W.L. Rathje

I am an archaeologist, a garbologist, and something of a solid waste specialist, and I have always believed that all such workers can make valuable contributions to modern society. But on the morning of September 11, 2001, I couldn’t think of a single thing any such specialists could do to change the unfolding catastrophic events and relieve anyone’s suffering.

I am still not sure just how useful people with my specialties can be in the aftermath of those unimaginable terrorist acts, but I know that we can do and say some things that are relevant.

On Sunday, September 16, Professor Tom McGovern, head of the bioarchaeology laboratory at Hunter College in New York City, sent an e-mail to scores of archaeologists. "After hearing of disaster workers in lower Manhattan combing through buckets of debris by hand," it began, "Dr. Sophia Perdikaris has contacted the FBI Evidence Recovery Center . . . and offered the help of archaeologically trained sieving teams to speed the work. The FBI is very interested in getting our help and has asked Dr. Perdikaris to organize teams."

Volunteers were needed with experience in supervising screening teams, along with a hardhat, a respirator, goggles, work gloves, heavy boots, and any available screens. A day and a half later, 600 archaeologists from the tri-state area of New York, New Jersey, and Pennsylvania had volunteered. Archaeologists are often called detectives of the past. That’s right, but the same skills and equipment can be applied to contemporary crimes, and as every archaeologist knows, screening will find many more tiny pieces of evidence than will sifting debris and ash by hand.

Another area of special expertise among archaeologists is memorials that have lasted millennia. As an archaeologist, I have learned that most of the longest-lived monuments of the past–from the Great Pyramids of Egypt to the intricate temples of the Classic Maya–were raised as memorials and resting places for the most honored dead. But not all recent memorials can stand the cruel tests of modern times.

In 1995, an elegant, rose-colored granite circle was laid in an open space between the two WTC towers. Carved into it were the names of the six people killed by the 1993 terrorist bomb at the World Trade Center. No one knows what shape that monument will be in when it is finally dug out from under the rubble. But a more important question is: What can be done now to suitably mark for the ages the passing of these six victims of terrorism–and the thousands more who have now joined them?

Certainly there will be a memorial where the WTC once stood, but public sentiment seems to also require a structure that functions much as the World Trade Center did at the site, something to stand as a symbol that the United States will not be intimidated. But shouldn’t there also be a separate grand and long-lasting monument that reminds us of the bravery and the suffering of the victims and their families?

As both an archaeologist and someone familiar with modern solid waste handling, I believe that one means of honoring these victims is provided by the site the FBI is using to analyze the World Trade Center debris: Fresh Kills Landfill on Staten Island, which was officially closed last March. The landfill’s unfortunate name (which comes from the Dutch word for a small stream, "kill") will be changed in the closure process that transforms the site from mounds of waste to a community resource for recreation, education, and remembrance.

The World Trade Center was easily visible from Fresh Kills. In fact, the opening photo in a National Geographic (May 1991, pages 116-117) story on landfills captured an image of the giant twin towers looming behind a bulldozer spreading refuse at the landfill.

And now the victims and Fresh Kills are intimately linked in another way. As uncomfortable as it might make us feel, the shattered remains of many of the terrorists’ victims will likely go with the World Trade Center debris to its final disposal site. This fact makes all the debris very special. It should not be just buried and forgotten.

And there is a huge mass of material to dispose of–or to use in building a commanding memorial. Based on a standard rule-of-thumb used by demolition contractors, the debris will be in the range of 60 million ft.³, and this doesn’t count family pictures, diplomas and photos of honor, myriad knick-knacks, and the tens of thousands of desks they rested upon. All of the construction steel in the debris is being recycled, and all personal items will be returned to relatives, but that will still leave 30 million ft.³ or so of material–about the same volume as the largest archaeological monument in the New World: the Temple of the Sun at the archaeological site of Teotihuacan outside Mexico City.

An inspiring memorial of a vicious and tragic day could be built at Fresh Kills out of these hallowed artifacts. Just as the sunken and untouched USS Arizona represents the victims of Pearl Harbor’s day of infamy, so would the WTC debris represent the victims of terrorism and the indomitable spirit of America.

There is historical precedent from ancient times for such a memorial. In 409 BC, the Athenians built a great mound out of stones, debris, weapons, armor, and their fallen soldiers after the battle of Marathon, where an invading Persian army was defeated. That mound literally and visually commemorated the fighting spirit of Athens and its allies.

Clearly something memorable could be fashioned from the WTC debris. And given the immense size of the landfill site–3,000 ac.–the positioning of the monument could be memorable as well. The monument would have its own clearly separate space with the skyline of New York behind it, where the memorial will not intrude on other facilities and open areas, but visitors can have their own secluded space for private thoughts.

The remains for the memorial will be mainly concrete and ash. And as archaeologists know from experience, if it is not deeply buried, that ash will begin to support plant life. Thus, the ash and concrete will symbolize regeneration by turning green with new life every spring.

Some might find a landfill an unfitting place for a memorial. But Fresh Kills enshrines an honorable material legacy, one that represents the "remains of the day" of millions of New Yorkers between 1948 and 2001. This anonymous refuse holds remnants of all that New Yorkers did with family and friends, at work and school, at play and at home. It is a fitting place to memorialize the terrorist victims who, until September 11, 2001, were like you and me: living out their version of the American Dream.

All Americans, and especially those of us who are familiar with handling solid waste, could be proud of their part in honoring a memorial with that resonance.

Contributing author W.L. Rathje is director of the Garbage Project.