Professional Documents
Culture Documents
1
stopped
to
check
out
the
TV
in
the
weight
room.
On
screen
was
the
first
tower
and
the
headline
of
an
airliner
striking
the
WTC.
Unbelievable
I
thought,
on
a
day
such
as
this
to
hit
something
like
that?
No
sooner
had
the
thought
passed
than
the
second
tower
was
hit.
Quickly
leaving
the
POAC
I
headed
back
to
the
Pentagon,
a
thousand
questions
racking
my
mind.
I
stopped
suddenly
and
listened,
hearing
–
nothing.
No
traffic,
no
planes,
no
birds
–
just
an
eerie
silence.
Back
in
the
office,
people
were
clustered
around
the
few
TVs
we
had
working
at
that
point.
Seeing
some
of
my
branch
chiefs
I
indicated
I
wanted
to
meet
with
them
in
10
minutes
and
to
find
the
other
branch
chief.
0935
and
I
finally
get
through
to
the
Admiral
–
they’ve
been
apprised
of
what
is
going
on
and
he’s
going
to
try
and
catch
the
first
flight
back
to
DC
that
day.
0937:25.
Looking
out
my
window
while
talking
on
the
speakerphone,
I
see
a
billowing
cloud
of
smoke,
flame
and
debris
suddenly
hurtling
across
the
roofline
of
the
E-‐ring
towards
my
window.
Simultaneously
the
building
begins
to
shake,
and
a
rumbling,
almost
like
a
train
passing
nearly
beneath
us
is
felt.
Having
seen
my
share
of
plane
crashes
and
leaping
to
the
earlier
events
of
the
day,
it
was
clear
in
my
mind
what
had
just
happened
–
we’d
been
hit,
probably
with
an
airliner
just
like
the
WTC.
Interrupting
my
boss
I
pass
that
we’ve
been
hit,
the
building
is
on
fire
and
it
looks
bad.
We’re
going
to
evacuate
the
spaces
and
I’ll
try
to
reach
him
via
cell
later
in
the
day.
He
rogered
and
signed
off
with
a
‘good
luck.’
Looking
about
it
was
clear
no
one
needed
prompting
to
evacuate
the
space.
No
smoke
yet,
but
it
couldn’t
be
far
and
flame
not
soon
afterwards.
With
the
N3N5
admin
officer
we
make
a
sweep
to
secure
the
classified
material,
close
and
lock
the
safes
and
make
one
last
check
of
the
space
before
we
evacuate.
Out
in
the
passageway
–
panic.
I
look
towards
the
A-‐ring
and
see
a
mass
of
people,
pushing,
shoving,
and
going
–
where?
The
courtyard
and
possible
entrapment?
Uh-‐
uh.
Two
of
my
branch
chiefs
and
a
couple
of
AOs
with
them
are
coming
back
up
the
corridor
from
the
A-‐ring
and
I
tell
them
to
follow
me
–
I
knew
a
short-‐cut
through
the
construction
area
that
would
get
us
out
to
South
Parking
and
away
from
the
building.
At
the
intersection
with
the
E-‐ring
we
come
across
VADM
Keating
who
is
genuinely
concerned.
“Will,
take
your
folks,
get
them
out
of
the
building
and
to
safety”
“Aye
sir
–
are
you
sure
there’s
nothing
we
can
do
here?”
“No,
get
them
out
and
stand
by
–
I’ve
got
a
bad
feeling
about
the
command
center”
2
The
Navy
Command
Center
was
home
to
N513,
one
of
my
three
branches
as
there
wasn’t
enough
space
in
the
new
offices
for
them.
Glancing
down
the
E-‐ring
the
smoke
is
already
thick
in
the
overhead
and
getting
lower.
“Follow
me”
South
Parking
was
a
scene
of
unparalleled
confusion
–
fire
trucks
from
Arlington
and
other
communities
were
flying
into
the
lot
at
speed,
accompanied
by
law
enforcement
vehicles
of
all
sorts.
At
the
same
time
private
vehicles
were
dodging
around
people
on
foot,
trying
their
best
to
get
out.
