On Sept. 11, 2001, Bill Osborn made the short walk from his home to the Atlantic Highlands Municipal Marina to photograph the smoldering Manhattan skyline. Upon arrival, he discovered there was more to the scene than he’d anticipated.

Much more.

Folks who’d evacuated Lower Manhattan by ferry — the only means possible at the time — were arriving in droves. After deboarding at the Seastreak Ferry terminal in Highlands, they were bused to the lot in front of Shore Casino banquet hall in Atlantic Highlands.

Awaiting them as they exited the buses were throngs of anxious family members and emergency response personnel. This being 2001, a time before smartphones, pretty much nobody had a camera. Except Osborn, for whom photography was a longtime hobby.

With his Nikon N90, Osborn snapped a bunch of shots, sent the film to be developed, and didn’t give much more thought to the images he’d captured because the whole experience was so overwhelming.

“It was still kind of raw,” he said. “I didn’t even really like looking at them. But that day, you knew it was history. I had to take photos.”

One photo stands out. It’s a man and a woman embracing as a bus unloads. Osborn didn’t get their names. And they never knew the photo existed. Until last year.

This is the story of that photo, the people in it, and what it represents. On the other end of the largest sea evacuation in history — as many as 500,000 people ferried off Manhattan in a matter of hours — there was a seemingly endless wait for loved ones to return home as the minutes seemed like hours, and the hours seemed like days.  

The reunions were powerful moments, though largely unchronicled. This was an exception.

'I can't believe what just happened'

Christian Giamanco was a 30-year-old father of twins, with a baby on the way, commuting from Holmdel to Wall Street for his job at the New York Stock Exchange. On 9/11 he took the PATH train from Jersey City to the World Trade Center, then walked several blocks to work.

Less than an hour into his workday a clerk ran onto the exchange floor and informed everyone that a plane had flown into the World Trade Center’s north tower.

That’s when Giamanco’s pager went off. It was his wife, Pamela. He stepped outside to call her.

“I said ‘I’m scared; maybe you should come right home?’” Pamela Giamanco recalled. “Then all hell broke loose.”

Christian heard the screeching kaboom of the second plane crashing into the World Trade Center’s south tower. He and his brother Joe, who also worked at the NYSE, set off to collect their other brother Victor, who worked at the American Stock Exchange. That was closer to Ground Zero, and they soon witnessed the horror unfolding in full view — the towers on fire, people jumping from the upper stories.

The three brothers united inside the AMEX, and “as we were talking, all of a sudden the whole exchange just shook,” Christian said.

The south tower had fallen.

“We went outside and it was pitch black,” Christian said. “We wet our suit jackets and put them over our faces. We made it maybe three or four blocks and went into a Bank of America. That’s when the second building fell and you saw the smoke come down the streets.”

The bank had a working landline. They called their father in New Jersey, Joe Giamanco, who advised them to “get to the water — there’s got to be a ferry.”

They did, and there was.

“You’re on the ferry and nobody is saying a word,” Christian said. “Everyone is looking back at the city and the smoke. It was a warzone. All you’re doing is thinking, ‘I can’t believe what just happened.’”

Meanwhile, Pamela and other family members were waiting for the Giamanco brothers in Atlantic Highlands.

“It felt like an eternity,” she said.

When Christian finally got off the bus, “he was covered in soot,” Pamela said.

She threw her arms around his neck anyway. Christian kissed her cheek.

Unbeknownst to them, in the crowd a few yards behind, a Nikon N90 shutter clicked.

Putting names to the faces

Photographing a calamitous event is an uneasy, sometimes unwelcome task.

“I’m sure there were people that saw me with my camera taking pictures in their direction and thinking, ‘Dude, I really don’t feel like having my photo taken right now,’” Osborn said. “You want to be discreet, you don’t want to look like paparazzi, but you’ve got to capture the image.”

It’s important. Photos are our most reliable, visceral part of the historical record. Osborn understands that better than most. For the last several years he’s worked at the Monmouth County Archives as the Archival Specialist for Photographic Records. Perhaps that’s why, last September, he finally decided to close the loop on those 9/11 photos.

“Back then we had no Facebook to try and identify people, and I also kind of forgot about those images,” said Osborn, who still lives in Atlantic Highlands. “Last year I finally said, 'I ought to post these. These people were probably from the area, and somebody will know somebody.'"

So he posted a handful, including the one depicting the Giamancos’ embrace, to his personal Facebook page.

“I thought it would take a couple of days,” he said. “We had them identified that night.”

Pamela and Christian, who live in Shrewsbury now, were out to dinner when a friend who spotted the image called them about it. They’re both 53 years old now, and Christian runs a Red Bank-based real estate firm. In 2001, he'd returned to the New York Stock Exchange just a week after 9/11. He worked in Manhattan four more years.  

“At least once a day there was a bomb threat, and the downtown smelled like smoke for months,” he said. "Everybody was in shock for a long time.”

When the Giamancos laid eyes on the photo, the memories came flooding back.

“I got emotional,” Pamela said. “My son (later) went to school with some kids who lost their fathers (in the towers). It’s a difficult emotion because you’re sick to your stomach, but grateful that our family was spared.”

Their son Maximillian, who was in Pamela’s womb that day, is now 22 years old. Their daughters Ava and Sofia are 23. The photo helps them understand 9/11 in the most personal terms.

Osborn is still looking to identify some of the other people in his photos from the marina. But “the embrace” is the standout of the group, because as Christian Giamanco put it, speaking for a generation of New Jerseyans who lived through 9/11, “everybody can relate to that.”

Jerry Carino is community columnist for the Asbury Park Press, focusing on the Jersey Shore’s interesting people, inspiring stories and pressing issues. Contact him at [email protected].