CHAPTER THREE - BRINGING IT HOME

               My alarm went off at 0800 CDT. I got up, turned on the news as was my habit, and made myself some coffee. When I returned to the television set, the cable network was showing a close-up of what appeared to be a very bad fire in a high-rise building. There was no caption on the screen, so I waited for the anchor to announce what was happening. As I listened, the camera shot pulled back and the graphics department put up a note at the bottom of the screen: “Plane hits World Trade Center”. I had not yet taken a drink of my coffee, but I was now wide-awake. It was Tuesday, September 11, 2001.

           My internal radar was off the charts, and my mind was reeling. How does a plane hit the World Trade Center? The reports were conflicting. It may have been a small aircraft. It may have been a commercial airliner. As is often the case, eyewitness accounts were as varied as the people being interviewed. The only thing that was certain was that World Trade Center One (North Tower) was on fire and had a gaping hole about a third of the way down from the top. I immediately discounted the idea of a small aircraft. It did not seem to me that a Learjet or a Cessna could have created the damage I was seeing; as a matter of fact, I was pretty sure a plane of that size would largely have broken up had it hit the reinforced steel of the Tower.

            So, was it a commercial airliner? That idea seemed to be far-fetched to me. How does a commercial plane hit the World Trade Center? Maybe the pilot had a heart attack. Well, there is a co-pilot. What if they both had a heart attack? There is a third officer who can fly the plane if need be. Could it have been a mechanical malfunction? Possibly. The problem with that theory was that a majority of commercial pilots are former military, and I knew those pilots would put the plane in the ground before they would ever hit the World Trade Center. As the pundits on television were discussing this “accident”, I was rapidly coming to the conclusion that it was no accident.

            While I was continuing my analysis, suddenly Jon Scott’s voice changed, and he slowly announced, “We are just getting word…that a second…a second plane has hit the World Trade Center. This is no accident, folks. This has to be terrorism.” No sh*t. My ear was now glued to his voice. He was running down the list of possible suspects, the first of whom was Osama bin Laden. As I listened to him, I was simultaneously going through a checklist in my own mind while at the same time I was kicking myself. Jon Scott mentioned the 1993 bombing, and the USS Cole. For all of my study of Israel and its history with terror, I had all but ignored the terrorist acts that had occurred against America, and in particular, Osama bin Laden.

            I remembered seeing Buddhas being blown up in Afghanistan. I remembered seeing women walking around wearing something called a “Burka”. I remembered watching an episode of one of my favorite television programs, “Seventh Heaven”, in which the plight of women in Afghanistan was featured. I remembered thinking how “those people” lived in the Stone Age, shaking my head, and promptly dismissing it out-of-hand. And now, I was trying desperately to recall everything I had heard about Osama bin Laden, which admittedly was not much. I had not been paying attention, and on September 11^th, when I was not fighting to keep myself from crying, I was chewing myself out for being so stupid.

            Reports were coming in so quickly I was struggling to keep up with them. There were possibly more planes that had been hijacked, destinations unknown. President Bush was in Florida visiting an elementary school promoting his “No Child Left Behind” program. And the camera was on the Twin Towers, recording every final moment of their existence. At first, there was no footage of the plane that hit the North Tower. But, the news network kept replaying the sickening image of the second plane hitting the South Tower over, and over, and over again. Each time, my pain was renewed, but I had already decided to watch it just as many times as it was aired so that I would never forget this day.

            Then came the sucker-punch. My father was career Navy, and I am an Air Force veteran. When the report came in that the Pentagon had been hit, my horror turned to rage. Only a military person will understand what I am about to say. While I realized I was watching the 2001 version of Pearl Harbor, and the news was speculating that tens of thousands of people were dead in the World Trade Center, and I was beside myself with grief, it was the Pentagon that made 9/11 personal to me. You do not hit my Pentagon. For a brief moment, the horror of that morning had been replaced with an irresistible urge to kill.

