05 November 2001

Excerpts: New York Times Series -- "Portraits of Grief"

[Note: Permission has been obtained from The New York Times for republication of the 20 biographical profiles that follow the introduction below. Credit The New York Times as follows: Copyright (c) The New York Times 2001. Reprinted by permission.]

Befitting its status as a global hub of commerce and finance, the World Trade Center in New York City was international in every sense of the word. The twin towers that anchored the complex housed scores of foreign companies on its 110 floors and a workforce of 50,000 drawn from every corner of the Earth.

Among the nearly 5,000 dead in the September 11 terrorist attack on the two towers were citizens from 80 nations. While no precise estimate of the number of non-American dead at the World Trade Center has emerged, most news accounts place that figure in the hundreds.

That figure, moreover, does not even take into account the large number of victims who were U.S. citizens of foreign descent, part of the ongoing wave of migration -- for much of the 20th century from Europe, but increasingly since the 1960s from Latin America, Asia, Africa, and the Middle East -- that has characterized New York City throughout its history. Immigrants themselves or children of immigrants, these individuals came to the United States -- as has been true throughout American history -- for the opportunities available to them to better their lives and those of their families.

Since September 15, The New York Times has run brief profiles each day of some of the World Trade Center victims, drawing from remembrances offered by their families, friends, and co-workers. These "Portraits of Grief" reflect the polyglot nature of New York, a city where the 2000 census listed the population as 35 percent white, 27 percent Hispanic, 25 percent black, 10 percent Asian, and three percent other.

These portraits put a human face on a casualty count so large as to be difficult to comprehend. "Each profile is only a snapshot," the Times said in an October 14 editorial, "a single still frame lifted from the unrecountable complexity of a lived life."

"But these profiles also offer a map of fulfillment," the editorial continued. "The bonds of family -- no matter how you define family -- are palpable in every story. The patterns of community service jump out. The generosity, the selflessness that emanates from these stories, is remarkable, and it makes the heroism of that day seem less surprising."

Excerpted from The New York Times' "Portraits of Grief" series, here are portraits of 20 victims of the World Trade Center attack -- immigrants or descendants of immigrants from six continents -- whose stories reveal the human toll of the September 11 attack:

• Australia -- Peter Gyulavary

• Bangladesh -- Nural and Shakila Miah

• Croatia -- Alfred Vukosa

• Czech Republic -- Alena Sesinova

• Dominican Republic -- Lizie Martinez-Calderon

• Ethiopia -- Eskedar Melaku

• Greece -- Danielle Kousoulis

• Guatemala -- Juan Cisneros

• India -- Jupiter Yambem

• Ireland -- Michael McCarthy

• Italy -- Adriane Scibetta

• Japan -- Kazushige Ito

• Jordan -- Ramzi Doany

• Pakistan -- Tariq Amanullah

• Peru -- Ivhan Luis Carpio Bautista

• Philippines -- Benilda Domingo

• Sweden -- Ulf Ericson

• Taiwan -- Yang Der Lee

• United Kingdom -- Michael Cunningham

• Yugoslavia -- Bojan Kostic

Peter Gyulavary: A Tool Belt as a Symbol

"I always knew Australia would bring me something special and magical," said Jane Gyulavary. So it did in 1986, when, after traveling there nine times in less than 10 years, she met Peter Gyulavary, a strapping Australian graduate student 11 years her junior, who in an instant convinced her that soul mates do exist.

They married, had a child, Geniveve, now 13, and returned to New York. They settled into a three-story Victorian in Orange County which Mr. Gyulavary, a 44-year-old environmental engineer for Washington Group International, insisted on painting yellow and green, the colors of Australia.

"All week he would work in an office, writing these massive reports," Mrs. Gyulavary said. "And then he would come home, and put up a roof, paint the porch, or sand a floor. He loved the physical part of life, getting his hands dirty. I'd have to ring a gong to get him to come in for a cocktail and dinner."

For weeks, she has hoped her husband would come home once more. Now she has resigned herself to saying goodbye to "his physical presence" by honoring him with a memorial ceremony, where there will be no coffin, just a photo, draped with his tool belt, hard hat and a picture book of their beloved Australia.

