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Shortly after hearing the news of the first attack on the World Trade Center on the morning of September 11, we gathered cameras and headed for the west bank of the Hudson River, which is about a half mile from our home. A great column of smoke was visible the moment we stepped onto the street. As we arrived at the river, we witnessed the second WTC tower collapse. It was a dreadful sight. Almost immediately, survivors began arriving on the shore here in Jersey City, ferried over by tug boats and other commandeered small craft. The smoke-filled sky, flotilla of small boats, and line of shocked refugees reminded meof footage I'd seen from World War Two, taken during the evacuation at Dunkirk.

We contacted the local police department and offered to volunteer in any area where help was needed, but they were only accepting qualified medical personnel. The only thing left to do was take refuge in my work and document the shocking events unfolding around us.

I saw secretaries with torn stockings, and no shoes; a dust-covered businessman with his jacket torn, clutching a portable computer — just ordinary people who'd been minding their own business, and trying to make a living.

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