna. Only one person, only one story – out of almost 3000 stories.
Marcel Kerdijk