Nural and Shakila Miah: The Voice of a Deer

Long ago in Bangladesh, Nural Miah's grandfather hunted birds in the jungle. The tradition lapsed when the family came to New York, until Mr. Miah, an audiovisual technologist at the World Trade Center, took it up with a fire-hot passion. He taught hunting to Mohammed Sadat, his 15-year-old cousin, and took him on week-long hunting vacations.

"We expressed our feelings." Mohammed said. "We both talked about whatever we had on our minds. Three years ago, he talked about this girl, Shakila. The parents didn't want her to get married to him. So he would leave a deer caller on the machine and when she heard the deer's voice, she'd know."

But Mohammed worried last year when Mr. Miah said he and Shakila were to be married. She was a computer technician who also worked at the trade center. "I confronted my cousin," he said. "I said, 'You're going to be married and leave me?'"

Instead, Mrs. Miah drew Mohammed in, inviting him into their new Brooklyn home, furnished with antiques and eight-point antlers. The hunting in the woods, just Mr. Miah and Mohammed, continued. "It was peaceful," he said. "All about nature. All about relaxing. He watched out for me. He was like a brother."

Alfred Vukosa: A Meeting of Families

His family was from Croatia. Hers was from Guyana. They lived in Brooklyn and met on the floor of the New York Mercantile Exchange.

In the genre of "only in New York," Alfred Vukosa, 37, and his wife Annette, 34, lived the dream. Their two families were nearby as well -- a dense, extended old-fashioned network of aunts, uncles, grandparents and cousins that could be fully several hundred strong when assembled.

Alfred and Annette, along with his parents, Sam and Irina, and his sister Sonja, all lived in the same building in Kensington, Brooklyn. Annette Vukosa's family -- including four sisters and a brother -- were almost as close at hand, in Queens.

Mr. Vukosa, who worked for Cantor Fitzgerald as an information technology specialist, had to be at his desk in the World Trade Center by 7 a.m. When he would arrive home every day about 4, another family tradition would unfold: a walk with his two boys -- Austin, 7, and Adam, 2. "The children would wait for him to come," said his wife.

Alena Sesinova: When in Doubt, Serve Tuna

Alena Sesinova never fully mastered English, a trait that her friends found endlessly endearing. She dispensed entirely with certain articles of speech, like the word "the," and when she had a glass of red wine or two her Czechoslovakian accent would grow thicker still.

When she arrived alone in New York in the early 1970s from Prague and landed a job at Macy's cafeteria, she would serve a tuna sandwich to any customer she couldn't understand.

"She was a survivor -- she'd made it in America, and she loved this country," said her friend of 25 years, Nanette Shaw.

Ms. Shaw said she sometimes kidded Ms. Sesinova for always having an American flag in her car, and always the response was the same: America, Ms. Sesinova would say, was the land that had given her her life, and that was not to be forgotten.

Ms. Sesinova, 57, had been trained as an engineer under the Communist regime, and made the transition to computer work in the 1970s and later information technology at Marsh Inc.

She lived in Brooklyn Heights and after many years had attained what she considered the highest symbol of making it in New York: a seven-room apartment.

Lizie Martinez-Calderon: Mother's Love

On Tuesday, September 11, Lizie Martinez-Calderon woke up early and headed for the kitchen. From their bed, her husband, Marino Calderon, saw that their 4-year-old daughter, Naomi, had also woken up and was following her mother down the hall. Their 20-month-old son was still sleeping. It was 10 minutes before six.

"I said, 'Go back to bed, Naomi. It's too early,' but she kept going towards her mother," Mr. Calderon said. So, he got up, followed their daughter and found his wife sitting on the living room sofa, gently cradling their little girl. Again, he told Naomi to go back to bed. But his wife pleaded with him, "Let her be, just leave her with me for a little while," Mr. Calderon remembers she said.

Ms. Martinez-Calderon, 32, a secretary at Aon Insurance who immigrated to New York from the Dominican Republic almost three decades ago, was a woman of faith, her husband said. She sang in the choir of their Adventist church in Washington Heights and was a member of a church group trained to assist victims in times of tragedy. "I think they were saying their goodbyes," Mr. Calderon says, still haunted by the last image of his wife mothering their little girl.

