This post has taken several days to edit and 'polish' before I felt it was up to my personal standards for putting in my blog. The pictures were taken with a very primitive digital camera but I was lucky to have it with me during this historic time.
With apologies to Orwell, today was a 'double-plus bad' day for me. While the date marks the 5-year anniversary of the attacks on the World Trade Center and the Pentagon, it also marks the lowest point of my life in terms of serving my children, my wife and my country.
2001 was a strange time in my life. I was in the midst of a raging 'mid-life crisis'. My wife and I had grown apart over the years and I looked to other avenues to seek understanding and support (emotional--not physical). I had received orders in January to report to an overseas base that could not support the medical needs of my family. Although I had enough years in uniform to opt for retirement, I had no viable plan in place to secure my post-military career in this area. My wife was employed at the time and did not want to relocate again--we had moved six times in the past 10 years--so I could find work in the Washington, DC area (considered 'Mecca' or 'the mother ship' for intel types).
With reality slapping me squarely across the face, the 'crisis' faded and we opted for me to take the unaccompanied, 2-year tour away from Ohio, the US of A, and my loved ones. We bought a house in the local area (we were living on WPAFB at the time) and prepared for the separation. I started an online graduate studies program so that my time away would be productive. I took almost the entire month of August off so that I could spend time with our kids and take them back east to visit their aunts and uncles in Pennsylvania. As the days counted down to my departure, I started to realize that this tour was going to be a lot harder than originally thought, especially for my son. When the fateful day arrived, we filled up my wife's car and drove to the airport. Back in those days, family members could still go as far as the departure gate; however, I opted to make things less traumatic and opted for a curbside goodbye. With tears in our eyes, we said our farewells and as they drove away, I could see my son start to bawl uncontrollably in the back of the car. Girding myself, I gathered my personal things and entered the terminal. I found a phone so I could leave a message on the house's answering machine (I'm always a little uneasy about flying and--somewhat morbidly--want that appliance to extend my mortality in case the worse happened). Once I hung up, I headed to the check-in counter to start my long journey--the date was September 10th.
My early flights were rather uneventful. A layover in St. Louis had me watching the NY Giants playing the Denver Broncos on Monday Night Football (at one time, I was planning to be at that game but that's not a subject for this posting). I continued on to Seattle where I would join plenty of travel-weary and sleep-deprived military travelers for an early morning (4:45AM) departure for the Far East. Not feeling very sleepy, I found the airport's USO lounge, plugged in my laptop computer, and worked on some of my schoolwork to pass the time. As we started to board the plane, I was starting to feel the effects of sleep-deprivation but I was drawn to one of the televisions in the waiting area. On the screen, CNN's "Daybreak" was showing a live shot of the White House (the sun had already come up in Washington) and it looked utterly splendid in that light (weather across the entire eastern seaboard was nearly perfect that morning--cloudless and plenty of sunshine). We proceeded to board the plane and I barely stayed awake through take-off. It was supposed to be an uneventful, 8-to-9 hour flight--but no one would've imagined the events that were about to unfold.
About two hours into our journey, we were awakened by the captain making an announcement on the speaker system. While I was rubbing sleep out of my eyes, I thought I heard him say that a 'national emergency' had been declared and that we were going to be diverted to Anchorage, Alaska for an unscheduled stop. As others began regaining full consciousness, we started to chat among ourselves about what this 'emergency' could possibly be (the captain gave no supporting information). Some thought assassination--president, vice president or both--while others couldn't fathom a plausible reason that would ground an already airborne plane. We flew along for about another hour or so and had breakfast before we did something I never thought I'd experience on a plane--the jettisoning of perfectly good jet fuel. We took off with enough to get us all the way to Japan (with some to spare, just in case) and the pilot expected to use all of it prior to arrival and keep our landing weight within prescribed tolerances. Since we were not going to stay airborne long enough to burn it all, we had to get rid of it in some other manner. I had a window seat and was able to witness firsthand the plane expel its precious fuel into the Gulf of Alaska via a tube near the end of the wing (the entire process took between 15-20 minutes).
Jet fuel being expelled from our charter jet (stream coming out of the nozzle near top center of photo)
Since we were a military charter flight, the pilot was now directed to land at Elmendorf AFB (sits on the outskirts of Anchorage). It was a rather uneventful touchdown but the anxiety level was high because we would finally be told the full cause of this diversion. The plane then taxied to a spot on the apron near a large mobility hanger that would be our first staging area. It was only after the plane physically stopped moving and the engines were shut down that we were informed about the attacks on the East Coast. There was widespread disbelief that those actions happened yet an internal relief that our own flight did not share a similar fate. Some on the plane still had their stateside cell phones and started to call their relatives and friends to assure them that they were OK. I borrowed a fellow passenger's phone to call my wife but she had already left work to meet the kids when they were sent home from school. I eventually called my old office to have them relay my status to her.
