So little time has passed and so much has happened since September 11, 2001, a date and also a place that is now universally known as 911. (I have often wondered if the terrorists chose this date based on the three digits one dials to report an emergency).
My wife and I had been awake a couple of hours, and were
watching one of the morning shows, when one of the hosts, (I forget exactly
which one) said,
“Uhmmm, I have just been notified that a passenger airplane
has crashed into one of the World Trade Center buildings in New York City.”
Like millions of our fellow Americans, we sat down in front of
the television and watched the amazing coverage of this unexpected event.
American Airlines Flight 11 out of Boston had just crashed into the North Tower
(WTC 1).
Before much time had elapsed another passenger aircraft, United Airlines Flight 175, would
slam into the South Tower (WTC 2), another would go down in Pennsylvania, and a
fourth would crash into the Pentagon. All tolled almost 3,000 people would lose
their lives that day.
As a result of this series of dastardly deeds which were perpetrated
on America and its citizens a War on Terrorism was declared, and our country
and its troops found themselves engaged in a twenty year effort to destroy
those who perpetrated their awful agenda upon us.
Between Iraq and Afghanistan, and other places in which we
were engaged, our nation has lost more than twice as many soldiers, sailors,
airmen and marines in the past two decades as the original number of our
citizens who succumbed on that fateful day.
Pt. 2
How odd that I have a personal connection to all three
locations in which the unspeakable events of September 11th took
place.
My senior class of 1967 visited Washington D.C. and New York
City, and toured various national landmarks, including the White House, the
Capitol Building, the Empire State Building and the Statue of Liberty.
Interestingly enough, (at least to me) the foundations for the World Trade
Center complex were dug during the first semester of my senior year, and the building
began the year after I graduated.
I once lived and worked in the
great State of Pennsylvania admittedly much closer to Philadelphia than
Shanksville, but Pennsylvania nonetheless. It would be another quarter of a
century before the unparalleled bravery of a few passengers on American
Airlines Flight 93 would irrevocably endear a few hundred citizens of that
little village, or at least the location, itself to their untold fellow
travelers of the world.
However, prior to living in the Keystone State and having just completed my tour of duty in the Air Force, my family and I moved to Stafford, Virginia, just forty miles from the nation’s capital. During my tenure in Virginia, I worked a series of jobs, not the least among them was my position as an employee with the Army Records Center in Alexandria, just outside of Washington, D.C. While I might have remained in this capacity for quite some time, my wanderlust drove me to seek employment elsewhere. I procured a labor position with a sub-contractor which was engaged in installing the utilities for the D.C. subway system. Our utilities yard was located a hundred yards from the Pentagon. I would often look across the parking lot which separated me from that place, and marvel at the size and proximity of that world-famous military complex. Little could I have known then that my connection with that building would soon be slightly more substantial, but slightly more temporary, than the job with which I was at that time involved.
Pt. 3
For you see, in 1975 I completed a Civil Service test in one
of a myriad of offices inside what was (and may still be) the largest building
by volume in this or any other universe. Having scored well, I was offered a
civilian position with the U.S. Air Force. And I came “that close” to accepting
the job, but, ultimately, decided against it, since in addition to eight hours
pecking out letters on an electric typewriter, it would have entailed me
driving two hours to and from work on a daily basis.
I have often mused about how things might have fallen together
had I accepted the position with the Pentagon. I mean, there is every reason to
believe, had I accepted the job, I would have been working in that massive
building, and nearing retirement when American Airlines Flight 77 crashed into
the Pentagon.
I have mentally placed myself in that massive building on that
morning of September 11th, 2001, and wondered if I would have been
taken unawares, and if my final breath might have escaped my body at 9:37am
that day, or whether I might have found myself rushing down an inestimably long
hallway, along with an immense crowd of military troops and civilians, an exit
sign gradually growing larger and more distinct above a distant doorway.
However, whether we found ourselves in New York City, New York
0r Shanksville, Pennsylvania or Arlington, Virginia on that fateful day,
whether we still endure the stress and subjective remembrances of having been
there, or the softer, and more objective national reminiscence of that day, I
think it is for us, the living, to, as it were, stand in for those who gave the
last full measure, to make our lives count, to use our words and actions to
make a difference on this earth, whereas they have been so rudely denied the wherewithal to do so.
by William McDonald, PhD. Copyright pending
No comments:
Post a Comment