Readers share remembrances of those lost on September 11, 25 years later

Stories describe friends, mentors and firefighters killed in attacks

The Guardian published the remembrances Friday, marking 25 years since the September 11, 2001 attacks killed 2,977 people in the largest loss of life caused by a foreign attack on American soil. The accounts detail the lives of those lost, the relationships they built and the moments their friends and loved ones continue to honor decades later.

Christopher Allen, 69, a retired estate manager from Niantic, Connecticut, said he and his wife, Kim, met Jeremy “Caz” Carrington at the now-closed Santa Fe Junction bar and restaurant in East Hampton, New York. The men, both British expatriates, bonded over soccer, darts and London. “He was a portly sort of guy but moved quick, thought even quicker and was generally the life and soul of the party,” Allen said. Carrington worked for Cantor Fitzgerald, a firm that lost more people on September 11 than any other organization.

Six months after the attacks, Allen attended a celebration of Carrington’s life in East Hampton attended by family members who traveled from the United Kingdom. “The Celebration of Life service was not traditional or mournful; it was hilarious,” Allen said. “He really did live life to the fullest and we were all very grateful to have known him.” At the gathering, Allen met Carrington’s mother, Kate, and discovered she had been his primary school teacher years earlier, when he knew her as Ms Ross. They stayed in touch, exchanging jokes and gardening ideas until her death. In Allen’s words, he is in awe that such “a wonderful friendship started from such a horrific tragedy.”

Cheryl Ann of Santa Monica, California, said she lost Caroline, a friend she described as a successful Disney executive and mentor. Cheryl, who had pursued photography after moving from New Jersey to Los Angeles, said Caroline admired her work and treated her as an equal while she was working as an executive assistant. “We became personal friends and she invited me into her home and her life,” Cheryl said. “With genuine enthusiasm she offered to mentor me.”

On September 11, Cheryl woke to messages telling her to turn on CNN. She feared for friends, godchildren, business associates and other loved ones in the region and could not reach them by phone. “I didn’t sleep; I could barely eat; life as I knew it was over,” she said. Later, Cheryl saw her friend’s name on a passenger list shown on the news. She initially hoped it was someone else with the same name, but a mutual friend confirmed it was the Caroline they knew. “It annihilated me. I don’t know any other way to express the depth of the pain of the loss. She had a beautiful light that lit up any room she entered,” Cheryl said. “She literally glowed, as beautiful on the outside as on the inside.”

Steve S, whose name was changed for privacy, remembers John P Sammartino, one of his best friends from university who later served as best man at his wedding. Though their careers caused them to drift apart, Steve said they continued getting together to watch football matches and brew homemade beer with college friends. Steve was involved in computer-related cleanup work at the Pentagon after the attacks, and on the evening of September 12 his then-wife called to tell him Sammartino had been aboard the plane that crashed into the building. “I was crushed,” Steve said. “From feeling lucky that I wasn’t directly affected to being involved changed my outlook on 9/11.” Years later, he continues to visit his friend’s grave. Sammartino had been an electrical engineer, and Steve said he sometimes thinks about the advances his friend never saw. “He’d get a kick out of modern cell phone technology,” Steve said.

Alison K, a 47-year-old artist whose name was also changed for privacy, said her life was changed by a man she never actually spoke to. In 2000, she moved to New York City for a master’s degree. On her way to class, she passed a small fire station where, she said, “there was often a firefighter out front washing down a truck, chatting with his co-workers. He had a big bushy moustache and his arms were covered with tattoos.” The two would exchange smiles and waves, and his friendly demeanor helped bring her comfort as a young student in a new city. Weeks after the attacks, classes resumed and she walked past the station again, where she saw a paper taped to the door. “It was my fireman, whose name had been Manny Mojica, and who was killed when responding to the tower emergency,” she said. “I think of him every year, and this past Christmas I was back in NYC for the first time in 15 years. I made a visit to the memorial and found his name on the plaque and silently thanked him for his welcoming smile and his service.”

Songwriter Larry Dvoskin remembers Patrick “Paddy” Brown, a friend from Jivamukti Yoga classes who was a former Marine and a captain with the New York City Fire Department’s Ladder 3 company. “He was truly a ‘man’s man’ long before the current craze of the manosphere,” Dvoskin said. “Instead, he was thoughtful, humble, and I found it humorous seeing him in spandex tights in my yoga classes.”

At Brown’s funeral at St Patrick’s Cathedral, Dvoskin said he heard an account of Brown heading toward the second tower as it burned. Firefighters leaving the building warned him not to enter because it was too dangerous. Brown replied: “Are you fucking crazy? It’s my job to go in there!” Brown and his team then entered the building. “Those were the last words he is remembered by,” Dvoskin said. “‘It’s my job to go in there.’”