Eskedar Melaku: 'She Didn't Judge People'

"What frustrated me," said Nurya Bond about Eskedar Melaku, her closest friend, "was that she didn't dislike the people I disliked." It was no good trying to get a satisfying complaining session going, Ms. Bond said. "She'd just say, 'That's the way people are.' She didn't judge people."

Ms. Melaku and Ms. Bond, who immigrated from Ethiopia to attend Queens College, met during their first year. Ms. Bond, who was alone, wanted to quit, but Ms. Melaku persuaded her to stay and invited her to meet her relatives.

Ms. Melaku did favors often and quietly. She signed Ms. Bond's name as well as her own to a baby gift -- which mystified Ms. Bond when she was thanked. She asked after the ailing mother whom an acquaintance had mentioned months before. Ms. Melaku, 30, was an assistant vice president at Marsh & McLennan, and three-quarters through her C.P.A. exam. Off duty, she tried some new things. "Would you like to suffer through the opera?" she asked Ms. Bond recently. Unsurprisingly, they found something else to do.

Danielle Kousoulis: Always Thinking of Others

Danielle Kousoulis was a vice president at Cantor Fitzgerald with enough fire to earn an M.B.A. from New York University while working, but her admirers say her success as a bond broker was one prism in a spirit of amazing generosity.

The youngest girl in a family of three girls and one boy from Haddon Township, New Jersey, she delighted in treating her parents to a vacation in their native Greece or throwing a New Year's party for a sister sidelined with a broken leg. Ms. Kousoulis, 29, was an ardent runner and skier who had enjoyed the city's museums and nightlife since coming to work at the World Trade Center in 1993.

"She cared more about other people's feelings and other people's problems than her own," said Tricia Lippincott, a friend since kindergarten.

That love was returned. A friendship with Christopher Mills, whom Ms. Kousoulis knew from her Villanova University days, had just turned serious. Hundreds showed up at Ms. Kousoulis' memorial service. "She was the most exciting, fun-loving person I'd ever met," Mr. Mills said.

Juan Cisneros: Grand Plans for the Future

Juan Cisneros never intended to spend the rest of his life in New York. He would work as a bond trader until he could pay off his college loans and put away money for his parents. Then, said his girlfriend, Stephanie Albert, they planned to move out West. They would go to graduate school and become professors. He would teach history, she would teach English.

Mr. Cisneros, 24, who lived in Manhattan, was gentle and patient. He loved running and reading. "You're going to do what?" Ms. Albert asked him, incredulous, when he told her he was taking a job at Cantor Fitzgerald. His parents had immigrated from Guatemala when he was 6. He went to Dartmouth College, volunteered as a Big Brother and fell in love with Ms. Albert.

One Saturday afternoon two months ago, they found themselves in New Jersey, having offered to help a friend set up for her husband's 40th birthday party. Alone in a room with a view of Manhattan, they began dancing. They were joking, teasing, making plans for how they would celebrate each other's 40th when the time came.

"Thrilled with the present, excited about the future," Ms. Albert remembered sadly. "And it absolutely takes my breath away that we won't even be able to spend our 25th birthdays together."

Jupiter Yambem: Holding On to India

Jupiter Yambem was born and raised on the other side of the world, in the remote state of Manipur in the northeast corner of India. At the age of 21 he came to the United States and promptly took up a career in some of New York City's most famous restaurants, including the Rainbow Room and then Windows on the World, where he worked as a banquet manager.

But even as he planted hardy roots here -- marrying a woman from Syracuse, settling down in Beacon, New York, joining an environmental group dedicated to protecting the Hudson River, becoming friends with Pete Seeger, signing on as assistant coach for his 5-year-old son Santi's soccer team -- Mr. Yambem, 41, held fast to his Indian past. Retaining his Indian citizenship, he co-founded the North American Manipur Association, a small group of Manipur families that sought to promote and preserve the culture of their homeland over here.

He had two purposes, said his wife, Nancy Yambem. He wanted his son to know something of his heritage -- to see the dances and hear the music and taste the food. But he also wanted to construct a bridge, however modest, between two vastly different cultures.