            But that relief did not last long. As I continued to watch the towers burn, suddenly the South Tower pancaked. The unthinkable had happened. The entire building had come down, and people in the streets for blocks were running from an unfathomably large, rolling cloud of dust and ash. I was becoming claustrophobic just watching the scene unfold on television. It seemed to be an eternity before the air began to clear enough that people were again visible, slowly emerging from the places they had hidden to try and avoid the death cloud. Like everyone that day, I was aghast, yet I found solace in one thing: the North Tower was still standing. Ridiculously, I comforted myself by saying, “At least one tower is still there. Everything is going to be OK”. I clung to the North Tower for dear life. Looking back, I realize how insane such “consolation” was, but at the time it was my coping mechanism.

            Reports continued to come in that more planes were under terrorist control, and finally the TSA ordered all planes grounded. At that point, I realized I was going to be late for work, but I was not going anywhere until I knew the situation was under control, so I called in and told my employer I would be in later that afternoon. Frankly, I did not want to go to work at all, but my company had many clients in New York City (some in the World Trade Center), and I could imagine the mayhem that was occurring.

            There was a report that a fourth plane had come down in a place called Shanksville, Pennsylvania. Speculation was rampant that it had been shot down by the military. Pundits were saying it may have been headed for the White House or Camp David. Personally, as terrible as it may sound, I was not upset by the idea of a fighter pilot taking the airliner down. Not long after 9/11 a pilot was interviewed who had been scrambled to New York City after the first plane hit the North Tower. He was asked if he would have fired had he gotten the order. I said to myself, if I had pulled in behind that United flight before it hit the South Tower, I would have shot it down without orders. I flashed back to an incident from Pearl Harbor. While the Pacific Fleet was being decimated, a soldier had been ordered to guard the stockpile of ammunition. When personnel ran to the locker to get the ammo, the soldier at first refused to open it. Growing up in the military, having been in the military, I know there are times orders go out the window. I know beyond any doubt I would have told that soldier to stand aside or I would have shot him myself! Such was the feeling I had on September 11^th. Washington, D.C. can bicker all it wants. That plane is coming down, and they can court-martial me.

While news stories were still swirling about what happened with Flight 93, the North Tower came down. For the first time, I collapsed on the floor in a heap and wept uncontrollably. There was no longer any lifeline. The horror was complete. The continued speculation that tens of thousands of people had just died right in front of my eyes was incomprehensible. I could not even fathom that number of people disintegrating in an instant.

When I tired of watching the same news repeated over and over again, I began channel-surfing to see if I could find new information. It was during my search that I learned to hate Brian Williams of NBC. I had watched Andrew Card, Bush’s Chief of Staff, enter the classroom and whisper in the President’s ear. We all knew what was being said. The reporters who were present had been receiving continuous updates. The camera zoomed in for Bush’s reaction. He bit his lip slightly, nodded his head almost as a reflex, and turned his attention (as best he could) back to the class. What a incredible leader. Our nation was under attack, the President had a million things going through his mind, and yet he had the discipline not to panic the children. After the reading was over, he made a brief statement, and was then flown to a military base while plans were made for his protection. Ultimately, he was taken to Offutt Air Force Base in Omaha, Nebraska, which is the Strategic Air Command base.

I admit I wanted to hear from the President. My heart ached for reassurance. However, practically speaking I understood the first priority was to ensure his safety. The last thing we needed on that terrible day was for our President to be assassinated. The Secret Service was doing its job, and doing it well, albeit over President Bush’s protests. He wanted to get back to Washington, D.C. and reassure the nation.

Tell that to Brian Williams. I landed on NBC just in time to hear him say, “At some point, the President is going to have to come out of hiding and address the American people”. “Come out of hiding?” Are you mad? Are all Canadians as obtuse as you? If it had been possible I would have jumped straight through the television set and strangled him to death with my bare hands! I understood the delay; so did any thinking American. What an outrageous comment to make. As it is, when President Bush finally overrode the Secret Service and insisted on speaking to the American people from the White House, I was scared to death. Mr. Bush, WHY did you have to make that speech in front of a window? I could barely focus on what the President was saying because I kept expecting an airplane to come crashing through at any moment. I guess the psychologists were right about PTSD. Nevertheless, I will never forgive Brian Williams for that biased swipe at our leader on that fateful day. How completely shameless and despicable.

