|William Abrahamson |
Richard Anthony Aceto
|Victoria Alvarez Brito |
Cesar A. Alviar
Thomas J. Ashton
|Tatyana Bakalinskaya |
|Jane Beatty |
Donna M. Bernaerts-Kearns
|Colin Bonnett |
Sandra Conaty Brace
|Richard Bruehert |
|Lillian Caceres |
James Christopher Cappers
|William Caspar |
Robert J. Caufield
|Alex Chiang |
Kyung (Casey) Cho
Mannie L. Clark
|Jim Cleere |
|Kevin Conroy |
Daniel (Hal) Crisman
|Mary D'Antonio |
|Jean DePalma |
Mirna A. Duarte
|Thomas Duffy |
|Catherine Fagan |
|Vincent Gallucci |
Cesar R. Garcia
Marlyn Carmen Garcia
|Salvatore Gitto |
Lynn Catherine Goodchild
Kiran Kumar Reddy Gopu
|Michael Gu |
|Gary Haag |
Barbara M. Habib
Roberta Bernstein Heber
|Joann Louise Heltibridle |
Robert A. Hepburn
Steven Leon Howell
Paul R. Hughes
Lamar D. Hulse
|Shashikiran Kadaba |
Jennifer Lynn Kane
William A. Karnes
Robert C. Kennedy
|Howard (Barry) Kirschbaum |
Peter A. Klein
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Carol Ann LaPlante
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Ye Wei Liang
Jenny Low Wong
|William Lum |
|Joe Maggitti |
Daniel L. Maher
Gene Edward Maloy
Marion Victoria Manning
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|Mike McGinty |
Nurul H. Miah
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Cheryl Ann Monyak
Steven P. Morello
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Patrick Sean Murphy
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Maureen L. Olson
Virginia Anne Ormiston
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Jerrold H. Paskins
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James Edward Potorti
Hemanth Kumar Puttur
|Jonathan Randall |
Roger Mark Rasweiler
|Karen Renda |
Kenneth F. Rice III
Alan Jay Richman
John M. Rigo
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Wayne A. Russo
|Brock Safronoff |
Roy F. Santos
Chapelle Renee Sarker
Deepika K. Sattaluri
|Sue Sauer |
Arthur Warren Scullin
Earl Richard Shanahan
|Kathryn A. Shatzoff |
Sandra F. Smith
|John Spataro |
William R. Steiner
Sandy M. Stoller
David S. Suarez
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Phyllis Gale Talbot
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Wayne A. White
|Thomas Wise |
I wish I had continued to know him after high school. He was a brilliant and incredibly friendly, yet had a competitive fire to be the best he could. You have been greatly missed and anyone that knew you will never forget.
I only met you a few times, one of them on the day of your high school graduation. You were one of the top ten students in a class of over 600, and I remember the gold medal around your neck. You looked so happy that day, surrounded by friends and family.
Your life and death has had a tremendous impact on me and, I think, many people from Traverse City. You made the sadness of September 11 personal for us. When we grieve on that day, it is you and your family we are thinking of. My daughter was born on September 11 in 2007. We remembered your family's loss on that day when a new life came into our family. You are very much missed, Brock. To the Safronoff family, we are so very sorry. We will not forget.
I heard the news two months after 911 and still find it hard to believe that he's gone. How does a kid just like me from Traverse City Michigan end up a casualty in the WTC? How could any of us have imagined, as we watchd those towers fall, that we were losing such a friend?
I played third base. Brock pitched. He was always a quiet determined guy. Mostly he did very well on the mound, except when he was tired and his fastball was flat. You see, our coach used Brock often because he was a lynch pin in our pitching staff.
When I read the email that Brock had been killed in the WTC, I was sitting at home where I lived in Wyoming at the time. I learned of his death in an email. As I read the email, I glanced to my right and saw a picture of Brock and me playing baseball at Amherst. It was a black and white snapshot of him on the mound taken from the first base line. I was in the background at third, ready for a groundball.
I grabbed the photo from a pile of pictures the yearbook staff had set out at the end of the year for students to take. I thought it was cool. Funny that it should have been sitting out, on my bookshelf, and that I glanced its way, just as I was reading of our loss.
When I wrote Tara about the photo, she told me she and Brock had been sitting at a restaraunt on Broadway and had thought they saw me walking by, but weren't sure, so didn't call out.
I can't say how sorry I am that I didn't go after Tara that day and that they didn't call out my name.
I am so glad our husbands got to work together. I still laugh everytime I think of all the plans they had made for the four of us to go out and we were so reluctant. Now we are such good friends. I hope they know!