The strands of Mr. Yambem's life came together at his memorial service. His friends gathered at Beacon Riverfront Park on the banks of the Hudson River. They had a potluck dinner and Mr. Seeger sang "Turn, Turn, Turn." Later, they released hundreds of small paper boats onto the river, each with a candle inside. Mr. Yambem's ashes were returned to Manipur and scattered over a lake.

Michael McCarthy: Trader With the Gift of Gab

Michael McCarthy, as he was known to his colleagues, was the tough, competitive trader, at 33 an assistant vice president at Carr Futures who worked from 2 a.m. to 10 a.m. following the London exchanges.

But his family always called him Desmond. Desmond was the happy-go-lucky rugby player who liked a pint and a good tale to chase it with. He was a big talker, speaking heatedly about history and politics, or dazzling them with his high-flying deals in Nice and Monaco. "He would try to explain what he did in the business world, but we never did catch on," his father, Bill McCarthy, said.

To his parents, first- and second-generation Irish immigrants, Desmond was the epitome of New World success. You could see Ellis Island and the Statue of Liberty from his 27th-floor apartment in Battery Park City. When he worked in London, he thought nothing of flying home for the night for a family wedding, or to celebrate St. Patrick's Day in Manhattan.

And though Desmond had been commitment-phobic, he seemed serious about the latest girlfriend he took home to Huntington, New York. "We were looking forward to watching Desmond move through life," his father said. "Now, every morning hurts. But we love talking about him. It's a way of honoring him."

Adriane Scibetta: Saving a Day for Halloween

Adriane Scibetta was supposed to be on vacation Sept. 11, the last day of a week-long break from her job in the accounting department of Cantor Fitzgerald. But she decided to return to work ahead of schedule and save the day to spend Halloween with her children.

She told her older brother, Salvatore Venuto, of her plan in a telephone conversation on Monday night. That his sister was in her office in the World Trade Center that fateful Tuesday was typical of her, Mr. Venuto said, because she had chosen to do something special with her children, 4-year-old Gabriella and 15-month-old Vincent.

Mrs. Scibetta, 31, and her husband, Charles, 35, a mason for the Metropolitan Transportation Authority, settled in Staten Island once they could afford to buy a house. But their ties were still in the old neighborhood -- Bensonhurst, Brooklyn -- where they were raised and where they met on the playground of Seth Low Junior High School.

Each morning, on the way to work in Astoria, Queens, Mr. Scibetta left the children at his mother-in-law's house, where Italian remains the first language 35 years after Caterina and Petro Venuto emigrated from Calabria. The day before the attack, Gabriella started pre-kindergarten, with her mother in attendance for the first day of school.

That was Mrs. Scibetta's last earthly pleasure, which she recounted with joy to her brother. "'She's getting used to it already,'" he said she told him that Monday night. "'She's such a big girl.'"

Kazushige Ito: Loving New York

Kazushige Ito was born in Hiroshima, but he loved New York. "I think he loved New York more than a lot of native New Yorkers," said his wife, Yuko Ito.

Living on the corner of 66th Street and Columbus Avenue, he jogged regularly in Central Park, visited Lincoln Center every weekend and explored the city's French, Italian, Vietnamese and Indian restaurants. Last year, he ran in the New York City marathon. "He was in heaven," Mrs. Ito said.

In Japan, Mr. Ito used to spend $600 for an opera ticket; a fraction of that got him some of the best seats at the Metropolitan Opera. Last year, he watched more than 20 operas. His favorite was "Aida."

He was training to run in the Philadelphia marathon. "Last year, it took him four hours and 18 minutes to run the New York City marathon," Mrs. Ito said. "He wanted to finish in four hours this year. I think he could have done it. It would be Nov. 18, one day before his birthday." He would have been 36.

For Fuji Bank, where Mr. Ito was a planning specialist, the couple had relocated from Yokohama to Tokyo to Manila. They came to New York in 1998. "If this hadn't happened, we would have settled here," Mrs. Ito said. "He loved New York the best."

Ramzi Doany: Ways to Amass Friends

Ramzi Doany amassed friends. He amassed them with acts of kindness, like tutoring a woman with lupus, two children and no husband, to get her though college, or letting his college roommate and the roommate's wife live in his condo for two years so they could save money for a down payment on a house.

