original: http://macstansbury.com/wayne-john-saloman



2,996 Project: Wayne John Saloman
Wayne John Saloman

After being assigned this name, I thought it an unremarkable person - somebody I’d never heard of. I was given a tribute page for Wayne John Saloman, 43, Seaford, N.Y., and I expected it to be a jumping off point for finding out about this person. But, even with my mad Google skills, there just wasn’t anything to find.

Though there were tons of lists of the victims on that day, there were just no magical, pre-fabricated tributes. It was this research that just proves how tragic the events of that September day were; these were not extraordinary soldiers, fighting valiantly in a far-away land, these were people just going to work. That day was to be like any other, save a few criminals with box-cutters.

Saloman died in, or around, the World Trade Center. He was one of the employess who died from Cantor Fitzgerald, and the company set up the Cantor Families Memorial. He was 43, I knew from reading the sparse text I could find, but I ran out of places to look to find out about this person’s life.

And that’s when it hit me: I don’t need to look.

In fact, after being assigned a name out of hat, I realized just how life can be so random. A moment in which I signed up for something to help out - this 2,996 Project - mildly selfish in wanting to contribute something to the cause, I found out how ego gets in the way of remembrance. A story about a stranger that started with me, became a quest to invade the lives of other people, and opening old wounds.
Ground Zero

This is just one of thousands of pictures of the so-called Ground Zero. An empty field where there were mighty towers standing with ordinary people, with ordinary lives, living their days doing the best that they could do. They were just living their lives.

Then it all went away.

With the inevitable search engine traffic, I wonder if somebody who was in Wayne’s life will show up, type in some words in the contact form, and let me know about their friend, roommate, confidant, family member. Then I could say, “I was a part of this man’s life.” For now, it’s just an inadequate tribute to somebody who deserves more…but just didn’t get it.

Life is unfair. There are those who win life’s lottery, given riches and live in hedonism on the jet-set. There are those who work incredibly hard to get into the right job, with the right company, at the right time. There are those who underachieve their whole lives, yet win the lottery with their last $2. But, mostly, we’re just ordinary people, doing ordinary things.

I know nothing about Wayne John Saloman, other than some superficial data. His job, his age, his location when he died. I’m by no means worthy of eulogizing the man, yet fate, God, luck, what have you, has dealt him into my life. It’s this shallow tribute I’m ashamed to give.

Yet, I know, there are people who want to remember the name. There are friends who want to remember the fun, reliving old days, never to return. Loved ones, who are brought back to the time, on that day, when their lives changed forever, denying the finality at hand. Family adjusting, again, to how the universe plays us all our unfair deck of cards.

Saloman, the man I’m to remember, will live on as one of the people, forever remembered not for their infamy, their intellect, their bravery, or their cowardice. These were all on display that day, along with fear, shock, desperation, and horror. But amidst the carnage, there was courage, hope, strength, compassion, and, rarely, joy.

It’s not knowing the particulars of a man’s life that makes it hard to honor him. From experience, you can be sure a fireman or a soldier are likely to show that bravado we’ve seen in film, but what about an investment banker? Forgive me, but I have to believe he was like every other person that day, doing what he could, where he could. I have to believe he was just an ordinary hero.

It was a day like any other…but it became something else.

Wayne John Saloman was 43 when he died.