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9/11 artifacts share 'pieces of truth' in victims stories

Nearly 3,000 people who died from the terrorist attacks on Sept. 11, 2001 aren't being forgotten. Their stories endure at the 9/11 Memorial & Museum, where personal artifacts help memorialize some of those who perished. From scorched and bloodied shoes to mangled eyeglasses, the growing inventory at the museum is a reminder of the human toll. Over the years, the museum has collected some 22,000 personal artifacts to help tell the stories of those who died and those lucky to survive. Many of those personal effects were plucked from the ruins of what was once the Twin Towers. Other items were donated by survivors or by the families of those who perished. "Each person who makes up part of that tally was an individual who lived a life," said Jan Ramirez, the museum's chief curator and director of collections. "We knew that families — the people that have lost a loved one that day — were going to need to have a place, have a way, to remember the person that never came home from work, that never came home from a flight," Ramirez said. Jupiter Yambem's wife, Nancy Yambem, says anniversaries of 9/11 have little meaning to her, because she carries the weight of her husbands death every day. "Not a day goes by where I don't think about him or what happened to him," she said. She says her late husband will be remembered for his charming personality, and love of his job. Yambem died while working on the 107th floor of the north tower. He was a banquet manager at the restaurant Windows on the World, which hosted lavish gatherings for New York's elite political and business leaders. "He loved his job," said Nancy Yambem. "He was very good at it." Yambem donated two simple items to commemorate his career: a corkscrew set he received as a gift for hosting a conference for Morgan Stanley Dean Witter, and a pair of his business cards. A woodworking square, screwdriver, pry bar and a toolbelt represent Sean Rooney, a vice president at Aon Corp. who died in the South Tower. Rooney's essence was that of "a builder," his sister-in-law Margo Eckert said, making the carpenter's tools donated to the museum the "perfect antidote to the destruction." Rooney had phoned his wife, Beverly Eckert, at their home in Stamford, Connecticut, after being trapped by fire and smoke on the 105th floor. He spent his last breaths recounting happier times, whispering, "I love you," as he labored for air. His remains were never found. Beverly died eight years later in a plane crash while traveling to her husband's high school in Buffalo, New York, to award a scholarship in his honor. Before she died, she had set aside the items she hoped would help tell her husband's story, that of a weekend carpenter, handyman and volunteer with Habitat for Humanity. "We have a gravesite for her, we don't have a gravesite for Sean," Eckert said. "Artifacts become very important. And artifacts are the facts that someone lived. They are the facts you can touch." Just a small part of the museum's collection of artifacts is ever on display because there are just too many to show at any one time. When not on display, the artifacts are stored in warehouses, including a hangar at JFK airport and across the Hudson River in New Jersey. Row after row of shelves are stacked with boxes filled with tragedy and remembrance. "Each piece is a little part of a puzzle," Ramirez said. "Having those important, little pieces of truth, those palpable pieces of truth — those bridges to allow people to get engaged in the story — is why we do what we do and will continue to do what we do."