He amassed friends with his sense of humor, which filled a room and flourished at an early age. As a boy of 9 or 10, young Ramzi dug a hole in the backyard for a terrible report card and put a stone on top. "He said it was dead and buried," said his sister, Dina Doany Azzam.

Mr. Doany was born to Palestinian parents in Amman, Jordan, and lived for many years in Milwaukee. At 35, he devoured the novels of Dickens, cooked Thanksgiving turkeys with great pride (even if they were a bit dry) and had just bought a Harley-Davidson motorcycle. He chose to work as a forensic accountant last March for Marsh & McLennan, the insurance brokerage company, because it would bring him to New York, a city he loved. The job also brought him to the World Trade Center.

It was a funny sort of journey, his sister said.

Tariq Amanullah: Always in Demand

As a boy in Karachi, Pakistan, Tariq Amanullah was obsessed with building things. Whenever his father went away on business, he would ask him to bring back a "how to" book of some sort. He played with Lego building blocks for hours. He built himself a chair, to place in his father's study.

As a man living in Metuchen, New Jersey, Mr. Amanullah, 40, couldn't say no. And so his talents -- as handyman, tax preparer, investment advisor -- were spread far and wide among family and friends.

If his sister, Nilofer Usman, needed a garage door opener installed, Mr. Amanullah insisted on doing it. If a niece needed help selecting college classes, Uncle Tariq's advice was solicited. If anyone needed help selecting an insurance policy or figuring out an investment strategy, his phone rang. In springtime, so many friends and relatives sought his help on filing taxes that his family sometimes jokingly suggested that Mr. Amanullah, a vice president at Fiduciary Trust and the father of a boy and a girl, hang a shingle out front.

"Even though he was younger than me, I always had that feeling -- he'll give me the right advice," Ms. Usman said. "Even his friends, if anybody needed anything, he would take the time out and help them. He would never say, 'I don't have time, I'm sorry.'"

Ivhan Luis Carpio Bautista: Things Were Going So Well

Last Tuesday was Ivhan Luis Carpio Bautista's day off at Windows on the World. It was also his birthday. But with an extended family back in Peru depending on his paycheck, Mr. Carpio, 24, did not hesitate when a co-worker called that Monday night asking if he would cover a shift. "He worked all the overtime he could," said a cousin, Rita Tatiana Palacio. "Too many people needed the money, including a niece whose school he paid for.

In the two years since arriving in New York speaking only Spanish, Mr. Carpio had made enviable strides. His English was nearly fluent, he had found the perfect job, and last month had moved into his own place, having previously shared an apartment with his cousin in Queens. The day before the attack on the twin towers, he learned that he had been accepted to John Jay College of Criminal Justice. It was a day of triumph, as he had been uncertain whether the school would accept credits from his two-and-a-half years of law school in Peru. "He was so excited, so happy," Ms. Palacio said. "I remember him saying how he was so lucky, that everything was going to be so good from now on."

Benilda Domingo: Bus Ride to Romance

Benilda Domingo was heading home to Laoag City in the Philippines from Manila after two years of menial work in Singapore. Relatives introduced her to the bus driver, Cefar Gabriel. While she had been working abroad, one of her brothers had married one of Mr. Gabriel's sisters. By the end of the nine-hour bus trip, they were in love.

The couple had three children -- Daryl, 11, Yvonne, 5, and Lucki Angel, 2. But for 14 years they kept postponing their wedding, said Dorothy Gabriel, Ms. Domingo's sister-in-law, because Ms. Domingo's parents, living in Hawaii with their eldest son, were petitioning United States authorities to allow Ms. Domingo to immigrate, and a spouse would have slowed the process.

Last year Ms. Domingo's visa finally came though, and she brought the three children to America. She planned to return to Laoag City to marry Mr. Gabriel and to bring him over too.

She left the two younger children with her parents in Hawaii, and took the oldest with her to New York.

Ms. Domingo, 37, found work with an office-cleaning company. "She was so proud that she was hired at the World Trace Center," her sister-in-law recalled by telephone from Canada.

Now Mr. Gabriel, still a bus driver in the Philippines, is even more desperate to come to New York. "He was so devastated," Ms. Gabriel said. "He wanted to come see the place where it happened, and just to be with his kids."

