It is a photo that feels almost illegal to look at. You’ve probably seen it, even if you tried not to. A man, perfectly vertical, head-first, bisecting the North and South towers of the World Trade Center. He looks composed. He looks like he’s in control of his descent, though we know he isn't. Richard Drew, an Associated Press photographer who had already seen enough history for ten lifetimes—he was standing just feet away when Robert F. Kennedy was assassinated—captured this frame at 9:41:15 a.m. on September 11, 2001.
The image, famously known as the Falling Man of 9/11, didn't just document a death. It sparked a national identity crisis.
Most people don't realize that in the immediate aftermath of the attacks, this image was everywhere. It ran in the New York Times on September 12. It appeared in newspapers across the country. And then, almost overnight, it vanished. It was scrubbed from the airwaves and the pages of magazines because the public reaction was visceral and, in many ways, angry. People called it "vulture journalism." They called it "pornographic." But the reality is much more complicated than a simple debate over press ethics.
The Identity Hunt: Who Was He?
For years, the mystery of the man's identity haunted journalists and the families of the missing. If you’ve ever tried to find a needle in a haystack, imagine trying to find one man among nearly 3,000 victims based on a grainy silhouette.
Peter Cheney, a reporter for the Globe and Mail, was one of the first to really dig into this. He thought he found a match: Norberto Hernandez, a pastry chef at Windows on the World. The evidence seemed solid at first. The clothing looked right. The family was contacted. But when Hernandez's family was shown the photo, the reaction was heartbreaking. His daughter, Catherine, was adamant. "That's not my father," she said. The idea that their loved one might have "jumped"—a word that carries a heavy, unfair weight of "suicide"—was a burden many families couldn't bear to carry.
Then came Tom Junod.
Junod wrote what is arguably the most famous piece of magazine journalism of the 2000s for Esquire. He looked closer. He talked to more people. He eventually pointed toward Jonathan Briley. Briley was a 43-year-old audio technician who also worked at Windows on the World. He was a tall man. He was light-skinned. He often wore a bright orange t-shirt under his work clothes. If you look at the series of photos Richard Drew took—because there are actually twelve frames, not just the one famous one—you see the man's shirt fly up. Beneath the white tunic is an orange shirt.
His sister, Gwendolyn, recognized his shoes. Black high-tops.
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The thing is, we can never be 100% sure. The Briley family has reached a place of peace with the possibility, but the "Falling Man" remains, in many ways, an unknown soldier for a new kind of war.
Why the Term "Jumper" is Fundamentally Wrong
We need to talk about the language we use here. Honestly, the word "jumper" is a slur in the context of 9/11.
The National Institute of Standards and Technology (NIST) and the Chief Medical Examiner's office in New York have been very clear about this. People didn't "jump" in the sense that they chose to end their lives. They were forced out. By the time Richard Drew clicked his shutter, the temperatures on the upper floors of the North Tower had reached levels that were biologically unsurvivable. We’re talking about thick, black, caustic smoke and heat that softens steel.
Basically, they were choosing how to die, not whether to die.
There’s a technical distinction that matters. The medical examiner’s office classified these deaths as homicides. Every single one of them. To call them suicides is not only factually incorrect—as suicide is a voluntary act—but it’s also a massive insult to the victims' memories. They were pushed by the fire. They were seeking air.
The Erasure of the Fallers
It’s weirdly fascinating and disturbing how quickly the American public decided they didn't want to see this.
While the "Falling Man of 9/11" became a symbol of the day’s horror in Europe, it was largely censored in the United States for nearly a decade. We preferred the images of the "Falling Steel" or the "Falling Dust." We liked the photos of the firemen raising the flag—the "Raising the Flag at Ground Zero" photo by Thomas E. Franklin. That image offered heroism and a neat narrative of resilience.
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Richard Drew’s photo offered only the cold, hard truth of what it looked like to be trapped on the 106th floor.
