Good to be King
By King Harris ~
My old friend Steve Shapiro called the other day out of the blue. The last time he called me was just after Sept. 11.
When we first met Steve was a cameraman at KEYT-TV in Santa Barbara. I was hired to be a reporter and anchorman for the news. We often worked together for a few years, until he left for New York.
When 9-11 occurred, I was working for KVEC in San Luis Obispo. Like everyone else, I saw the terrorist attacks live on television and was glued to it the next several days. I didn’t have a personal connection to the tragedies in Manhattan and Washington D.C. until Steve called me crying on that horrifying day.
He was a cameraman on the scene just after the two jets crashed into the twin towers of the World Trade Center. He was there before the World Trade Center collapsed. He, like many others, was unaware of what was going to happen next.
Steve told me he was busy covering the destruction and debris caused by the jets crashing into the Twin Towers. He was caught up in photographing the incredible rescue attempts going on amidst the sounds of sirens and the screaming.
What was happening? Steve told me there was so much chaos he at times didn’t know what to shoot. Does he shoot wide to present what was happening overall, or should he shoot close-ups to capture the feelings of the moment?
At the same time, his position was precarious because he had no idea, like anyone else, that the towers might collapse. He was a block away when he heard what sounded like an implosion. He looked up, and saw the first tower disintegrate and fall into the ground.
He ducked next to a car and was pummeled by falling debris and smoke and soot, so much that he couldn’t breathe. He thought he might die right then and there.
He stayed practically under that car for at least several minutes until he thought it safe to come out. He was scared, because he didn’t know what to expect when he surfaced.
One thing he knew — it was a possibility that the other tower might go as well. He was there when it did, but well away from it, having lived through the first collapse.
I told him I couldn’t imagine the surrounding scene, the chaos, the death and destruction, the fear and surprise. There were two major scenes to capture on tape — the rescue attempts by the gallant police and fire crews, and the reactions of the people in the crowds.
Steve, like many others on the smoldering streets, had no idea of a similar attack on the Pentagon in Washington and the cursed flight that crashed in a field in Pennsylvania. A bigger picture was eventually unfolding, but Steve was locked into the immediate scenes before him.
How he survived with any sense of normalcy is beyond me. Steve was never one to talk through tears. His call to me on that tragic September morning made 9-11 much more personal. So I tip my hat not only to fire and police personnel, but to all the journalists who covered the disaster.
When I talked with him on Sept. 11, 2015, I asked him about it, again. He’s doing fine, he replied, he’s retired, and still living in New York City. But he still remembers. “How can you forget something like that?”
