Urn Garden

09/12/2026

I wanted to share something very personal here on Vintage Los Angeles on the anniversary of 9/11. It’s a story that has stayed with my family for 25 years, and perhaps the members of this page can help us solve a mystery that began that horrific morning

My half-brother was living just a few blocks from the World Trade Center. At the time, he was working in the technology department at NBC and took the subway to work every morning just to 30 Rockefeller Plaza just before 9 a.m. But on the morning of September 11, he couldn’t find his belt. That one small, seemingly insignificant thing made him late.

I’m pretty sure it saved his life.

Many of his neighbors would not survive that day.

He wasn’t allowed back into his apartment building for several days. When he finally returned, he discovered debris from the World Trade Center scattered across his balcony. Among it was this photograph of a mother and her baby.

He never found out who they were.

He offered everything he found to the FBI, including a piece of paper bearing the date 9/11, but by then authorities were dealing with an unimaginable amount of debris and material recovered throughout Lower Manhattan.

All these years later, he has kept this photograph. It’s framed now. Not because he knows the people in it, but because he doesn’t. Somewhere, this mother and child belonged to someone. They had a family, a story, a life beyond this single photograph that somehow traveled through the devastation and landed on his balcony.

For 25 years, he has kept it safe as his own small way of honoring the lives lost that day—and hoping that perhaps someday, someone will recognize them.

He has created an email address specifically for this photograph: [email protected].

If you recognize this mother and baby, or have even the smallest lead, please reach out. He checks it regularly.

Twenty-five years later, maybe this photograph can finally find its way to their family or loved ones.

(Post written by Alison Martino (creator of Vintage LA) on behalf of her brother Al Cini.

09/11/2026

The youngest FDNY member to be killed on 9-11 was Firefighter Michael Cammarata.

At just 22 years of age, he had been on the job just 9 weeks. When his company, Ladder 11 in Manhattan, was called to the scene of the World Trade Center on Sept. 11, he left a message on his father's voice mail saying he was heading to the scene of the disaster. Mike, his family said, had always wanted to be a firefighter. He was also a star hockey player for New Jersey semi-pro team. Ten years before 9/11, Michael played in the Little League Baseball World Series for South Shore Little League of Staten Island, N.Y. Today, only one number is officially retired from use in the Little League Baseball World Series. It is Michael Cammarata’s No. 11, and it is still proudly displayed on the right field wall of Lamade Stadium, where he patrolled proudly as a member of his team at the age of 12. The Huguenot resident is survived by his brother Joseph Jr, parents, Joseph and Linda and his sister Kimberly Cammarata.

Mike was last seen conducting fire operations at the Marriott Hotel at the foot of the WTC.

Mike's remains were never recovered.

On June 7, 2003 a vial of blood donated by Mike during his time at the fire academy was buried with full department honors.

This is Michael Cammarata's list that his brother found inside his night table a day after he died. 1. "Take care of Jenna," referring to his girlfriend of 7 yrs.
2."Don't mourn me. This is the career I chose.
3."Make my spirit live on." 4."Remember I love you all will be waiting for you upstairs."

Mike's entire company of Ladder Co. 11 perished on 9/11.

May he continue to rest in peace with his brothers...

08/25/2026

08/19/2026

Smokin' bones? I don't get it.

Suge Knight told us a WILD story about Tupac, and it ends with his ashes being rolled up in a blunt.

11/10/2025

Poetic.

“We’ve been going to these pop-up discussion groups at the public library, where people discuss death. I don’t think Tony would go if it wasn’t for me. Most people don’t like to talk about it, but I have questions. Not so much about death anymore. But I have questions about living as I get old. You know how people always say that you walk forward into the future? It’s not true. You walk backwards into the future. You can’t see what’s ahead. Maybe occasionally you can look over your shoulder, and get a glimpse. But mostly you can only see your past receding behind you. And the past that’s receding behind me is getting bigger and bigger. I’m trying to learn to say goodbye, and move forward. But how do you do that? When every week you hear about some other beloved person who’s died, that you’re never going to see again? I feel like I walk around with a retinue of ghosts, beloved ghosts. All the time I see images from the past: the people and the pleasures and the adventures and the beautiful places. And I could just go there and live there. You know how they say about some people: ‘She’s lost in the past?’ I can see how it happens. I could get there. It’s comfortable there, and nothing is demanded of me. And it’s not just the comfort of the past. It’s the danger and uncertainty of what’s ahead of you. I’m fine, and pretty functional, and strong. But I could have a stroke or a heart attack any minute. It could happen at any moment I’m walking down the street. Is this going to be it? Is this going to be the walk? I don’t think of it constantly. I can still be captured by a wonderful play, or a beautiful river, or a child that is so sweet looking at his parents. But it increasingly feels like I’m leaping over chasms from joy to joy.”

07/08/2025

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