Here are glimpses of some of the victims of the Sept. 11 attack on the World Trade Center.

ROBERT WAYNE HOBSON

Unlimited Energy

Robert Wayne Hobson -- universally known as Wayne -- talked a lot, dreamed big and was so lighthearted about everything that his wife, Cindy, made him propose three times just to make sure he was serious. ''He called me a hundred times during the day, always with some new idea or big plan for the future,'' Mrs. Hobson said.

Five years ago, Mr. Hobson, 36, left a job as a broker at the World Trade Center to fulfill one of his dreams -- he opened Hobson's Bar and Grill in Hoboken, N.J. It soon became the place for his friends to get together after the stock market closed for the day, said Mrs. Hobson, who told her husband a more appropriate name for the bar was ''Wayne's World.''

In 1999, Mr. Hobson returned to the trade center as a broker for Cantor Fitzgerald, but he kept the bar. ''He loved to be around people,'' Mrs. Hobson said. ''He had unlimited amounts of energy.''

Some people like to build things as a hobby. Efrain Franco Romero built, repaired and renovated things as a way of life.

He built a pond in the backyard of the house in Hazleton, Pa., where his family lives, along with a balcony. In the weeks leading up to Sept. 11, he was in the process of building a garage, said his son, Frank Jr. He would work on it when he came home on the weekends from his job at Fine Painting, in the World Trade Center.

''You name it and he did it. My father is definitely the jack of all trades and master of anything you can imagine,'' Mr. Romero said. He recalled that the pond his father built started out as a minor project to set up a small water fountain, the kind found at any Wal-Mart; that fountain became a pond with a waterfall and populated by small fish.

''He made modifications to our hedge clipper, to the point that I couldn't use it anymore,'' Mr. Romero said. ''It was so powerful it would shake out of my hand.''

His father, who was 57, was always a fixer-upper, he said. ''As far as I know, he's been doing this since he was old enough to pick up a hammer.''

That is how their relationship had once been, cordial but constrained. Ms. Walsh's mother, Nancy, brought Carol Flyzik home 13 years ago and introduced her as her girlfriend to Kristin and her two brothers. Ms. Flyzik, 40, was a passenger aboard American Airlines Flight 11. She was on her way to the West Coast on a business trip.

''It's hard when your parents bring a new person home,'' Ms. Walsh said. ''The fact that she was a woman made it a little harder, but I guess I felt the same way when my dad married another woman.''

The family of five lived in Plaistow, N.H., and Ms. Flyzik proved to be a patient woman. She listened to the children. She made the holidays warmer. Through the years their relationship changed from ''Stay out of my life'' to ''I love you.''

Last year was the first time that Ms. Walsh bought Ms. Flyzik a Christmas present of her own: two tickets to a Celtics game. ''We had so much fun,'' she recalled. ''It was quality time that we never had together before.''

She considered the empty chair, where her stepmom used to sit and watch television. ''I guess you don't know what you have until it's gone.''

KEVIN BRACKEN

Making the Most of It

His friends called it ''the Bracken bounce.'' It was an expression they coined the day on the golf course when he hit a ball into the trees and it miraculously ricocheted back onto the fairway.

But it was not just on the golf course that Kevin Bracken, a firefighter with Engine Company 40 on Amsterdam Avenue and 66th Street, was known as a lucky guy. It was every time he looked for a parking spot on a busy street; or the day, two years ago, his car flipped over in a traffic accident and he escaped without a scratch.

His wife, Jennifer Liang, would say Mr. Bracken, 37, made his own luck. ''He was the most optimistic person I ever encountered,'' she said. ''He was never unhappy. Never without a smile on his face. Whatever situation he was in, he made the best of it.''

Ms. Liang, who met her husband 11 years ago on the Long Island Rail Road, said that his credo was to live life to the fullest, ''to seize the moment and make everything of that moment.'' He enjoyed being a firefighter, Ms. Liang said. But it was not fighting fires that appealed to him. It was the comradeship at the firehouse.

''He was a real people person,'' she said. An avid sports fan, who coached the softball team from his local bar, Mr. Bracken never would say ''goodbye'' to his friends. His parting words were always a kind of shorthand for how he believed you should live your life: ''Drive fast. Take chances,'' he would say.

