By Patric Tengelin

About This Memorial

This is a personal memorial by the author in honor of his brother, David Tengelin, who was killed in the September 11 attacks while working on the 100th floor of the North Tower of the World Trade Center in New York City.

It is written as a brother’s remembrance, tracing a life lived fully: childhood curiosity, family ties, school and ambition, and the quiet determination that carried David from Sweden to London, Arizona, and finally New York.

In the years since 9/11, his story has appeared in newspapers, memorials, and alumni tributes. But this memorial exists to hold what those records cannot: the small moments, the letters and emails, the laughter, the routines, the gestures and habits that made him who he was — the life behind the headlines.

This piece is part of a broader collection devoted to remembrance and reflection. Together, these writings form a lasting record — not of how he died, but of how he lived, day by day, fully and unmistakably.

I. Childhood: Curiosity, Animals, and a Bicycle That Never Stopped (1976–1987)

A Quiet Intensity

David was born in 1976 in Sweden, the middle child between me and our younger sister. Even as a boy he had an intensity about him—not loudness, but focus. When something caught his curiosity, he pursued it completely.

Every program narrated by David Attenborough was a sacred event to him. He never missed a single one. He sat quietly in front of the TV, absorbing everything about exotic animals, distant ecosystems, and landscapes he dreamed of seeing one day.

The Fish Tank and the Globe

Next to his bed stood two objects that defined him:

A fish tank full of vibrant, tropical species
A globe of the world

The fish tank was not a casual hobby. David recreated the exact environments these fish needed as if he were responsible for an entire oceanic ecosystem. And he succeeded—so well that his fish regularly reproduced, often leaving him with schools of tiny new fish. It was the earliest example of his meticulousness, his patience, and his determination to build a small piece of a world larger than himself.

Endurance on Two Wheels

When he wasn’t with his fish, he was out on his BMX. No matter where we lived—Sweden, London, back again—he could bike for hours. His endurance was almost comical for a kid. He pedaled entire neighborhoods into memory and treated every new environment as a frontier to explore.

That same endurance later translated into his habit of jogging along the Hudson River in New York, a detail he proudly mentioned to me: he loved running there and watching the skyline rise in front of him.

“I’m Not Going to Live in Sweden”

As a young kid in Sweden, David did well in most subjects except Swedish. When our mother once asked him why, he answered with complete sincerity:

“Well, I’m not going to live in Sweden when I’m older anyway.”

It was funny, but also prophetic.

II. London: Foundations for Ambition (1987-1990)

The Move to London

When we were still fairly young, our father moved the family to London in 1987. It was the height of the financial “Big Bang” in the City under Margaret Thatcher. He worked in the insurance industry at exactly the right moment, and through his long hours and determination he was able to give us a tremendous opportunity: attending the American Community School in Cobham.

The American Community School

That school changed everything for us. We suddenly found ourselves surrounded by academic excellence, international classmates, and high expectations. Compared to the educational environment we had left, it felt like stepping from a small room into a stadium. It opened a new world to us and showed us what real ambition looked like and where excellence was celebrated.

Our Parents’ Influence

Our father showed us by his endless hours in the office how success is earned. At the same time, our mother, who stayed at home, gave us the foundation that made ambition possible. She ensured stability. She cooked, organized, celebrated, and created a home where birthdays, holidays, and graduations were events of love and attention. She made sure we felt safe.

Hawaiian Santa

David was very close to our younger sister—gentle, protective, and imaginative. He once invented a special version of Santa Claus just for her: a Santa from Hawaii, who appeared only for her and brought gifts no one else received. It was silly, sweet, and memorable—completely David.

III. Northern Arizona University: Sunshine, Soccer, and the First Steps Toward New York (1995–1998)

Arrival in America

David completed his International Baccalaureate in Sweden in 1995, graduating with honors. His dream was always America, and much to his satisfaction he was accepted to Northern Arizona University (NAU) in Flagstaff that same year.

The choice suited him perfectly: 300 days of sunshine, mountains, and open spaces—exactly the kind of environment his curiosity and love of exploration needed.

Soccer and Sunlight

At NAU, he was well-known and well-liked. Friends remember him as social, talkative, and quick with a laugh. He was internationally minded, culturally confident, and at ease meeting new people.

