Where Were You?

Where were you when the world stopped turnin'

That September day?

Alan Jackson 2002

As we commemorate the 25^th Anniversary of September 11, 2001, it occurs to me that for all the memories I've shared, I've never left a record for my grandchildren of where I was "that September day."

Like you I'm sure, it is burned into my memory like the flames spewing from Tower 1. There are moments so vivid, they could have happened five minutes ago. And I'm sure, the closer you were to Lower Manhattan that day, the more you wish you could forget.

I was in College Park, Maryland at the National Archives at College Park, affectionately known as Archives II. I had just returned to my office from an early morning staff meeting and as I hurriedly walked past my administrative assistant, seated at her desk, I said, "I'm headed downtown (Washington, DC) for a meeting."

My secretary then said the words I will never forget..."No you're not."

She motioned towards the office of my Public Affairs Director, Susan Cooper and as I walked in, I was surprised to see some of my staff and colleagues staring at the TV set in the corner. Given our role and the need to monitor C-Span for proceedings on Capitol Hill, we often had the TV running throughout the day.

When I directed my attention to the screen, I could plainly see that flames were coming from a black scar towards the top of the North Tower of the World Trade Center in New York City. Something had hit the building at or about 8:45am, and the commentators were still speculating whether it was a small plane or helicopter. The working assumption was that it was a tragic accident.

The building was being evacuated, and the news anchors were scrambling for data such as the fact that 14,000 to 15,000 people worked in the building on a typical day. We were frozen and silent as we watched this story unfold. A fire in one of the world's tallest buildings was a big story in and of itself.

Just after 9:00am everything changed. 

We all witnessed the second plane hit the South Tower. It was immediately clear that this was no accident. As Andy Card whispered in President Bush's ear as he sat before a classroom of elementary school children in Florida, "America is under attack."

With cameras already affixed on the North Tower, a tiny spec could be seen in the bright blue sky converging on the adjoining pillar. It hit the building with explosive effect. Flames and debris filled the air and arched toward the street below. In the instant replay era of sports and news, we would see that explosion over and over in the moments, days, and weeks to follow.

This "oh my God" moment sent some into the hallways to summon colleagues, some to their phones to call home, while the rest remained transfixed on the screen. It was surreal, but it was not the last shock of the day.

At about 9:45am, I got a call back from the guy I was supposed to have met with on Capitol Hill that morning. He said that they could see smoke on the southwest horizon and were preparing to evacuate the Capitol Building. We learned later that the smoke was from the Pentagon. It had been hit by a third plane at 9:37am.

It was at that point that I called home to leave the message that I had not gone downtown to my meeting and that I was fine. 

As we watched the TV in utter horror, the South Tower collapsed at 9:59am and sent a cloud of white toxic dust, paper, and jet fumes rolling in every direction across Lower Manhattan. There was a white-out effect on all cameras, and a mummy-like crowd of people came running through the chalky cloud like eerie shadows on a cave wall.

Moments after, word was filtering in that the Office of Personnel Management was shutting down the Federal Government in Washington, and all but essential personnel were being sent home.

I walked down to the Archivist's office and got confirmation that we were closing, effective immediately.

At the time, I had public affairs and some congressional affairs staff in our downtown building.  When I got back to my office, I called and found that they had gotten the word and were in the process of leaving. They were clearly in more danger than my folks in College Park, so they were priority #1.

From my office window, I could see that our parking garage was emptying fast and I made a couple additional calls.

When I was sure that my last folks were out of the building, I picked up my briefcase and headed out the door. As I walked past our lobby security desk, our guards had the same dazed look as everyone else that day. What does this mean? Are we safe? What's next?

As I walked to my car, I remember thinking what a spectacularly beautiful day and what a contrast to the tragedy that was unfolding in New York City and Washington DC.  It had that crisp, first day of school feel about it. It was the first day of a new world for America and the planet.

As I pulled my Saab 900 out of the garage, I paused at the curb to open the convertible top. It was a guilty indulgence, but the day was too perfect to miss the fresh air and sky.