She added: ''If somebody would have told him this would happen, he would have been, 'Me? Are you kidding?' ''

RONNY KLOEPFER

Founder and Leader

Within the tight fraternity of the New York City Police Department is an even tighter fraternity -- the 25 men, from officers to lieutenants, who wear the blue jerseys of the department's lacrosse team. Ronny Kloepfer, 39, a sniper with the Emergency Service Unit, was their leader. He was founder, coach and midfielder of the six-year-old team, which had a 4-2 record in the annual charity game against its arch-rival, the New York City Fire Department.

Officer Kloepfer, who played for Seewanaka High School and then Adelphi University, somehow fit the team into a schedule that included his elite police position, a side job as a contractor and the demands of a young family. His wife, Dawn, and three children -- Jaime, 11; Taylor, 9; and Casey, 5 -- were always on the sidelines, as Officer Kloepfer was when his two daughters played their games. Casey was still too young, Mrs. Kloepfer said, but had his own stick from the day he was born.

From March to May, the team practiced two or three times a week, from 5 to 7 p.m., at an abandoned junior high school near Officer Kloepfer's home in Franklin Square, N.Y. Now that he is gone, three teammates will run the team, a task Officer Kloepfer managed alone. ''We don't know how he did it,'' said Detective Craig Carson. ''We took him for granted almost.''

DAJUAN HODGES

A Dancer and a Ham

DaJuan Hodges never gave his mother any trouble. ''He had every opportunity to stray, and he chose not to,'' said his mother, Pamela Dixon, who raised two sons in Harlem.

As a child, Mr. Hodges loved to dance and ham it up for family pictures -- ''He was always ready to show the latest dance,'' Ms. Dixon said -- and as a teenager he was a good student and did volunteer work.

When his daughter Jatair, now 8, was born, he embraced fatherhood with determination. ''It was like, O.K., I have a child now,'' his mother said. ''He just knew he had to stay up on things because he had this responsibility.''

Mr. Hodges, who lived with his daughter and fiance in the Bronx, did everything with his family, particularly going to movies, one of his passions. He worked in management services at Marsh & McLennan, on the 96th floor of 1 World Trade Center.

Ms. Dixon, who works for the same company in Midtown as an executive secretary, watched from her 42nd floor window as the first tower -- 2 World Trade Center -- collapsed on Sept. 11. ''I just went crazy,'' she said. As she screamed, ''My son, my son,'' and co-workers tried to calm her down, the other tower, where he was, also disappeared in a storm of smoke and dust.

Not having her son to bury has made the experience even more devastating. ''You have nothing except good memories,'' Ms. Dixon said.

MICHAEL D'ESPOSITO

Happy Together

Michael D'Esposito and his family led quiet lives. ''No fairy tales,'' said Grace D'Esposito, his wife.

Life passed to the rhythm of daily and weekly routines. In the mornings, he would kiss his wife while she was still asleep before he left for work as a consultant at Marsh & McLennan. In the evenings, his 2-year-old daughter, Ashley, would help him take off his shoes after work. Mr. D'Esposito, 32, would tickle her and throw her on the bed while Mrs. D'Esposito cooked.

After dinner they would watch television, content in being together.

Conversation centered on Ashley and on all the improvements around the house that they never got to. Bedtime was 8:30 p.m. for Ashley. First came a glass of milk, then a story. Tuesdays were Ashley's swim class. Saturdays were music class. The weekend was the time for neighborhood walks with the stroller.

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Mrs. D'Esposito does not remember her goodbye kiss that Tuesday morning. She was at Ashley's swim class when she first heard. Now the two are taking it day by day. ''We're trying to get back to a normal routine, which I don't think will ever be normal again,'' she said.

MICHAEL E. TINLEY

A Prolific Traveler

Michael E. Tinley had visited Marsh & McLennan's conference room in the World Trade Center dozens of times. But it wasn't until Sept. 11 that he mentioned the view to his sister. ''He called me and said, 'I'm up here on the 100th floor and I can see your building,' '' said Suzanne Tinley, who lives in TriBeCa. ''I turned to my son, Henry, and said, 'Uncle Mike is waving at you.' ''

That was at 7:47 a.m.

