You’ve seen the photo. Even if you don't think you have, you definitely have. It is a vertical slice of a nightmare, a man suspended in the air against the rigid, geometric lines of the World Trade Center. For years, the world called him the "Falling Man." But for a family in Mount Vernon, New York, that silhouette isn't a symbol of a national tragedy. It's just Jonathan.
Jonathan Briley was 43 years old on September 11, 2001. He wasn't a politician or a high-powered CEO. He was a guy who loved the sunrise, a sound engineer who worked at Windows on the World on the 106th floor of the North Tower. He was also the brother of Alex Briley—yes, the "G.I." from the Village People.
But behind the famous connection and the haunting photograph lies a story about a human being who just went to work on a Tuesday morning and never came home.
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The Mystery of the Most Famous Photo You’ve Never Seen
Richard Drew, an Associated Press photographer, took the shot at 9:41:15 A.M. It was one frame in a sequence of twelve. In that specific millisecond, the man appears composed, almost graceful, falling perfectly parallel to the tower's columns.
When the photo ran in newspapers on September 12, the backlash was instant. People were furious. They called it "ghoulish" and "sadistic." They didn't want to see the reality of what happened at the top of those towers. So, the media basically buried it. It became the "forbidden" image of 9/11.
For a long time, nobody knew who he was. Initial theories pointed to Norberto Hernandez, a pastry chef at the same restaurant. But his family adamantly denied it. They were religious; they didn't want to believe their patriarch would "jump." In their eyes, that was a sin, a loss of faith. They wanted him remembered differently.
Honestly, the search for the man's identity wasn't just about a name. It was about trying to understand the impossible choice people faced that morning.
Why Jonathan Briley Became the Primary Subject
It wasn't until 2003, when journalist Tom Junod wrote a soul-searching piece for Esquire, that Jonathan Briley was tentatively identified.
Junod looked at the entire sequence of photos, not just the famous one. In the other frames, the man is tumbling. His white tunic—part of a food service uniform—blows open. Underneath, there is a bright orange t-shirt.
When Jonathan’s sister, Gwendolyn, saw the photo and heard about the orange shirt, her heart sank. Jonathan wore that shirt all the time. He had a 6'5" frame, a "quiet, peaceful spirit," and he suffered from asthma.
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Think about that for a second. If you have asthma and the room is filling with thick, black, toxic jet fuel smoke, you aren't thinking about the theology of "jumping." You're just trying to breathe.
Evidence that points to Briley:
- The Uniform: He worked as an audio-visual technician, often wearing a white shirt similar to the one in the photo.
- The Orange Shirt: His wife, Hillary, remembered him wearing that specific orange undershirt frequently.
- The Physique: His height and slim build matched the man in Richard Drew's sequence perfectly.
- The Location: He was confirmed to be at Windows on the World, right where many people were forced to the windows.
The Family's Complicated Peace
His father, Alexander Briley Jr., was a Baptist minister. You can imagine the weight of this on a clergy family. Gwendolyn has said that her brother's death "took away the fear of death" for her. She doesn't see the "Falling Man" as a victim of a choice, but as someone who was already in God’s hands the moment he left the building.
The Briley family is somewhat divided, or at least nuanced, about the identification. Some accept it. Others feel it doesn't really matter if it's him or not. To them, Jonathan is the man who played jazz and rock on the guitar, the man who drove his father to church, and the guy who watched the sun rise from the 110th floor and told his sister there was "nothing like it."
What Most People Get Wrong About "Jumpers"
We need to stop using that word. "Jumpers."
The medical examiner’s office and the FDNY have been very clear: nobody "jumped" on 9/11. To jump implies a suicidal intent. These people were blown out, fell while trying to get air, or were forced out by heat that reached 2,000 degrees.
Basically, they were murdered. If you’re standing on a ledge because the floor behind you is literally melting, you aren't making a choice to die. You're choosing how to spend your last seconds.
Jonathan Briley, if it is indeed him in the photo, represents about 200 people who fell that day. For a long time, their stories were treated as a "dark secret" of the attacks because they didn't fit the narrative of the "heroic survivor." But there is a different kind of bravery in facing the end with that kind of terrifying clarity.
The Actionable Truth: How to Remember
If you want to honor the memory of Jonathan Briley and those like him, the best thing you can do is look at the history without flinching.
- Read the original reporting: Look up Tom Junod’s 2003 Esquire article, The Falling Man. It’s a masterclass in empathy.
- Visit the Memorial: At the 9/11 Memorial in NYC, Jonathan’s name is inscribed on North Pool, Panel N-66.
- Shift the language: When discussing 9/11, avoid the term "jumpers." Use "victims of the fall" or simply acknowledge they were trapped.
- Support the legacy: The Briley family established a scholarship in his name. Look for ways to support sound engineering or music education, the things Jonathan actually loved.
Jonathan Briley wasn't a symbol. He was a guy who liked Kahlúa in his coffee and watching the beach at sunrise. The photo is just a tiny, painful fraction of who he was.
Next Steps for You: Take ten minutes to watch the documentary 9/11: The Falling Man. It features interviews with the Briley family and Richard Drew. It moves the conversation away from the "spectacle" of the photo and back to the humanity of the people involved. If you can't find the film, spend some time reading the 9/11 Memorial's "Living Memorial" page for Jonathan to see photos of him with his family—the way he would have wanted to be remembered.