It is the one image that people still look away from. You’ve seen it. Even if you don't want to admit it, that silhouette—a man falling from the Twin Towers, perfectly vertical, arms at his sides, bisecting the North and South towers—is burned into the collective memory of the 21st century. Captured by Associated Press photographer Richard Drew at 9:41:15 a.m. on September 11, 2001, the image known as "The Falling Man" remains the most controversial and visceral artifact of that day.
People hated it. Honestly, when it first appeared in newspapers on September 12, the backlash was so fierce that the photo was virtually censored for years. Readers called it "exploitative" and "voyeuristic." But the reality of what happened at the World Trade Center involves a layer of human desperation that we often sanitize for our own comfort. We talk about the heroes and the tragedy, but we rarely talk about the "jumpers."
Why the Falling Man is a Misunderstood Icon
There is a common misconception that the people who fell from the buildings "chose" to die. This is a point that families and investigators find deeply painful. You have to understand the environment inside those upper floors. NIST (National Institute of Standards and Technology) reports documented temperatures reaching roughly 1,000 degrees Celsius in some areas. The smoke was thick, black, and toxic. It wasn't a choice between life and death; it was a choice between a death that was coming for them and a desperate, instinctive reach for a breath of air.
Roughly 200 people are estimated to have fallen or jumped. The exact number is impossible to verify. The official medical examiner's office doesn't even use the term "suicide" for these victims. Why? Because a suicide implies a choice. These people were forced out by the heat and the lack of oxygen. They were murdered by the circumstances of the attack.
The Falling Man himself isn't actually "falling" as neatly as the photo suggests. Richard Drew took a burst of eight frames. In almost every other frame, the man is tumbling. His clothes are fluttering. He is out of control. It was only in that one, singular millisecond that his body aligned with the architecture of the towers, creating a deceptive sense of composure. It’s an illusion of peace in the middle of a nightmare.
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The Search for an Identity
For a long time, the man had no name. He was just a symbol. In the years following the attacks, journalists like Peter Junod from Esquire and documentary filmmakers tried to give the family of the victim some closure.
Early on, some thought he was Norberto Hernandez, a pastry chef at Windows on the World. His family was shown the photos. It was a brutal process. His daughter initially thought it was him, but after looking at the clothing—specifically the orange undershirt visible in some frames—the family eventually concluded it wasn't Norberto. The weight of that "identity" was a burden no family wanted to carry because of the stigma attached to "jumping."
Later, the focus shifted to Jonathan Briley. He was a 43-year-old audio technician who also worked at Windows on the World. His brother, Timothy, recognized his brother's boots. His sister, Gwendolyn, remembered he had a distinct orange t-shirt that he wore constantly. While it’s never been 100% DNA-confirmed—nothing really could be—most researchers and those close to the investigation believe Jonathan Briley is the man in the photo.
The Cultural Silence Around 9/11 Jumpers
Why do we avoid talking about this? It’s because the image breaks the narrative of "triumph over tragedy" that we like to wrap around 9/11.
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Seeing a man falling from the Twin Towers reminds us of our total vulnerability. It’s too raw. In the days after the attack, the media pivoted hard toward the "flag-raising" photos and the stories of first responders. Those are important, sure. But the "jumpers" represent a part of the day that was purely about the victim's experience.
It’s interesting to note how different countries reacted. In the UK and parts of Europe, the photo was seen as a necessary, if horrifying, record of the event. In the U.S., it was largely scrubbed from the record until the mid-2000s. We sort of collectively decided that it was "distasteful." But ignoring it doesn't change the fact that for dozens of people, the only exit was the window.
Technical Realities of the Fall
Physics doesn't care about our feelings.
If you're looking at the mechanics of it, a person falling from those heights (roughly 1,000 feet) would reach terminal velocity—about 120 to 150 mph—in about 10 seconds. The impact is instantaneous. There is no "feeling" it. While that sounds gruesome, many grief counselors have pointed out to families that this was actually a faster, perhaps more merciful end than the alternative of being trapped in the collapse or the fire.
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What We Can Learn from This Today
When we look back at the Falling Man, we shouldn't see it as a "ghoulish" curiosity. We should see it as a testament to the sheer scale of the human experience on that day.
- Respect the terminology: Avoid the word "jumper" if you’re talking to survivors or historians. Use "fell" or "was forced out." It honors the fact that they were victims of an attack, not people who gave up.
- Acknowledge the complexity: History isn't just about the heroes who ran in; it's also about the impossible moments faced by those who couldn't get out.
- Support the archives: Places like the 9/11 Memorial & Museum handle these topics with incredible sensitivity. If you're looking to understand the timeline better, their oral history projects provide context that a single photo never could.
If you want to dive deeper into the ethics of photojournalism or the specific history of Windows on the World, the best thing to do is read the original Esquire piece by Tom Junod. It’s widely considered one of the best pieces of long-form journalism ever written. It doesn't just look at the man; it looks at us—the people who are still looking at him decades later.
Also, consider visiting the 9/11 Memorial's digital archives. They have verified accounts from employees who worked in the North Tower that provide a much clearer picture of the conditions on the 101st through 107th floors. Understanding the "why" makes the "what" a little easier to process, even if it never gets any less heartbreaking.