Pentagon
security
forces,
suddenly
armed
with
heavy
weapons
we’d
never
seen
them
with
before,
were
directing
people
away
from
the
building
and
over
to
a
far
corner
of
the
lot.
“Move
away
from
the
building
–
there’s
another
plane
coming”
Pushing,
prodding
-‐-‐
willing
the
mass
of
humanity
to
move
along,
farther
away
from
the
burning
building.
Our
group
stopped
at
the
end
of
the
lane
our
evacuation
plan
had
designated.
Seeing
a
few
other
N51
personnel
we
signaled
them
over
and
did
a
quick
huddle.
“Guys,
I
need
you
to
get
home
by
the
most
expeditious
means
possible
–
stay
by
the
phone,
for
what
I
don’t
know
yet.
Just
be
ready.
I
am
staying
here
to
see
what
we
can
do
in
terms
of
reconstitution.”
With
that
they
left
and
with
the
N3N5
admin
officer
and
our
flag
assistant,
we
began
to
move
again.
The
police
had
other
ideas
though
as
they
continued
to
herd
us
back
from
the
building,
towards
I-‐395.
A
sonic
boom.
More
panic
around
us
–
Some
screams
and
muffled
cries;
“There’s
the
other
plane”
“They’re
going
after
the
Capitol”
“They’ve
hit
the
White
House”
Never
mind
the
fact
the
Capitol
was
still
clearly
visible
and
undamaged.
I
catch
a
glint
of
sunlight
on
high
–
looks
like
an
F-‐16
setting
up
low
CAP
over
the
White
House.
How
many
times
had
I
seen
that
overseas
in
exercise
after
exercise
–
now
here,
in
real
life,
F-‐16’s
flying
low
CAP
over
our
nation’s
capitol…
A
general
evacuation
is
now
underway,
but
the
combination
of
traffic,
wheeled
and
foot,
brings
everyone
to
a
halt.
Pausing
by
one
vehicle
the
driver
tells
us
that
the
WTC
towers
have
fallen
and
there
are
attacks
going
on
all
over
the
country.
All
air
traffic
has
been
ordered
to
land
and
the
Air
Force
will
begin
shooting
down
non-‐
compliers.
As
we
pass
under
I-‐395
and
head
up
the
hill
to
the
Navy
Annex
and
the
Marine
Corps
OPS
Center,
we
pause
near
the
Citgo
station,
stunned
at
the
sight
before
us.
There,
across
the
way
the
smoke
had
lifted
and
we
saw
where
the
plane
had
hit,
a
major
part
of
the
building
collapsed.
3
It
was
a
quiet
group
that
made
its
way
up
the
hill
–
Arlington
Cemetery
to
our
right
and
the
burning
edifice
of
the
Pentagon
behind
us.
Pausing
one
last
time
to
look
back
we
headed
inside.
Joining
up
there
with
the
N31
remnant,
we
divided
into
two
prime
areas
of
responsibility
–
the
N31
folks,
who
were
Current
Ops,
went
about
trying
to
reconstitute
their
functions
from
the
Navy
Ops
Center,
reaching
out
to
touch
the
Fleet.
Our
group,
smaller
in
number,
set
about
assessing
the
damage
to
N3N5;
more
particularly,
what
was
the
extent
of
our
losses.
With
recall
lists
in
hand
we
set
about
calling
to
conduct
the
muster.
At
the
other
end
of
the
phone
lay
mixtures
of
joy
and
anxiety.
The
hours
passed
and
soon
the
numbers
weren’t
changing.
One
last
round
of
calls
before
contacting
the
Casualty
Assistance
Center
that
was
being
established
at
the
Navy
Yard
across
town.
“No,
he’s
not
coming
home
is
he?”
“What
will
I
do?”
The
pain
and
anguish
were
clear
over
the
phone.
Twenty-‐nine
missing.
Twenty-‐nine
families
who
would
not
have
a
someone
coming
home
that
night.
Word
had
it
that
the
Army
lost
even
more
folks,
and
then
there
was
NY.
There
was
also
a
rumor
of
an
airliner
that
had
either
crashed
or
been
shot
down
–
we
didn’t
know
yet.