It’s estimated that between 50 and 200 people fell or fell-jumped from the towers. Some fell alone. Some fell in pairs. There are accounts of people trying to make parachutes out of drapes or tablecloths from Windows on the World. It was a desperate, human struggle for one last breath of cool air.
The Technical Reality of the Shot
Richard Drew wasn't looking for a "money shot." He was just doing his job near the corner of West and Liberty Streets.
He was using a handheld camera with a 200mm lens. In the sequence of twelve shots, the man is actually tumbling. He's flailing. He’s struggling against the air. But in that one specific frame—the one that went global—he happens to be perfectly aligned with the vertical pinstripes of the towers. It’s an accidental masterpiece of composition.
It looks like he’s diving. It looks like he’s at peace.
That’s why the photo is so haunting. It lies to us. It tells us that in the middle of total chaos, there was a moment of grace. But the other eleven frames show the truth: a violent, terrifying descent at terminal velocity. He was traveling at about 150 miles per hour when he hit the ground. It took about ten seconds.
The Cultural Legacy and Why It Matters Now
You've probably noticed that we’re more comfortable with graphic imagery now than we were in 2001. We see everything on social media in real-time. But the "Falling Man" still holds a unique power. It’s a quiet photo. There’s no blood. There’s no screaming. It’s just a man in a white tunic against a grey background.
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Don DeLillo wrote a novel called Falling Man inspired by it. There’s a documentary. There are countless essays. Why? Because it’s the only part of 9/11 that we can truly relate to on a physical level. Most of us can't imagine being a world leader making a decision to go to war. We can't imagine being a pilot. But we can all imagine the feeling of standing at a window with a fire at our back and a 1,000-foot drop in front of us.
It’s the most "human" moment of the entire day.
Misconceptions You Should Probably Shake Off
- He was a waiter: While many assume he was a waiter because of the white jacket, Jonathan Briley was an audio tech. He often wore a white shirt as part of his uniform.
- The photo was staged: I’ve seen some weird corners of the internet claim this. It’s nonsense. Richard Drew is a Pulitzer-winning pro with a verified roll of film (and later, digital metadata) that tracks the morning chronologically.
- He was the only one: No. He was just the one we could see most clearly. Hundreds of families had to deal with the reality that their loved ones likely fell.
How to Approach This History Responsibly
If you’re researching this or talking about it, there are a few things to keep in mind to stay respectful and accurate.
First, stop using the word "jumper." It’s a small change in vocabulary that makes a massive difference to the survivors and the families of those lost. Use "fallers" or simply acknowledge them as victims of the fire.
Second, recognize that for the families, this isn't an "iconic photo." It’s a picture of their brother, husband, or father dying. When the Esquire article first came out, it was controversial because it forced people to look at a death that the government and the media had tried to sanitize.
Third, understand the context of Windows on the World. This wasn't just a restaurant; it was a workplace for hundreds of people from every corner of the globe. The "Falling Man" likely represents that diversity—a man just showing up for his shift, making sure the microphones worked or the pastries were ready, caught in a geopolitical nightmare he had nothing to do with.
To really grasp the weight of this, you should watch the 2006 documentary 9/11: The Falling Man. It doesn't exploit the tragedy; it talks to Richard Drew about the burden of taking the photo and to the families who had to decide if they wanted that man to be their kin.
The next time you see that silhouette, don't look away. But don't look at it as a piece of art, either. Look at it as a record of a human being who, in his final seconds, was given an impossible choice and chose the air.
Steps for Further Learning:
- Read the original source: Find Tom Junod's 2003 Esquire piece. It’s a masterclass in empathy and investigative journalism.
- Visit the 9/11 Memorial Museum: They have a section dedicated to the "fallers," handled with extreme sensitivity and behind partitions to respect those who find the images too traumatic.
- Support the Tribute Center: Listen to the oral histories of the survivors who were in the North Tower; their descriptions of the heat provide the necessary context for why people ended up at the windows.
- Check the archives: Look at Richard Drew's other work. Understanding the photographer helps you understand that this wasn't a "paparazzi" moment, but a journalist documenting a war crime in real-time.