Ulf Ericson: Adventurous Vacationer

At 79, Ulf Ericson was still working full time as a civil engineer at Washington Group International. On vacations, he trekked in the Himalayas and explored Antarctica. "My father saw himself as someone much younger," said his daughter Catherine. "He had a real passion for engineering. Every year I would say: 'Dad, do you know how old you are?' But he didn't see age as limiting."

Ten years ago, Mr. Ericson returned to mountaineering, which he had loved as a student at Stanford University. He and Helen, his wife of 48 years, had traveled widely. He lived for years in Guatemala and Indonesia and regularly took his family to see relatives in Sweden, where he was raised.

But he wanted to see Nepal's soaring peaks. That trip was the first of his exotic vacations, which continued with a safari in Tanzania, a South Pacific tour and the Antarctica trip. "He didn't brag about his adventures," his daughter said. "Most people just thought he was a quiet, flexible, nice guy. I don't think they knew the depths of my father."

Yang Der Lee: Family, Charity and Temple

Sixty-three-year-old Yang Der Lee was easy to miss on the coursing sidewalks of Wall Street and along the shiny gum-slicked subway platform, where he took the train each morning from his house in Richmond Hill, Queens, to Lower Manhattan.

The small-built man often wore a baseball cap and a fraying suede jacket that he brought from Taiwan when he emigrated to New York City with his wife and three children 16 years ago. "It's good quality," Mr. Lee would tell his family, when pressured to buy new clothes, said his son, Philip. "It doesn't wear out."

The $10 an hour that he earned as a delivery clerk at Windows on the World was for family, charities, and the Buddhist temple where he worshipped, Philip Lee said. Mr. Lee worked the day shift, hauling deliveries of fresh meats, fish and vegetables.

His children, who have successful careers and contribute to the household, cajoled him into agreeing to retire when he reached 65. "My father never wanted to be a burden on us," Philip Lee said. "He would have liked to come up with down payments for our houses. That's how great he was. We finally got him to agree to quit working at 65. Now, it's too late."

Michael Cunningham: Life With Micky C.

Michael J. Cunningham and his wife, Teresa, were known among their friends for their theme parties. Costumes were always a must. In June, the party had a Hawaiian theme, and Mrs. Cunningham also wore a grass skirt, even though she was seven months pregnant with their first child.

"He was just the funniest person," Mrs. Cunningham said about her husband, who was from London and came to work here with Euro Brokers 11 years ago. "You would never forget him if you met him once at a bar."

Mr. Cunningham, 39, a negotiable securities broker, lived fully. Even though he never lost what she called his "heavy East End accent," he said he preferred American football to soccer, and he rooted for the Philadelphia Eagles. He and his wife lived in Princeton Junction, New Jersey, with their son, William.

The couple met while working together; at first she resisted the idea of going out with a co-worker. But he won her over. "He had this fun go-for-it attitude," she said. "He made me laugh. Plus he was very handsome."

"He used to say to me, 'I'm 6-foot-2, eyes of blue, Mickey C. will come after you.'"

Bojan Kostic: All Set for Citizenship

It was Grand Army Plaza, in front of the Plaza Hotel, that hooked Bojan Kostic on New York. He had grown up in Belgrade in Yugoslavia, and moved to Iowa in the mid-1980s for college. During his first semester, on a school trip to New York, he stepped off the bus in Grand Army Plaza.

"That's when he decided to move here," said his fiancee, Susanna Ferm. "He loved it -- the energy, the excitement, everything about the city."

He soon dropped out of school and took a job with a house-painting company in Connecticut, and he eventually enrolled in Baruch College. That was typical of Bo, as people called him. He was straightforward, honest and reliable. He knew what he wanted.

An example: on his first date with Ms. Ferm, in 1998, he asked her to move in with him. "I held off for three weeks," she said.

He liked to arrive at his office at Cantor Fitzgerald by 6 a.m. In early September, Mr. Kostic, 34, arrived home from work each day and eagerly sorted through the mail, looking for the letter telling him that he could become a United States citizen. On the night of Sept. 10, Ms. Ferm quizzed him for his citizenship test, asking him to name the original 13 states. "He got them all," she said. "He was ready."