When discussing 9/11, the most common question among Americans is “Where were you?” My answer, most often in silence, is, “I was there.”
I was at the Pentagon on Sept. 11, 2001, in Room 5e229. Those familiar with the Pentagon know that equates to Room 229 on the fifth and top floor and outer ring of five ― just two corridors away from the impact point of American Airlines flight 77 at 9:37 a.m.
I was barely six weeks into my new assignment at the Office of the Secretary of Defense when I found myself on Day Two of a weeklong orientation course. I had arrived late for the 8:30 a.m. start time due to unforeseen traffic. I almost blew off that morning’s session due to my embarrassment of being late. I had contemplated just exploring around the Pentagon until I could slip in unnoticed during a break at 9:30 a.m. I decided to eat humble pie and I entered the briefing room late with a chagrin look on my face and sat in the back stewing over how much I resented this new assignment and the challenges of working and living in D.C. I was feeling sorry for myself and was cranky due to the lack of sleep (barking dogs) and morning caffeine. All of that changed when somebody burst into the room just after 9 a.m. yelling for us to turn off the PowerPoint and turn on CNN.
Like the rest of our fellow Americans, the two dozen of us sat in shock as we saw the news reports of the two airliners hitting both World Trade Center towers. Our briefing moderater told us we would be dismissed at lunch and that only mission essential personnel would be remaining at the Pentagon. About 10 minutes later, we heard three massive and successive explosions that shook the building. You could feel the vibration in your chest.
We would later learn that the three explosions were from the American Airlines Boeing 757 penetrating the E, D and C rings of the Pentagon, killing all 64 passengers, crew and 125 personnel working in the Pentagon.
I had heard the phrase “fight or flight” but didn’t truly understand it until then as my heart was about to beat out of my chest. Surprisingly, everyone was very calm, but still visibly shaken and spooked as we quietly and cautiously opened the inner and outer doors of our briefing room to the chaos and smoke of the E ring.
People were running from the direction of the impact site toward those of us running to the nearest stairwell exit. This was the first time in my life I saw fear and panic in people’s faces.
First responders were dodging people running through the parking lot in dark, black smoke. Everyone kept yelling to get away from the building out of fear of more explosions. It wasn’t until an hour later, as a refugee at the Pentagon City Mall food court, which became a “safe haven” for thousands in the area, that we would learn the explosions at the Pentagon that took 189 innocent lives was because of cold-blooded killers using a civilian aircraft as a weapon.
I eventually made my way outside to a co-worker’s condo rooftop for a view of the tragedy and chaos in our nation’s capital.
The Pentagon was still on fire and multiple helicopters were ferrying the injured to facilities throughout the Capital region. Traffic in all directions was at a standstill and thousands of people were outside for fear of being in a targeted building.
The constant sound of sirens was deafening. The infamous 14th Street bridge was without vehicles, replaced by hoards of people crossing between the district and Arlington. The adjacent Reagan National Airport was eerily deserted and heavily guarded with planes, baggage and support equipment in disarray as it had hastily been shut down and evacuated. A defining moment came with the sound of aircraft flying low and aggressive overhead, this time F-16s from the D.C. Air National Guard out of Andrews ― it was a beautiful, yet sobering sight.
We kept saying to ourselves, “This can’t be happening to us (America).” Alan Jackson recorded a song called “Where Were You (When the World Stopped Turning)”? When I listen to that song, I remember I was not at a good place before 9:37 a.m. on 9/11. I was focused on me and my perceived miserable circumstances of being assigned to the Pentagon and living in D.C. with all of its challenges.
Upon making my way home to west Alexandria, I saw the first American flag flying at half-mast and I lost it. Flooded with emotion, I tried to come to terms with what happened, what was happening, what will happen.
Like all Americans, I will forever be impacted by that day. I often reflect back on the loss of life and suffering that resulted from that day to remind myself how fortunate I am.
Today, when I want to start whining about insignificant things in life like traffic jams, annoying dogs barking or a lack of caffeine, I stop. The events of that day have helped me focus on what really matters in life.