Soccer stayed at the center of his life. He’d been playing since he was a kid in Sweden, and he brought that passion with him to Arizona and then to New York, joining weekend games in Prospect Park in Brooklyn and Tuesday nights on the Manhattan piers, where he played for the D. Boon All-Stars team in a city league called Urban Soccer. The games were played on a rooftop at West Side Highway and Houston Streets. The soccer pitch overlooked the World Trade Center. I was lucky—I got to play alongside him at both spots.

Scholarships and Drive

David excelled academically. He earned scholarships every single year due to his achievements, and he finished his Bachelor of Science in Business Management in just three and a half years, graduating in December 1998.

Each summer, he made a point to return to Sweden for a couple of weeks, spending time with family and friends, even while his schedule was packed with work and study. Between semesters, he flew to London for internships and gained early experience at PWS Ltd.

The Internship During Crisis

One internship stands out vividly: during the 1997 Asian Financial Crisis, his senior colleagues sent him to attempt to re-insure a plywood factory in the Philippines. The workers had been locked out and were circling the factory with torch lanterns. David walked the Square Mile carrying what was essentially an impossible assignment. It toughened him—and, in a way, prepared him for what was coming next.

The Pull Toward New York

By the time he finished at NAU, one thing had become unavoidable inside him: the pull toward New York City.

IV. New York City: Finding His Footing (1998–2001)

Greyhound to Manhattan

After graduation in late 1998, David was granted a temporary green card. He packed his bags, boarded a Greyhound bus, and headed for New York with no job waiting for him and nowhere to stay. He later said he had never been more scared in his life—but he was chasing his dream.

The Hostel Winter

He checked into a hostel in Manhattan where the official maximum stay was two weeks, but the woman running it liked him and quietly bent the rules and he spent five months there. Still, the hostel closed every day from 11 a.m. to 5 p.m., and it was the middle of January—freezing outside. David spent those hours in the New York Public Library, in bookstores, and in cafés just to stay warm.

One day at the library, he witnessed a tense showdown over the computer: a man who had overstayed his 15-minute slot started upsetting the person in line behind him, and suddenly the guy yelled out, “Okay, you wanna take it outside!” David loved retelling that moment to me, laughing as he reenacted the line and the stunned silence that followed.

Three Dollars a Day

In April 1999 he landed a small clerk job at a law firm, but the pay was so low that after rent he had only three dollars a day to live on. Resourceful as ever, he mapped out the best food specials across mid and lower Manhattan so he wouldn’t go hungry.

Along the way, he worked whatever jobs he could find—some basic accounting tasks, and for a while selling bread in the plaza of the World Trade Center. Customers would ask if they could freeze the focaccia, and he’d shrug. “I should’ve just nodded and made the sale,” he laughed later, “but there’s the honesty getting in my way again.”

Sinatra and Survival

Despite everything, he never let go of his optimism. During the hardest moments he drew inspiration from Frank Sinatra’s “New York, New York.” It became a sort of private anthem.

Yankee Stadium — July 18, 1999

I visited him in 1999 in New York for the first time. My brother and I took the subway up to Yankee Stadium—the 4 train, rumbling its way into the Bronx—and ended up witnessing the Yankees’ third-ever perfect game on July 18, 1999, from the bleachers.

It was a hot, bright midsummer afternoon. Truth be told, we were still new to baseball, so we had no idea a perfect game was unfolding; we just knew the Yankees were winning big. The crowd’s energy pulled us in completely. We were high-fiving strangers, laughing, cheering, and soaking in every second. It wasn’t until the next day, standing in the airport reading the newspaper, that I finally understood what a perfect game really was — and just how historic that afternoon had been.

Summer 2001

I visited again in July 2001, just two months before the attacks. During that summer visit we went out to a bar near where he lived. David glanced across the room and said casually:

“Oh look! There’s Leonardo DiCaprio and Gisele Bündchen.”

I had no idea who either of them were at the time. David found that hilarious. It was one of those small, perfect New York moments.

V. Marsh & McLennan (1999–2001)

From the 52nd Floor to the 100th

First Foothold

David’s perseverance paid off.