I had options on how to drive home, and my favorite was the Baltimore-Washington Parkway. A beautiful tree-lined road seemed appropriate for this beautiful weather. If I had thought through the implications of this route, I might have chosen a different one. 

I was often accompanied by WTOP Radio News on my commutes to and from Washington in those years. WTOP was owned by the Washington Post and publisher Katharine Graham had directed a shift to an all-news format in 1969. As you can imagine, the content that day was 100% "America under attack."

In the intervening time, the North Tower had collapsed, New York City was essentially shut down, a fourth plane had crashed in a field near Shanksville, Pennsylvania, and the FAA had ordered all civilian aircraft in U.S. airspace to land at the nearest suitable airport. (We later learned that 4,500 aircraft were ultimately diverted.)

All of that was known.

What was not known (by me at least) was that our military had scrambled jets into the sky to provide air cover over Washington DC and major defense assets across the country.  We were under attack from the air, and we still were not sure of the source or size of the threat.

This air cover was both at high altitude to spot and direct defensive measures against hostile armaments, and low altitude to spot and shoot down aircraft that may be a threat to military or large civilian targets.

As I drove north on the Parkway, I was going to pass by the National Security Agency (NSA), affectionately known locally as the "puzzle palace". A very large building complex with one of the world's largest computers in a subterranean space, NSA was the heart of the US signals intelligent system. It intercepted, analyzed, and reported on electronic and telephonic communications from our friends and foes and provided actionable intelligence to the White House and all branches of the US military deployed throughout the world.

There was a cone of silence in those days over the building, the mission, and even the 20,000 people who worked there in 2001. When you met an NSA employee in those days, the conversation went like this.

"So, where do you work?"

"I work for the government"

"The US Government?"

"Yes"

"So do I, but where do you work."

"I work at Ft. Meade"

If you had been through this dialogue before (or many times before) you knew at this point that you were talking to someone who worked for NSA. But many in those days would still not admit it even if asked directly.

NSA was not on my mind on that beautiful fall day. My ears were filled with troubling radio news and my heart was filled with fear.

As I approached the Parkway exit for NSA, I heard the distinct sound of airplanes in the distance. Having just heard the radio new correspondent say that all flights had been cancelled and all civilian aircraft had been grounded, an airplane engine was something I did not expect to hear. 

Within a split second, the roar of jet engines engulfed all my senses as two F-16's roared over my head just above the treetops. It was deafening and frightening. It sucked the air wash through the trees and down the parkway. It scared me to death.

Had I not lived in the area for many years, I would have had no way to associate what had just happened with the fact that the beating heart of American military intelligence was a three wood away from the parkway. If America was under attack, that building would have been a logical target.

I steadied my nerves and took the Rt. 32 exit toward home. An unusual drive would pale in comparison for what we were all in for in the days ahead.

I am sure that some of you had experiences that day and in the days that followed more personal, more tragic, more direct. For that I am extremely sorry. If 9/11 spurred you or your loved ones to service for America, you have my profound thanks. If you were not born at the time, or too young to remember, here, thanks to AI is a one paragraph summary of what we are recognizing today.

September 11, 2001, known as 9/11, was a day of coordinated terrorist attacks in the United States in which 19 al-Qaeda hijackers seized four commercial airliners: two were flown into New York City’s World Trade Center towers, a third struck the Pentagon, and the fourth crashed in Pennsylvania after passengers and crew attempted to overcome the hijackers. Nearly 3,000 people were killed, including passengers, firefighters, police officers, and civilians from many nations. The attacks profoundly changed the United States and the world, leading to the U.S.-led War on Terror, the war in Afghanistan, major changes in aviation and national security, the creation of the Department of Homeland Security, and lasting debates over civil liberties, government surveillance, and America’s role in the world. For Americans who experienced that morning, however, its significance is also deeply personal: it marked a sudden and devastating moment when the country’s sense of security and the course of American history changed.