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When discussing 9/11, the most common question among Americans is “Where were you?” My answer, most often in silence, is, “I was there.”
I was at the Pentagon on Sept. 11, 2001, in Room 5e229. Those familiar with the Pentagon know that equates to Room 229 on the fifth and top floor and outer ring of five ― just two corridors away from the impact point of American Airlines flight 77 at 9:37 a.m.
I was barely six weeks into my new assignment at the Office of the Secretary of Defense when I found myself on Day Two of a weeklong orientation course. I had arrived late for the 8:30 a.m. start time due to unforeseen traffic. I almost blew off that morning’s session due to my embarrassment of being late. I had contemplated just exploring around the Pentagon until I could slip in unnoticed during a break at 9:30 a.m. I decided to eat humble pie and I entered the briefing room late with a chagrin look on my face and sat in the back stewing over how much I resented this new assignment and the challenges of working and living in D.C. I was feeling sorry for myself and was cranky due to the lack of sleep (barking dogs) and morning caffeine. All of that changed when somebody burst into the room just after 9 a.m. yelling for us to turn off the PowerPoint and turn on CNN.
Like the rest of our fellow Americans, the two dozen of us sat in shock as we saw the news reports of the two airliners hitting both World Trade Center towers. Our briefing moderater told us we would be dismissed at lunch and that only mission essential personnel would be remaining at the Pentagon. About 10 minutes later, we heard three massive and successive explosions that shook the building. You could feel the vibration in your chest.
We would later learn that the three explosions were from the American Airlines Boeing 757 penetrating the E, D and C rings of the Pentagon, killing all 64 passengers, crew and 125 personnel working in the Pentagon.
I had heard the phrase “fight or flight” but didn’t truly understand it until then as my heart was about to beat out of my chest. Surprisingly, everyone was very calm, but still visibly shaken and spooked as we quietly and cautiously opened the inner and outer doors of our briefing room to the chaos and smoke of the E ring.
People were running from the direction of the impact site toward those of us running to the nearest stairwell exit. This was the first time in my life I saw fear and panic in people’s faces.
First responders were dodging people running through the parking lot in dark, black smoke. Everyone kept yelling to get away from the building out of fear of more explosions. It wasn’t until an hour later, as a refugee at the Pentagon City Mall food court, which became a “safe haven” for thousands in the area, that we would learn the explosions at the Pentagon that took 189 innocent lives was because of cold-blooded killers using a civilian aircraft as a weapon.
I eventually made my way outside to a co-worker’s condo rooftop for a view of the tragedy and chaos in our nation’s capital.
The Pentagon was still on fire and multiple helicopters were ferrying the injured to facilities throughout the Capital region. Traffic in all directions was at a standstill and thousands of people were outside for fear of being in a targeted building.
The constant sound of sirens was deafening. The infamous 14th Street bridge was without vehicles, replaced by hoards of people crossing between the district and Arlington. The adjacent Reagan National Airport was eerily deserted and heavily guarded with planes, baggage and support equipment in disarray as it had hastily been shut down and evacuated. A defining moment came with the sound of aircraft flying low and aggressive overhead, this time F-16s from the D.C. Air National Guard out of Andrews ― it was a beautiful, yet sobering sight.
We kept saying to ourselves, “This can’t be happening to us (America).” Alan Jackson recorded a song called “Where Were You (When the World Stopped Turning)”? When I listen to that song, I remember I was not at a good place before 9:37 a.m. on 9/11. I was focused on me and my perceived miserable circumstances of being assigned to the Pentagon and living in D.C. with all of its challenges.
Upon making my way home to west Alexandria, I saw the first American flag flying at half-mast and I lost it. Flooded with emotion, I tried to come to terms with what happened, what was happening, what will happen.
Like all Americans, I will forever be impacted by that day. I often reflect back on the loss of life and suffering that resulted from that day to remind myself how fortunate I am.
Today, when I want to start whining about insignificant things in life like traffic jams, annoying dogs barking or a lack of caffeine, I stop. The events of that day have helped me focus on what really matters in life.