All my love,
Every morning ambitious and polished people emerged from the many doors of the WTC and dissolved in all directions. Their flow fascinated me. Each face, hair style, necktie were random and different, but they seemed to be a part of an orderly macro-picture. Brock did not blend in that crowd. His friendly face stuck out above pompous faces of others. While walking, he slowly moved his head from side to side, looking a little uncertain, as if checking: is it safe to set my foot here? He had a somewhat Kafkian pessimistic mindset, always trying to foresee the worst-case scenario. It was small things that worried him. His frequent phrases were: "It's unreal!", "It's brutal!", "It's killing me!"
(Who could imagine what would happen in reality!)
Yet he was always genuine and easy-going with others. He had a rare talent: he could LISTEN, people sensed it and gravitated to him. A patient at the Cincinnati hospital, seeking reassurance, a sports fan colleague discussing the game last night, a coworker sharing his latest bed-time stories, all sorts of complaints and brags. Brock listened with interest, nodding "Right, right". He often put aside whatever he was doing and helped. He ended up doing ALL home assignments for a coworker taking a computer course! His friendliness never was just a polite gesture, that's why so different people liked him so much.
- Is there a goal in your life, Brock?
- To be nice.
- It's not a goal, it's a means.
- You are so mean!
No, he definitely was not a typical New Yorker. Nothing of that "Me first!" attitude.
Yes, he could switch to his "competitive" mode, if it was necessary, but he did not enjoy it.
It was a unique combination of non-combinable that was so amusing about him: winsome and fatalistic, affable and paranoid, mischievous and honest, fun-loving and hardworking, reliable and suspicious, uncertain and motivated, self-doubting and reassuring others. His deep ambivalence. His instant swings from one emotional state to the almost opposite. And back. And again.
He never was in a hurry. He even laughed slowly: "Huh. (Pause) Huh. (Pause) Huh." The unusual way he threw or caught a ball seemed slow, almost lazy - but he hardly ever missed. Even when he walked fast, his feet were moving slowly. Perhaps when you are 6' 2" it happens naturally. Greg and I, both about a foot shorter, would make 3 or 4 steps to keep up with Brock, running out of breath, while he would calmly make one. Brock, Greg, Arathi and I would often go for a walk in the Battery Park during the lunch time. We'd watch the helicopters above Hudson cruise, buzz and hover like dragonflies, and talk. Good-natured bantering, jokes, stories and serious stuff - I miss those lunches!
He was a curious observer with a droll sense of humor.
Jokingly he showed how Japanese tourists in black suits and ties start videotaping the WTC the second they get off their tourist bus. With expressionless face, Brock slowly moved his imaginary camcorder up, paused, and slowly - down. Once I was walking down the Liberty Street and witnessed just that: the dressed-up Japanese tourists lined up by their bus, videotaping WTC, synchronously moving their lenses, resembling Brock's movements to the last detail!
"Why do people in the movies always yell: "Hey, taxi, taxi!"? The driver can't hear them anyway, and it's enough to just raise your hand!"
He described the blue neon sign across the street from his apartment window, and you heard the depressing monotonous buzz; he talked about frightening-white, almost sterile, Stephen-King-style house of the Cincinnati doctor he worked for, and you shiver of out-of-this-world cold and panic.
He did not feel safe flying home on small planes. He was joking that if something happens, "they won't even mention it in the news!" Oh Brock, you were all over the news! I wish you weren't!
Brock realized that for his peers in Michigan, it sounded like a dream: to work in the World Trade Center! On the 96 floor! Wow! He must be making a fortune (by Michigan standards, anyway)! But he had doubts.
"I don't like the WTC: it's ugly!"
"It's strange: you look out of the window and you see a copter down below."
"Why can't you see the Central Park from the North Tower? Isn't it strange?"
Being a programmer, he hated computers: they detach people from each other. Car TVs are even worse: you go on vacation to spend time with your family, but instead you watch TV.
He hated people with big umbrellas. "They deserve a good kick: cr-rack!"
He loved how the word "linoleum" sounds.
He liked sprinkles on his ice cream: "Sprinkles are the best!"
He liked broccoli, grapes and macadamia nuts.
He ridiculed the Traverse City Cherry Festival. (Crowded, commercialized and cherries are not even ripe! He didn't like to be there during the festival, but that was the time when his friends came back home, so he ended up going anyway.)
And of course his admiration for Tara.
Once he brought to work her picture: a pretty girl of 4 or 5 years old seriously looked at you over her shoulder. I told him how much I liked Tara on that picture. "It's all about eyes, isn't it?" - Brock was so pleased!
He often referred to her as an absolute authority: "My girlfriend says so, and she knows everything!"
The last time I saw him was on July 24, 2001. I did not live or work in New York any more and was just visiting. We were sitting in the cafeteria of the Borders (WTC5), and Brock was talking about Kafka.
