I’ve had this article, in the form of an incomplete Word document, glaring at me from my desktop ever since I set out to write it. That was well over a week ago and I find myself, just the day before the 15th anniversary of this horrific event, still dreading it. It’s not that I EVER want to forget; it’s that the pain is still so intense I can break into tears thinking about it.
I put out a call via social media for any of my friends who wanted to contribute. ONE responded. That’s not a criticism of those who didn’t. I understand. As I said, I still dread having to complete the work. I think it speaks to the strength of character and stress management skills of the one individual who did.
The following is my own personal recollection and experience from that day. Below that, is the response from Sgt. Scott Matthews (ret). If you’d like to add your memories in the comments below this article, please feel free. One note: If you’re a conspiracy theorist who is going to post about how the American government was behind the attacks, save us all the trouble of having to police and delete your comments. Keep them to yourself.
My memories:
On the morning of Tuesday, September, 2001, I was still an active member of the Maryland National Guard, serving as a member of the Alpha Company, 121st Engineers in Prince Frederick, MD. I was doing some contract work for a satellite communications company headquartered in Rockville, Maryland – about a two hour drive from home in good traffic. I had left my house that morning about 5:15am so that I beat most of the rush hour traffic heading north around Washington D.C. and up to Rockville. My wife was a stay-at-home mom at the time and I had two kids in school: one was just shy of four years old and in preschool. The other was twelve and in middle school.
At the satellite communications (satcom) office, typical for a weekday morning there, most employees were in by 7:30. The owner, the tallest Chinese man I’ve ever met (David), was usually there by 7:00am, as were the operations manager (Mark) and supervisor (Mike). By 8:00-8:15 the rest of everyone else had shown up and the office was bustling with the construction of mobile satcom systems and everything that went along to support them.
At about 8:55am that morning, David came into my cubicle and said, “Hey, Frank. You should come into the conference room and see the news. A plane crashed into the World Trade Center.” It was VERY odd for him to come to my cubicle, much less ask or tell me to come to the conference room, so I didn’t hesitate in getting up to do so. I followed him into the conference room and saw almost all of the other employees already in there. David and I were standing in the back of the room, just inside the door having a discussion about how badly something must have malfunctioned for a plane to actually hit a building that size. Had the pilot had a heart attack? Had there been some kind of mechanical failure? Was it a hijacking gone bad? We learned that the plane had hit the North Tower and that evacuation attempts would surely be initiated.
And then we watched – as so many others did – live on television as the second plane flew into the South Tower at 9:03am. David looked over at me and said, “Oh my God… we’re at war.” I was stunned for a moment as I thought he must be mad. Accidents happen. But then my brain processed the chances of two commercial airlines each individually hitting a tower in the World Trade Center roughly ten minutes apart. He was right. We were at war.
No one moved from the conference room. Cell phones came out and people started texting or calling their family members to make sure they knew what was going on. At that point I was expecting a phone call from my National Guard unit; surely we’d be mobilized to assist with SOMETHING after such a devastating attack. I told David I had to go and by 9:20am I was in my truck driving home, anticipating about a two hour drive.
I was on the road at 9:37am when Flight 77 crashed into the Pentagon. I heard the news on the radio. I had already called my wife to tell her I was on my way home and to get the kids from school. My biggest fear was that there might have been some kind of biological or chemical agent in the planes, spread by the explosions. I was worried about what we’d start to see in the next three to five days as any kind of infection would begin to manifest. When I heard about the Pentagon crash I tried calling home to no avail. The cell phone system was either overloaded or had been purposefully shut down in some spots.
On the radio there were reports of car bombs detonating in Washington D.C.; reports that later turned out to be false. The news of Flight 93 crashing in Pennsylvania was broadcast. I wondered how many more planes would come down. I realized that, so far, the planes that had hit buildings had hit our economic and military centers of leadership. I wondered what Flight 93 had hit and later learned that it had crashed in a field. It is imperative that we ALWAYS remember the heroic actions of the passengers on Flight 93.
On the radio, the channel I was listening to was taking call in requests from listeners who wanted to hear a particular patriotic song. I dialed about a hundred times and finally made it through – not even thinking that I might then be able to call home – to request Lee Greenwood’s “Proud To Be An American.” I was assured I wasn’t the first to have requested it and that they were trying to find it.
When I finally got home after about a three and a half hour drive, my wife and kids were there. The kids were playing or watching television, but the news was only on in the kitchen. The kids were in the family room. I hugged my wife and shared with her my fears about airborne infections or pathogens. It was during that discussion that I actually saw recordings on television of the people jumping out of the burning twin towers. I had heard about it on the radio, and about both towers collapsing, but I hadn’t seen it until I saw it on television after arriving home.