Once emptied, our plane sat idle for almost three full days
Because Alaskan time is four hours behind EST, it was just a little after 7AM local when we landed and the base was only in the early stages of hunkering down against a then-unknown enemy and the possibility of more attacks. We deplaned and were herded over to the large hanger in order to begin our formal ‘conversion’ into a quasi-military unit of active-duty, retired and civilian passengers. After an impromptu roll call (checking identification cards against names on the flight’s manifest), we were free to wander inside the building. I really was in need of some caffeine so I began to look for a snack bar or soda machine. During that search, I walked past a conference room that appeared to be overflowing with people. I was able to wedge myself in and it was then that I got my first glimpse of the aftermath in lower Manhattan (the buildings had fallen about an hour or so earlier).
Trying to come to terms with our situation
I have visited New York City a few times and flown in and out of its surrounding airports so I was familiar with its world-famous skyline. We took our 6th grade class trip to NYC in 1973 and the Twin Towers had already been completed and occupied a year or so earlier. We didn’t visit them that day (I never did get the chance) but I was drawn to their sheer size while waiting for a ferry to take us out to the Statue of Liberty. While the WTC had its detractors, it eventually grew into one of the city’s enduring symbols—and one that also attracted undue attention. While assigned in the Washington, DC area, I had the pleasure of visiting the Pentagon on several occasions. To me, it felt confining and a bit confusing for a visitor to navigate one's way around, but I felt envious of the personnel who were assigned there--feeling the 'pulse' of the Defense Department from close range. With a Pepsi in my hand, I found an empty chair and sat down to watch the news coverage (they were interviewing a few analysts and experts in their studio). It wasn't until I saw the lingering shots of the carnage in lower Manhattan and northern Virginia that I realized that our nation will never be the same and I began to reflect on how these events would affect my upcoming assignment.
Viewing TV coverage in the conference room
After watching non-stop coverage for around an hour or so, I returned to the main assembly area to find out that we were not going to continue on to Japan that day and that we were going to be housed locally until we got the authorization to proceed. Families traveling together would be placed into the base’s billeting facilities or, if no room is available, be placed in local hotels. Since Anchorage was a waypoint for many trans-Pacific flights, the city’s main airport was suddenly the destination for many inbound flights to the US. Due to the amount of people that normally travel on long-haul commercial aircraft, a lot of those passengers were going to have to be placed in temporary lodging and probably be inconvenienced for the duration of their unintended stay in Alaska. Since I was flying ‘solo’, I was directed to report with the other unaccompanied members from our flight to the base’s recreation center to await deliveries of bedding (cots) and food (meals ready-to-eat or MREs) later in the morning. We (approximately 160 people) were then transported by a bus convoy to our new ‘home away from home’—growing somewhat impatient but also anxious about how our lives were about to change.
Elmendorf AFB's recreation center--our 'home away from home'
The facility used to be an old hanger (not as big as the first one we were in) and lacked in most of the creature comforts we cranky and dirty passengers were outwardly craving. The cots arrived first and we began to form up our ‘cot communities’ based upon newly formed friendships during our trip. We next received a delivery of MREs which, after going for almost six hours without a real meal, tasted surprisingly good. The next order of business was cleaning ourselves up. The center did house some gym equipment (treadmills and other aerobic devices) but it had limited changing and showering facilities (4 showers—two male, two female—and a household-sized water heater). After weighing their options, the only viable solution would be for our hosts to bus us over in shifts to the base’s gymnasium (already closed due to the emergency). Once clean and fed, most of us decided to nap while some clustered around the available television sets (each set to a different network) to watch the wall-to-wall coverage. Later that evening, we had the opportunity to eat at one of the base’s dining facilities (we were bussed again and had to sign out and in to maintain personnel readiness and accountability).
To occupy our free time, the center had a single Internet-connected computer available for public use and we devised a schedule to provide people equitable opportunities to use it. Since I had my laptop with me, I could draft my emails ‘offline’ and then upload them to the ‘net’ via floppy diskette. The base’s Services division also provided each person a phone calling card to allow them to contact their relatives and update them on their status. When we turned in that first night, we thought it would be our last in these contingency conditions; however, it was not to be.
Bunking down for the first night
The next morning, after showers and breakfast, our ‘commander’ (the highest ranking person on the flight—turned out to be a Navy chaplain) was told that our plane would be leaving that day and that we need to prepare for our departure. This entailed repacking our luggage, disassembling our ‘communities’ and cleaning up the facility. After we had about half of the cots on the trucks, another official showed up and regretfully told us that we were not going to be able to go after all. According to a hurriedly drafted priority matrix, only the top six categories of flights would be allowed to fly—we fell out at #9. Back went the cots but our ‘captors’ lessened this latest ‘blow’ by allowing us to visit the base’s exchange complex (akin to a civilian shopping center or strip mall) to pass the idle hours.
