When the planes struck the Twin Towers on September 11, 2001, Jack Nicholson was in Los Angeles, seated alone in his Mulholland Drive home, glued to the television. He didn’t move for hours. By the end of the first day, he’d already canceled a long-planned charity golf tournament, paused talks for a new film with Warner Bros., and phoned his assistant to pull him out of an upcoming public appearance. Those close to him said Nicholson’s reaction was swift, solemn, and deeply personal.
Friends remember that he didn’t eat much during those days. One recalled entering his living room the evening after the attacks and finding him still in the same spot, eyes fixed on the screen. “He hadn’t changed clothes. The ashtray beside him was overflowing. He looked up at me and said, ‘You can’t pretend it’s business as usual, not now,’” the friend said.
Nicholson, typically charismatic and open in interviews, refused to speak publicly about 9/11. Not a single televised statement. No press release. No social commentary. But his actions behind closed doors told a different story. Within 72 hours of the attack, he sent out anonymous donations to several New York-based emergency relief groups. A quiet phone call went out from his lawyer’s office to a Manhattan firehouse, an inquiry about what supplies were needed. He then arranged for protective gear, boots, and medical kits to be shipped to a fire department without identifying himself as the benefactor.
A retired NYPD detective, who later learned of the donation through internal channels, said, “It came from a private source on the West Coast. The only hint was a handwritten note that said, ‘Thank you for being brave when the world went dark.’ No name. But someone on the force recognized the handwriting from a signed photo hanging in a precinct office. It was Jack.”
Nicholson’s silence wasn’t detachment. It was a vow. One of mourning. He canceled plans to attend a high-profile celebrity gala later that week, saying, “This isn’t a week for business. This is a week for mourning.” That quote, relayed by a friend to Vanity Fair, never appeared in official print. It was passed on quietly, like everything else he did during that time.
He even stepped away from the spotlight entirely for several weeks. Producers who tried to reach him were told he wasn’t taking calls. The gate to his estate remained locked, and even his usual crew of poker buddies was told to wait. “He took it hard,” said one longtime friend. “I mean, Jack’s not the kind of guy who cries at movies. But that week… he’d choke up every time they replayed that footage.”
What few knew was that Nicholson had a deeply emotional connection to New York. Though born and raised in New Jersey, the city had always been a symbol of grit and resilience for him. In interviews years before, he had often described New York as “a place that always gets up again.” That resilience, now tested beyond comprehension, hit him harder than most might expect from Hollywood’s boldest rebel.
He began requesting updates from mutual friends in the city and reportedly made personal calls to check on crew members he had once worked with during the filming of “Prizzi’s Honor” and “Ironweed.” One of his former set assistants shared, “I got a voicemail from him. He said, ‘Just thinking of you and the city. Be safe.’ He didn’t owe me that, but he did it anyway.”
Perhaps the most poignant moment came weeks later. At a small, private fundraiser for victims’ families held in Brentwood, Nicholson slipped in through the back entrance, signed a check, and left without saying a word. The event organizer later shared, “He didn’t want recognition. He didn’t want photos. He told me, ‘This is between me and my conscience.’”
Jack Nicholson’s silence after 9/11 spoke volumes. On his 88th birthday today, we wish him continued strength, good health, and the quiet dignity he’s always carried with grace.
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