NEW YORK -- Some came and cried, quietly or with big, racking sobs. Some came and stared fixedly at the spot where the Twin Towers of the World Trade Center once stood. Some came and tried to save souls, to bring people to one god or another. Some came and tried to make a living.
They all came, thousands and thousands of them, to the city's sacred spaces, especially Ground Zero.
The official memorial ceremony -- during which bagpipers and drummers converged on Ground Zero, Mayor Michael Bloomberg read the Gettysburg Address and the names of those killed one year ago yesterday were recited -- was not open to the general public.
But that did not stop the general public from congregating around the site, pressing up against the police barriers and staring, or crying, or preaching or hawking American flags. They spoke of their presence at Ground Zero as an imperative.
"When this happened last year, I was in tears for weeks," said Brian Kirk, a Long Island mail carrier handing out religious leaflets at Broadway and Fulton streets. "I needed to be here today."
Another man, a United Nations employee named Andrew Benjamin, was compelled to return to the site where, last September, he pulled four bodies from the rubble.
"I was a rescue worker," Benjamin said. "I'm paying my respects.
"When I saw the building on fire, I just knew they needed help. I walked from 42nd [Street] to the site... I helped set up a triage. The next day, I became search-and-rescue for the next five days. I slept at the site. We've been through a lot."
Benjamin said that had he been allowed into Ground Zero, he would have placed a rose at the spot where he found the four victims.
A British woman wearing a hijaab -- a traditional Muslim head covering -- said she and her companions came not only because of what happened, but because of who they are and what they look like.
"As long as we were in the area -- well, in the U.S. -- [we decided to] come and join the events today. As Muslims, it's important for us to show our support and sadness," said the woman, a London magazine editor named Shagufta Yaqub.
Many who came to the site found comfort in the drawing together of mourners from New York and the rest of the world.
"Everything that they tried to do on September 11 was to destroy us," said Sundi McCormick, a Tennessee native who just moved to New York last spring. "Today proves nobody can destroy us. Even though I'm a new New Yorker, I feel so much a part of the city and the community."
"I did notice during the memorial service that strangers are hugging each other and offering condolences to each other," New York corrections officer Shannon Campbell said. "New Yorkers are showing compassion and coming together."
Others were comforted by religion, and they came to Ground Zero in the hopes that they might bring others the same sort of comfort.
"We still have hope, and our hope is in Christ," said Stacey Hammett of the Lehigh Valley Baptist Church in Emmaus, Pa. Hammett was handing out pamphlets proclaiming, "you can trust God. His Word is a tower which will never tumble."
Capitalism flourished alongside religion yesterday, and voices talking about God intertwined with voices trying to sell patriotic items.
"The flags are selling well," vendor Brian Davis of Brooklyn said. "I'll throw in a candle for the vigil tonight. Sometimes I throw in an extra flag if it's a little kid."
Another flag-hawker, who would identify himself only as Clifford, said many passers-by yelled at him for trying to profit off the Sept. 11 anniversary.
"I've gotten a lot of criticism," said Clifford, a gaunt man in an African-print shirt. "I've taken advantage of all sorts of situations. This is one of the saddest situations I've ever taken advantage of...[I'm] just trying to make an honest living."
Though most people at Ground Zero said they were not scared, small moments of skittishness betrayed them.
At one point, a middle-aged woman began yelling, "Oh, my God," over and over, clapping her hands to her face.
There was a moment of panic.
Eyes darted around -- people tried to figure out what awful thing the woman had seen, until finally she hugged the police officer in front of her and cried happily, "I can't believe it's you! How are you?"
And despite the general atmosphere of peaceful solidarity, there were flashes of anger.
Apparently unprovoked, a man in shorts and a T-shirt screamed hoarsely into the crowd, "Don't you even care about each other? Three thousand have to die before you can care about each other."
With a disgusted look, he walked away.
Elsewhere in the city, people grieved, too.
In Rockefeller Center, people crowded a hall to see AOL TimeWarner's "Faces of Ground Zero" exhibit, dozens of life-sized portraits of survivors and emergency workers, especially firefighters. The exhibit opened at midnight on the 11th.
"I came here to honor the firemen from New York," said Stephen Jones, a Pittsburgh firefighter in uniform. "It's that pull -- I didn't know what to expect or what to see."
While Jones traveled from western Pennsylvania to participate in a formal act of mourning, Jill Desena-Shook just happened upon the Rockefeller Center exhibit. She, too, spoke of a "pull."
"I was just passing by," she said. "I had a meeting [near here]. I lost a friend, a good friend of mine [in the towers].
"My Dad's a fireman, engine 60 in the Bronx, retired. Ever since I was a little girl I grew up around firemen. I'm glad they're finally getting the recognition. It's the toughest job in the world, tougher than the police," Desena-Shook continued.
"Police officers have guns to fight the bad guys. Firemen only have a uniform."
And at Penn Station, hundreds of New York rush-hour commuters stopped hurrying, pushing and watch-glancing to observe a moment of silence at 9:06 a.m. They filled the floors and lined the stairs surrounding the Sept. 11 memorial on the upper level.
No one moved for a very long time, even after the official moment of silence was over. Even after a soloist finished singing the last lines of "God Bless America," few people spoke or ventured away from their spot.
It was the longest moment of silence imaginable.