Trekking for breakfast at one of the base's dining facilities
While fewer people were glued to the televisions, more of us started to form our own cliques. One couple (I’m assuming they were traveling together without the benefit of a marriage license) was so dismayed that they could not ‘sleep’ together took the bold step of creating a yurt-like fortress near the center of the main floor to conceal their amorous activities. It was humorous to witness the base’s commander (a one-star general) attempt to explain this ‘conjugal tent’ to his young son who accompanied him on his perfunctory ‘grip-and-grin’ with us ‘refugees’. Other lapses of discipline started to occur due to boredom and anxiety. Beer and liquor were smuggled into close proximity of the center and several folks chose to imbibe. A rather raucous card game continued throughout the evening which inconvenienced anyone within earshot (it was eventually broken up shortly after midnight). A mandatory meeting was held the next morning to address these breeches of communal etiquette but no one was actually cited or counseled for their activities.
We had now been in Alaska for two full days (landed early on Tuesday and it was now early on the 13th) and almost all of us were eager to leave. It was early afternoon when we found out that our priority had been ‘elevated’ high enough to earn us departure clearance. We waited until the final minute to tear down the cots this time and proceeded by bus over to the terminal for boarding. Because we were interrupted in our trans-Pacific journey, we needed to be ‘inserted’ back into the flight patterns at approximately the same time we would’ve been flying past Alaska on our original flight so that we could land in Japan at the appropriate time. This meant we were taking off at nearly 4:00AM on the morning of the 14th. Being so soon after the tragedies, military security screening had not progressed to the level of discomfort commercial aviation adopted when flying resumed. Having hardly slept since early the previous day, I was slumbering shortly after takeoff. Due to the International Date Line, we ‘lost’ a day and landed in Tokyo at approximately 7AM on the morning of the 15th. At the military air terminal, outgoing passengers were still glued to the stateside newscasts that had not yet returned to their normal schedule. Some of them would be boarding the plane we just disembarked to fly back to a nation that had changed dramatically since their last visit.
Waiting to board our continuation flight to Japan
While I share our nation’s pain on each subsequent anniversary, they also provides me an opportunity to reflect on this occasion in a personal way. History is chock full of definitive moments. Like Pearl Harbor nearly 60 years before, America was attacked from an outside enemy in a way that displayed a blatant ignorance of civilized rules and norms. The Japanese conducted a surprise attack (some might claim otherwise due to RW revisionist history attempts over the past 5-10 years) on US soil. While I will not introduce my personal take on the whole ‘who’ issue concerning 9/11, the sad fact is that thousands of innocent people were killed for no other reason than working in facilities or riding in aircraft that represented the United States. As I said earlier, I choose to ignore the intertwined politics today and instead reflect and privately honor the victims. There are plenty of other days available throughout the year to spar and debate.
My introspection concerns my perceived weakness at that moment in time. While I was fully protected when confined inside an airborne aluminum tube or behind a razor-wire chain link perimeter fence, my family was totally exposed to the unprecedented chaos and horror of that day without me there to shield or comfort them. I did have opportunities to talk with all of them on the phone and exchange emails, but that long-distance solution does not meet my standard—at least in my own mind—of fulfilling my paternal or spousal obligations during one of the greatest crises in American history. With my professional background, I requested permission to report over to the local intel unit to provide whatever assistance they might need but administrative issues and our uncertain departure plan nixed that idea. So all I could do for those three days was sit…and watch…and wait…and think...about things...like marriage...and fatherhood...and life...
These past five years have gone by in fits and starts--times of manic activity and accomplishment matched with lonely and lethargic spans. I have been back in Ohio for over two years now with both my family and marriage intact. Not totally without some residual issues, I credit my survival during this separation on a deeply personal desire to be part of something greater than myself and a case could be made that those tragic events in September 2001 helped us to grow individually and as a couple. My wife gained a greater sense of independence during my absence, being both a mother AND father to two sometimes challenging children. I had to maintain an entire household on my own--and all the associated responsibilities of doing that in a foreign country-- for the first time in my adult life. I finished my online degree and we now are reaping the financial benefits for me attaining that additional level of higher education.
Since I am no longer a religious man, I believe fate positioned me in a specific place at that specific time where I was virtually incapacitated and isolated in order to help me learn an important life lesson. Each September 11th, I mourn for the victims of those attacks but I also recognize the painful 'death' of a previous version of me. While bureaucrats are still wrangling about memorials for that date's 'hallowed grounds', I get to live with mine for (hopefully) a long time to come.