In September 1999 he was hired by RGL Gallagher in the World Trade Center, on the 52nd floor of the North Tower. It was his first real foothold in the industry he wanted. Later, RGL was acquired by Marsh & McLennan—one of the world’s largest insurance and risk management companies—and as part of the transition David and the rest of the team were moved up to the 100th floor of the North Tower.

“Alone With the Jets”

On March 10, 2001, he wrote in his diary:

"The fifty-floor skyscrapers crouch humbly; at our height, we’re alone with the jets."

In hindsight the words are haunting, but when he wrote them they were filled with awe. He had come to New York with nothing—no job, no apartment, no safety net—and now he was working at one of the most prestigious firms in the world, in one of the most iconic buildings on Earth.

His colleagues remembered him as hardworking, reliable, and genuinely well liked. He was proud of his work, and he loved New York deeply.

Sunday Phone Calls

Every Sunday, he stepped into a New York phone booth and called our mother in Sweden. He talked with her until the phone card ran out—an hour each week, without fail. Those calls became her favorite moment of the week.

VI. The Final Summer (July–September 2001)

July in New York

My last visit with him—those weeks in July 2001—felt effortless at the time. We walked, talked, laughed, and soaked up the city together. Looking back, those two weeks carry a weight I can hardly put into words.

David’s life was in full stride. He had friends, routines, soccer games, and a job he threw himself into with pride. He jogged along the Hudson, the skyline rising before him, buzzing with energy and hope. He was alive, confident, and happy.

Return to Sweden

Just before September, he flew back to Sweden for a couple of weeks, seeing old friends again in Stockholm and Gothenburg. Looking back now, the visit feels like a final victory lap, though we didn’t know it then.

In Gothenburg, it had become a small tradition for him to pick up fresh shrimps, skagenröra and baguettes we shared at our mother’s place, sitting around the table as if there would always be another time.

September 9

He flew back to New York on September 9th, unaware it would be the last time we would see each other.

VII. September 11, 2001

8:46 a.m.

David went to work that Tuesday morning on the 100th floor of the North Tower.

At 8:46 a.m., American Airlines Flight 11 struck the North Tower between the 93rd and 99th floors. My brother’s office on the 100th floor faced the side where the plane hit.

He was only 25 years old.

We tried calling him repeatedly. Sometimes there was a signal, sometimes it went straight to voicemail. At first there was hope; maybe he had reached a hospital and been asked to switch off his phone. But as the hours passed and the towers collapsed, hope faded.

There were plans he never got the chance to finish. One of them was to buy our mother a house — a gesture that said more about his heart than any résumé ever could. He had a way of dreaming that always included other people.

The Memorial Service

I met most of my brother’s friends at the memorial they arranged when we arrived in New York. They all came to see him off at the Gustavus Adolphus Lutheran Church on September 22, 2001. I had already met most of them in the time I had spent with my brother in New York. I felt enormous pride for how many lives David had already woven himself into—and immense sadness.

VIII. Remembrance (2001–Present)

What Endures

In the years that followed, David’s name appeared in newspapers, memorials, and tributes.

Those accounts tell part of the story.

The rest lives in memory — in shared adventures, in long emails and letters from Arizona and New York, and in the bond of years spent together.

It lives in the boy who loved tropical fish and David Attenborough documentaries.
Who rode his BMX until the streetlights came on.
Who studied under Arizona sun.
Who played soccer in Brooklyn.
Who told the truth even when it cost him a sale.
Who moved from a hostel bed to the 100th floor of the World Trade Center.
Who wrote about New York as if he were already part of its skyline.

We were two years apart.
We grew up in the same rooms.

And then he was gone.

© Patric Tengelin, 2026. All rights reserved.
This biographical memorial essay is protected by copyright. It may not be reproduced, republished, or redistributed in whole or in part without prior written permission from the author.

About the Author

Patric Tengelin is a writer whose work focuses on remembrance, lived history, and the careful preservation of personal memory. His writing is grounded in firsthand experience and family record.

He writes to document people and moments as they were — with attention to detail, context, and accuracy. This work exists to preserve a personal record of a life lived, told by someone who was there and who continues to carry it.

In Loving Memory and Celebration of David Tengelin (1976 - 2001)