Good news was announced on Wednesday, September 12^th, if you can call it “good”. Tens of thousands of Americans did not die in the bombings the previous day. “Only” 3,000 were dead. “Only”. True, it was miraculous that most of the people in the towers were able to escape despite the loss of all but one elevator and blocked stairwells. But, then there were the revolting images of people jumping from 80+ stories high, and the nauseating sound of bodies landing on the concourse. And, shrill sirens. I did not know what that high-pitched whine was that could be heard non-stop during the news coverage. Because of all of the breaking information, it was two days before I discovered what that noise was. It was the sound of firefighters’ emergency beacons. Beacons that were never turned off until the batteries went out, because the firefighters had been killed.

Out of all the shock, and the horror, and the rage rose the proverbial Phoenix that Friday, when President Bush flew to NYC. Again, I was terrified for his safety, but talk about a leader rising to the occasion. Sans Teleprompter, sans script, his impromptu words resonated with every American and will go down in history as some of the greatest words ever spoken in a time of national crisis: “I can hear you! The rest of the world hears you, and the people…and the people who knocked these buildings down will hear all of us soon!”

            For a week, television stations aired nothing but news of the terrorist attacks. I watched the images every chance I had, long after the psychologists began warning people to turn off the coverage to avoid PTSD. I was aware that Americans have very short memories, and I wanted to make absolutely certain that September 11, 2001 was seared permanently into my mind. I was still angry with myself for being caught unawares, and I vowed to make certain I never made that mistake again. After this appalling, world-altering event, my kinship with Israel became real in a way I never thought possible. As a result, I began delving into terrorism in earnest. It was important to me to understand these people, what they do, why they do it, and how to stop them. (Not to be confused with those who said we should “understand why they are mad at us”. I could not care less “why they are mad at us”).

            Back to Pearl Harbor one more time. I never understood Cordell Hull (then-Secretary of State). Two Japanese ambassadors were in his office talking “trade” when he received the phone call notifying him of the attack at Hickam Field. Reportedly, he shook his head sadly and asked the ambassadors to leave. Bull sh*t! He had a .45 in his desk. Why in the world did he not send them both back in body bags? The time to talk “trade”, or explain to me why I am an “infidel” and that America is the “Great Satan”, is BEFORE you kill 2,000 or 3,000 Americans! Afterward, do not get anywhere near me.

            George W. Bush later called it “blood-lust”. I did not have a name for how I felt. I just know the next four weeks were the longest of my life. While intellectually I knew it would take some time to mobilize, and I also knew without any doubt that (unlike Clinton) President Bush was going to retaliate, I was so impatient. I drove everyone at work insane. I woke up to the news. I listened to the news on my way to work. On every break I put a walkman radio in my ear and listened to more news. I could not wait to see something exploding besides the World Trade Center.

            That Sunday I was sitting on my bed doing homework for the night classes I was taking at Wichita State University. October 7^th, at approximately 1300, I saw the “breaking news” graphic on my television. My heart began racing. Had we finally done it? To my intense joy, the answer was “yes”. Reports were that we had begun bombing Tora Bora with “bunker-buster” bombs. However, there was no video. I wanted video! A couple of hours later, I got my video.

            The media was positively comical, but I grew to love Secretary of Defense Donald “Rummy” Rumsfeld because of it. From the very first news conference, mere hours after we began attacking in Afghanistan, here came the reporters. “When is this war going to come to an end?” “What is your exit strategy”? I do not know where that man got his patience. I think after about the thirtieth day (if that long) of being asked “When is this war going to come to an end?” I would have replied, “May 30, 3:15:25 p.m. EDT.” What the h*ll were those people thinking? Well, at least they provided a little comic relief.

            Now it is time for an elementary course on terrorism.