Mike Tinley, 56, was a vice president at Marsh & McLennan based in Dallas, a job that kept him on the road. He was a prolific traveler, the kind of man who would meet his daughters, Lisa and Jenna, during airport layovers or drive from Los Angeles to San Francisco for a date.

New York was one of his favorite towns, and here's Mike Tinley doing the Big Apple: Stay at the Marriott downtown. Hang out at Cafe Dante in the Village. Catch a performance of ''Saturday Night Fever.'' Walk the streets with a digital camera pressed to his eye. ''He could get along with anybody,'' Lisa said. ''When he went to Hawaii, he became friends with the guy who did the luau and cooked the pig.''

ARTHUR SIMON

Not Afraid to Commit

Arthur Simon was an equities trader for Fred Alger Management on the 93rd floor of 1 World Trade Center. His oldest child, Kenneth, had a similar job at Cantor Fitzgerald a few flights up.

Arthur Simon, 57, had many passions: his four children; the Jets and the Mets; Atlantic City; doo-wop music (especially the song ''Runaround Sue''). But the principal love story of his life began 38 years ago when he was a librarian at the Brooklyn Public Library's Canarsie branch and went to a party where he met another librarian, Susan Bloch, who was then just 16. Both were great dancers, the kind that other dancers stepped back to make room for. They became inseparable.

''He always wanted to get married young and start a family,'' Mrs. Simon said recently. ''It didn't matter that there was no money. He wasn't afraid to make a commitment.''

Kenneth was born when his parents were living in Canarsie; then came Jennifer, who is a biology teacher in Chappaqua, N.Y. The family moved to Rockland County where Todd, who became a top high school wrestler and wide receiver, was born, along with Mandy, who grew up to be a homecoming queen.

''Arthur was very, very proud of all of them,'' Mrs. Simon said. And it all began in Brooklyn. ''He chased after me,'' she said. ''And I let him catch me.''

KENNETH A. SIMON

Naps With Maya

Kenneth A. Simon sped through life with determination and left delight bobbing in his wake. ''Everyone loved Kenny,'' said his wife, Karen.

He could cook chocolate chip pancakes for a crowd and thrill a small cousin by juggling balls, beanbags and finally, flaming sticks. He cheered for the Yankees, and when asked when he met his wife, would typically reply: ''1996, the year the Yankees won the World Series.'' And when did they get married? ''1998, the year the Yankees won the World Series.''

But his fondest moments were those spent with his baby daughter, Maya. He napped on the couch, cradling her on his chest, Mrs. Simon said, and they took her on walks nearly every night, their dog Bailey close behind. Over Labor Day weekend, the Simons took Maya, then 4 months old, to South Street Seaport and showed her the very spot where they got engaged.

''Here's the reason we all loved Kenny so much,'' one of his aunts wrote for his memorial service in September. ''From the first to the very last day, seeing how very, very much he loved Karen and Maya. Seeing the look on his face whenever one of them would come into the room, and seeing how happy he made them every single day, is something we will never forget.''

Mr. Simon, 34, was an equities trader for Cantor Fitzgerald in 1 World Trade Center, where his father, Arthur, worked a few flights down.

HARRY TABACK

Bound Remembrances

Harry Taback dedicated his professional life at Marsh & McLennan to helping companies plan for disasters, and his personal life to making sure his wife, Jean, and their three daughters had everything they needed. ''People around the company said if they died, they wanted to come back as one of Harry's daughters,'' said Cheryl Taback, the middle one, who often accompanied him to his beloved New York Giants games.

A low-key, sandy-haired chemical engineer, Mr. Taback, 56, worked on the 100th floor of 1 World Trade Center. After the Sept. 11 attack, one of his colleagues solicited letters from more than 70 people who had worked with him around the world and compiled them in binders for his family. His wife died last year, and the children lived with him or nearby in Staten Island.

''A few people wrote that he was very fair and understanding, and said that your family comes before your job responsibilities,'' Ms. Taback said. One couple wrote that they had named their dog Harry, after her father, ''because of how much he did for them.''