I
hadn’t
seen
any
TV
since
prior
to
the
strike
on
the
Pentagon
(and
wouldn’t
until
the
following
day).
Right
now
though,
Twenty-‐nine
MIA.
Between
a
fifth
and
a
quarter
of
a
typical
VAW
squadron.
With
heavy
heart
and
pounding
head
I
picked
up
the
phone
to
call
the
Casualty
Assistance
Center
to
pass
along
the
information.
As
I
do
I
ask
about
the
CACO’s
who
will
be
assigned.
As
a
list
of
junior
officers,
many
of
them
stash
Ensigns
were
read
off,
I
offered
the
services
of
our
officers.
We
had
enough
remaining
from
N51,
N52
and
some
from
N31
that
were
more
senior
and
could
accompany
the
notification
teams.
Everyone,
not
just
uniformed
personnel
would
have
a
team
assigned
–
government
and
contractor
civilian,
retired
as
well
as
Reserve
and
active
duty.
They
all
would
have
a
team
assigned.
I
started
making
the
calls
and
to
a
man,
there
was
no
hesitation.
As
time
passed,
these
initial
assignments
stretched
out
to
weeks
and
months
afterwards,
but
they
provided
our
families
with
continuity
and
an
experienced
POC
to
steer
them
through
the
challenges
that
lay
ahead
long
after
the
official
CACOs
had
been
reassigned.
By
now,
it
was
well
after
midnight
and
the
events
of
the
day
had
finally
caught
up
in
physical
and
emotional
form.
Heading
back
down
the
hill
to
South
Parking
to
pick
up
my
car
for
the
long
drive
home
we
passed
the
triage
area
set
up
under
the
110
overpass,
passed
the
fire
trucks
and
ambulances
still
working
the
fire
–
the
sky
above
us
now
a
hellish
grey-‐orange
glow.
It
would
be
a
short
turnaround
–
I
was
tasked
as
the
overall
N3N5
Casualty
Coordinator
(in
addition
to
being
the
N51
Deputy
and
now,
the
N513
Branch
Head)
and
twice
daily
worked
through
the
4
casualty
conferences
that
ID’d
our
MIAs,
changing
their
status
from
missing
to
killed.
We
did
have
one
survivor
(Kevin
Schaffer)
who
was
in
the
burn
unit
in
Washington
Hospital
with
burns
over
40%
of
his
body.
It
was
dicey
there
for
a
while
and
one
day
we
thought
we’d
lost
him,
but
he
pulled
through
and
is
today
working
in
DHS.
On
top
of
this
we
had
a
multi-‐front
war
to
plan
and
fight,
one
that
was
familiar
and
yet
again,
altogether
different
than
those
we
had
previously
fought
as
well
as
the
challenge
of
getting
ourselves
back
into
the
Pentagon.
By
the
end
of
the
month
the
funerals
had
begun.
From
small,
family
only
services
to
a
Naval
Academy
chapel
filled
to
the
rafters
–
some
at
Arlington
and
others
back
in
their
home
states;
we
buried
our
shipmates.
Catholic,
Protestant,
Hebrew,
Buddhist…a
deep,
painful
slice
of
America
was
being
buried.
Each
had
a
story
to
tell
–
whether
they
were
a
former
ship’s
CO,
retired
P-‐3
aviator,
a
second
generation
Vietnamese
immigrant,
a
sailor
from
Chicago,
a
husband
on
his
first
shore
tour
with
his
bride
-‐-‐
all
represented
this
great
nation.
Some
number
of
years
ago
I
had
the
honor
of
making
the
acquaintance
of
a
survivor
of
the
attack
on
Pearl
Harbor.
A
young
seaman
then
stationed
on
the
battleship
Nevada,
he
related
his
story,
his
memories.
And
as
he
talked
about
the
aching
beauty
of
that
peaceful
Sunday
morning
–
I
wondered.
I
wondered
how
I
would
feel
and
react
in
a
similar
situation.
And
I
think
I
now
know…and
will
never
forget.
Thank
you
and
God
bless
our
departed
shipmates,
their
families
and
those
who
still
serve
and
hold
the
light
of
Freedom
high.
May
we
never
forget
them.
5