I had received a phone call from my National Guard unit – at the house – where a message was left that I should have my gear packed and ready to go. There was no immediate call up order, but I was on standby until further notice. The most interesting or telling part of that message was, “Personal gear is authorized.” That was not something I’d ever been told during training deployments, etc. If we were being told personal gear was authorized it meant we would either be deployed for a combat action or to go overseas for some other assignment.
Anyone old enough to remember the day and those that followed, will recall all of the comparisons made between Nine-Eleven and December 7th, 1941 when Japan attacked Pearl Harbor. Those of us who weren’t around in 1941 could only consider the comparison. Those few who had been alive for both were devastated that our country had once again come under such a cowardly attack. I can’t imagine the anguish.
To this day, Lee Greenwood’s “Proud To Be An American” makes me cry; not because of the patriotic emotion it stirs (although it does do that), but because I can’t hear it without thinking about those lives lost on Nine-Eleven and the Americans who were, quite literally, going through hell. I can’t help but think about the heroes on board Flight 93 and all of the public safety heroes that responded to every attach/crash site. I can’t help but mourn… still… for the 343 fallen firefighters, the 72 law enforcement officers and the 55 military personnel who died either in or responding to the attacks.
As to the 19 terrorists… except for remembering that they attacked us, they shouldn’t be remembered in any way. Their existence deserves no recognition beyond the warning the attacks carry for us. Fifteen years ago our nation was attacked by a group of Muslim extremists, not representing any single nation state, but representing their warped perception of a single religion. Fifteen years later, our nation seems to have forgotten that these attacks were carried out by a group from a single religious demographic. Forgetting… trying to convince people that Islam wasn’t in any way responsible… is as silly as trying to pretend that Japanese weren’t responsible for the attack on Pearl Harbor.
In World War II we avoided the war until it came to us. Once engaged, we fought a costly and bloody battle that was meant to insure our country, and indeed parts of the world, would never have to suffer under the tyrannical control of zealous “leaders.” Those leaders were running nations. Today we face a different enemy.
I submit to you that on September 11th, 2001, the United States was drawn into World War III; a global war against terrorism committed by religious fanatics in the name of Islam and knowing no boundaries. We’ve been involved in this war aggressively at times. In more recent years, our nation’s “leadership” has claimed that the war is no longer existent; that we have nothing to fear; that there actually is no such thing as a Muslim Terrorist or Islamic Terrorist and that anyone who uses such terms is only guilty of “hate speech.”
Thank God we still live in the United States where the First Amendment protects our freedom to speak our opinion. The above is mine and no one else’s. I believe we are still at war. The terrorist leaders and those like them continually remind us that the only thing between Islam and ANY other religion “is the sword.” The threat doesn’t get any plainer than that.
As I have each year for the past fourteen, I do so again now: NEVER FORGET. We were attacked in a cowardly and grievous fashion. American lives were not lost; they were TAKEN. Our belief structure, values and entire way of life is under attack – and always will be – by a group of religious zealots who will only accept two options: Our committed conversion to their belief system OR our deaths.
On this, the fifteenth anniversary of those heinous attacks against our nation, don’t dishonor the dead by showing mercy or sympathy in any way to those who killed our citizens and destroyed our nation’s symbols. Stand strong. Stand committed. Stand patriotic. Stand TOGETHER and don’t let anything separate us as Americans.
From Sergeant Scott Matthews (ret), PGPD ID#1136
During September of 2001 I was assigned to Advanced Officer Training (AOT) as the Sergeant (OIC). I was scheduled to work an evening shift. I was up and getting ready to go to the gym and was catching up on some news by watching the Today Show. I was sitting there when Matt Lauer stated they were getting word of a small plane hitting one of the towers of the World Trade Center. I sat there intrigued, watching smoke poor out of the building. I began turning to other stations to get additional coverage. When I saw another plane hit the second tower...I knew this was no accident. I started getting my duty uniform together, ready to head into work. I started receiving calls from my squad asking if they should go in. Everybody was itching to get to work. While I was traveling into my office in Landover, the news reports started to filter out that a plane struck the Pentagon. I couldn't get into work fast enough. My country was under attack. I tried to call my wife to let her know where and what I was doing...but cell phones were jammed. I couldn't help but think that she had stopped working at the Pentagon just months before. She would be upset. It took time, but eventually I was able to contact her and tell her I was going to be working for a while. I promised to keep in touch as much as I could.
Upon arrival at my office, I was stunned to see my Lieutenant had beaten me there...in uniform. The department was a bit in confusion, trying to decide how to best address this attack on the United States. Specific orders were not forthcoming from the upper command, short of extended shifts. My squad and I continued to watch more of the news coverage as people jumped from the towers. We watched the Pentagon on fire. We watched the twin towers fall. I can't describe the anger and frustration I felt and the desire to fight those who had attacked my country. We decided to work the street as a squad. For the most part...the streets were very quiet that night. Seemed everybody was in shock and not sure what would happen next.
I sent my squad home about 0400 the next morning to get some rest, unsure what the next day would bring.
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