Another letter was from a woman who had come for a job interview when she was eight months pregnant, and Mr. Taback had voted to hire her. ''Many thought this crazy,'' she wrote. ''Many thought it wonderful.''

JONATHAN L. IELPI

Honoring No. 16

Take a walk out to the Saddle Rock Bridge over Udalls Pond in Great Neck, on Long Island, and you will see the Manhattan skyline, forever altered by a terrorist attack. Look down from the vista toward the railing of the span and you will see a North High School Blazers hockey jersey, No. 16.

The jersey belonged to Jonathan L. Ielpi, 29, a New York City firefighter from Great Neck who was among the first to reach the twin towers. Mr. Ielpi's sister, Melissa, put it there just 24 hours after the disaster. It is still tacked to the railing, among flowers and candles. ''Jonathan loved playing hockey, but he gave it up when he joined the Fire Department,'' Ms. Ielpi said. ''He was just very nervous that he'd hurt himself and wouldn't be able to do his job.''

That was Jonathan Ielpi -- more concerned about others than he was about himself. He not only worked for Squad 288 in Queens; he also served as the chief of the Volunteer Vigilant Fire Department in his hometown.

If you cannot find Saddle Rock Bridge or Udalls Pond, just head over to Great Neck's skating rink. There, from the rafters, hangs an enormous banner emblazoned with Mr. Ielpi's name and jersey number, which the Blazers recently retired.

JOHN WALLICE JR.

Christening Loved Ones

It is something of a toss-up as to which game John Wallice Jr. liked better: golf or bear. He was a long-shooter on the links with the habit of putting from crazy angles. His handicap was five or six, though it would sometimes fluctuate depending on who he was playing.

Bear was a different sort of game, played on the fairways of Mr. Wallice's backyard in Huntington Bay, N.Y., during family cookouts. He would rise from the table, spread his arms wide, make scary noises and chase the children around the yard.

Mr. Wallice, 43, was an international equities trader at Cantor Fitzgerald, but despite his success he saved his finest work for home. He loved to swim in Huntington Bay, and his three boys -- Jack, 9; Christian, 7; and Patrick, 4 -- would tag along as he dipped into the water. ''They were like three tails everywhere he went,'' said his wife, Allison.

John Wallice had that knack for putting people at ease. He did it simply: he gave out nicknames to everyone he loved. His sister, Kim, was Red for her red hair. Another sister, Pam, was Mo. His third sister, Amy, was known as Baby, and Paul, his brother, somehow went by Joe.

His wife and sons had too many names to count. ''That was his way to connect,'' Mrs. Wallice said. ''Once you got a name, it was almost like you'd been christened.''

For a first date, Randolph Scott splurged. A Broadway show, then a nice restaurant, and then, after learning that his date had a sweet tooth, a trip to Juniors in Brooklyn for cheesecake. ''When I was cutting the cheesecake he said, 'By the way, I'm never getting married,' '' said his date, known less than two years later as Denise Scott. He even sold his motorcycle to buy the engagement ring.

A broker-dealer with Eurobrokers in 2 World Trade Center, Mr. Scott lived in Stamford, Conn. He and his wife had three daughters, Rebecca, 18, Jessica, 16, and Alexandra, 12. Their boyfriends called him Big Randy, the fun-loving parent who watched sports on television with them and chaperoned co-ed sleepovers.

Two years ago, Big Randy received a big present. Mrs. Scott, who never forgot his love-inspired sacrifice, gave him a motorcycle for their 20th wedding anniversary. He loved riding it so much, Mrs. Scott said, that during a summer trip to Canada she rode in a van with the girls and his sister's family while he followed behind -- ''freezing'' on his bike.

Mrs. Scott said her husband seemed like such a kid that many people were surprised to learn he was 48.

Some people teased him about being the only man in a house with four women (and a female dog, Whitney). Mr. Scott, who grew up with his mother and four older sisters in Brooklyn, would reply, ''As long as I have my own bathroom, I'm fine.''

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A version of this article appears in print on November 22, 2001, on Page B00009 of the National edition with the headline: A NATION CHALLENGED: PORTRAITS OF GRIEF: THE VICTIMS; Dreaming Big, Growing Closer and Making the Best of Every Moment. Order Reprints|Today's Paper|Subscribe