It had been a while since I saw Brock. He looked tired, even stressed out, but, as always, was eager to fulfill what he considered his obligations. He really liked his manager Tim and did not want to disappoint him. It was so typical of Brock: it seemed he was seeking workloads and pressures to be under, and at Oppenheimer we teased him for this "masochism". Now he had to urgently finish this project, fixing somebody else's bugs. That somebody was now on vacation, his code had no comments, and Brock needed to finish it up to be able to take days off to meet his friends arriving in a few days, for his upcoming wedding and the honeymoon trip. Why South Carolina? They are too busy to go to Greece now; they'll go there some other time.
(Some other time!)
Brock always immersed himself into the world of the books he was reading: Pushkin, Goethe, Homer, James Joyce, Proust, Nabokov, Brodsky, J.Lahiri, P.G. Wodehouse, J.K.Rowling. Now he kept talking about Kafka's character Gregor Samsa, a hardworking traveling salesman. One morning he woke up to discover he turned into an insect. Kafka's realistic details make this absurd sound very convincing. What struck Brock the most was that instead of worrying about himself, Samsa still thinks how he has to hurry up to catch a train to go to work. Brock obviously did not see any irony in the situation, but I was amazed by the similarities between him and Gregor Samsa.
The Borders was getting crowded and noisy. We walked down the out-of-order escalator and stood outside for a minute. I had a plane to catch, and Brock planned to grab a sandwich and head back to work. I picked up my suitcase and rushed to the subway, and Brock walked away, in his long and indecisive gait, toward the North Tower.
There is not a day that goes by that I don't think of my brother Brock. My Dad happened to come across this site, today. So I felt compelled to write about my brother. Brock was a very special person, he touched so many people, I'm glad all of you were able to know him. I just thank god everyday that I was able to have him as a brother...he meant so much to me.
I remember when I was going into seventh grade he was leaving for college. I didn't want him to leave, my brothers(Brock and Aaron)meant the world to me...I didn't understand why he was going away. But in the end I accepted he had to go away to college.
We used to listen to music together...all of us sibilings trying to figure out words to Pearl Jam songs(they made me memorize everyone), if I listen to any group that wasn't up to par they would gang up against me. I miss him dearly he showed the world to me. Introduced me to the best music, baseball, water ballon fights(in the house), excellent books, and we always talked about new electronic gadgets.
The one thing I miss is picking up the phone and just being able tho hear his voice, "Cyrina, how is everything?" and he would listen to me...I'm glad that he was able to marry Tara and have a life where he was happy. One day I will have children and will make sure they know their Uncle Brock, I'm just sorry they will never get to met him.
Kyle- if you ever get to read this I remember playing football with all the guys...good times.
There is so much I would love to share but not enough time in a day, let alone an hour.
Thank you for sharing your thoughts on my brother Brock, it is nice to know he will always be loved and remembered.
Love always and forever,
Cyrina (Brock's little sis)
Feel free to email me at firstname.lastname@example.org
I met Brock in July 2000. I worked closely with him for more than a year. We talked a lot. We talked about work. We talked about many other things. We talked about books we had discovered in Strand bookstore. We talked about Kafka, Pushkin, Dostoevsky.
Talking to Brock, often, I was thinking how we all needed more people like him in this crazy world. Kind, intelligent, happy. Good guys. People that make you smile any time they are around you.
Brock has introduced me to Tara one night - his fiancé at that time. You could tell just looking at Brock and Tara - they were made for each other. I saw their picture in New York Times after they got married. The way Brock talked about Tara at work, it was obvious - he was in love big time. Brock was happy. He deserved it.
Monday night, September 10, 2001 - the last time I saw Brock. We were going home after work. Not enough time to finish the conversation and the usual - Have a good night, see you tomorrow...
Since then I've been asking myself - where is this World going? Don't we deserve people like Brock? Any time I come across Brock's code I remember our little fist-on-the-table-Seinfeld joke - Newman!! - and then I silently repeat the same - Brock!!
We all miss you Brock.
As I got to know Brock, I realized how diverse he was. Beyond just listening to rock music, he also greatly enjoyed classical music. He read books on a wide range to topics, and seemed to devour them at a rate of one a week. He could talk as easily about sports, programming and current events; or things more personal like growing up in Michigan, his family, and Tara. I found it extremely easy to talk to Brock and enjoyed walking over to his cube during the workday just to talk.
Brock also prompted me to take some programming classes in my free time, suggesting a class he took at NYU and recommending a professor. While I was taking the class, Brock would always be willing to help me out with any questions I had. He would sometimes just sit with me and explain new topics I was unfamiliar with, making sure I understood what he was explaining along the way. I miss Brock’s easy going nature, his kind spirit, playing foosball with him in the evenings (and getting beat repeatedly), his excessive use of the word “dog” (and variations of it, like diggity-dog), and mostly just being able to talk to him about whatever happened to be on my mind.
may you rest in peace.