story1633.xml
Title
story1633.xml
Source
born-digital
Media Type
story
Date Entered
2002-09-01
911DA Story: Story
I live in Arlington, Virginia, a little more than a mile from the Pentagon and just happened to be home on Tuesday morning, September 11, 2001. I was watching live TV coverage about the horror at the World Trade Center in New York, when suddenly I heard the brief roar of a jet, a huge WHOOMP noise, and my entire house shook. I froze for a second and then looked back at the TV and instantly guessed what had happened. There was no question in my mind, not for a moment. My God, I thought, of course it's not just New York; it's us, too.
After a few minutes I saw the big black clouds of smoke rising up over my neighbors' houses. I called a friend whose office in DC is in a high-rise building facing the Potomac River and Virginia. I asked him if he could see the Pentagon. Yes. I asked him if he could see smoke. Yes. I said what I thought had happened, considering what was going on in New York, and hung up.
Then I went up on Arlington Ridge which overlooks the Pentagon. Traffic was already at a standstill on I-395 and Columbia Pike, as huge clouds of black smoke poured up from the Pentagon. Orange flames peeked out through holes in the smoke, but I couldn't see any plane wreckage or anything else, except smoke and flames. Later I realized I was half-expecting to see the tail of a plane melodramatically sticking out of the ground. But reality isn't as simple-minded and obvious as Hollywood. Nothing of the plane, or anything in it, or anyone, survived.
Tuesday morning I had originally planned to go into work in DC around 10 a.m. I never gave it another thought. For the rest of the day on Tuesday I did little else except watch the constant live coverage on TV. Even making an effort toward a little bit of normalcy seemed frivolous and inappropriate. I knew I needed to mow the lawn but there were more important things to care about just then. The day felt unreal and detached, like we had drifted into a eddy on the side of the normally smooth stream of time and consciousness.
Late Tuesday afternoon I roused myself enough to bake a pan of brownies and take them over to the fire station in Crystal City -- one of the first responders at the Pentagon. It wasn't much and I felt a little ridiculous, like using an eye dropper to put out a fire. But I wanted to do something to show the guys some support because they're always so great about responding to emergencies (and who doesn't like brownies?). The fireman who answer the door when I knocked didn't invite me in as they had my neighbor who also took them some food.
Tuesday night I went over to my friend Karl's house. Karl, his boyfriend Bill, and their friend Roxanne were sipping martinis and watching the endless news and re-plays on TV. Sitting with them for a while helped me feel a little more connected, even thought we didn't have any new insights. They were just as tired and dazed as I was.
Wednesday at work in downtown DC was pretty quiet. Most people in the office seemed dazed, and only about a third of the usual work force was in my whole building at Federal Triangle. The place was empty like Thanksgiving Friday, or the week between Christmas and New Years. I managed to get a little work done, but left early to meet a friend who was in DC on business but was now stuck since all flights were cancelled. More people came in to work in Thursday but the day still had a surreal quality and it was hard to concentrate and to not go online every 5 minutes to look for more news stories or check email from friends.
Thursday afternoon, concerned by attacks against establishments owned or operated by Islamic or Middle Eastern persons, I stopped by a local business owned by a guy from Lebanon. I told him I had heard about the attacks and that I just wanted to see if he was upset, or OK, or what. I wasn't sure it was really necessary to express my support but I'm glad I did and he seemed to appreciate it. It was another small gesture, but one I felt I had to make. Thursday night around 9 p.m. a local news broadcast described how Salvation Army on South Glebe Road in Arlington was collecting lots of stuff and listed a few things they needed. So I went to the store and bought some stuff and went over to the Salvation Army. I had meant to drop off my few items and come right home but I stayed until 1:30 a.m. to help pack water bottles and load trucks. Again, it wasn't much, but I felt like I tried to do something to help.
While I was at the Salvation Army I looked at some lunch bags that children had decorated with drawings and messages that were going to be handed out to rescue workers in New York or DC. I assumed that teachers had organized this to not only cheer rescue workers but also as impromptu art therapy for their kids, to give the kids a way to express their thoughts and emotions. The children had drawn people and buildings, and hearts and stars, and other things, and written simple messages in big childish letters like "You are my hero!" and "Thank you for rescuing people!" Sometimes the kids wrote their names, too, like LaShawna or Alexander. I found it moving to think of the children trying to deal with the events of Tuesday by reach and support the rescue teams, like giving a little hug or smile. The decorated lunch bag I remember most is one on which a child had drawn a simple picture of a tall narrow building and a bright red plane aimed right at it, but no words. It was very plain but very clear, and the simplicity of the drawing for me underscored the depth of the suddenness of the horror we witnessed --just two days before-- and which we're all going to have to live with and deal with from now on.
Today is Friday and it's raining. I'm worried about what will happen next. Will the USA and the West in general and the USA in particular respond wisely and effectively? What is wise? What is effective? I am sickened by newspaper reports of the words of people like Jerry Falwell who are only too glad to use this hideous event to stir up hate and resentment against fellow Americans and for their own small ends, as well as whose words suggest a disturbing, even treasonous sympathy for the attackers' point of view.
I was surprised that today I wish instead of just going to look a the crash from afar, that I had gone directly to the Pentagon and tried to help. I don't know why I didn't think of it. I don't know what I could have done. I feel like I missed some sort of opportunity to do something. I don't know why I feel a twinge of regret because I'm not a hero person. I can't even dive headfirst into a pool when I swim. Oh, well, I'm sure I'll sort it out before too long, but still...
Overall I am heartened by the mainstream response, by most Americans, by kids, and by people in most other countries. I am gradually feeling OK, less empty and sad, but not much. Not yet.
After a few minutes I saw the big black clouds of smoke rising up over my neighbors' houses. I called a friend whose office in DC is in a high-rise building facing the Potomac River and Virginia. I asked him if he could see the Pentagon. Yes. I asked him if he could see smoke. Yes. I said what I thought had happened, considering what was going on in New York, and hung up.
Then I went up on Arlington Ridge which overlooks the Pentagon. Traffic was already at a standstill on I-395 and Columbia Pike, as huge clouds of black smoke poured up from the Pentagon. Orange flames peeked out through holes in the smoke, but I couldn't see any plane wreckage or anything else, except smoke and flames. Later I realized I was half-expecting to see the tail of a plane melodramatically sticking out of the ground. But reality isn't as simple-minded and obvious as Hollywood. Nothing of the plane, or anything in it, or anyone, survived.
Tuesday morning I had originally planned to go into work in DC around 10 a.m. I never gave it another thought. For the rest of the day on Tuesday I did little else except watch the constant live coverage on TV. Even making an effort toward a little bit of normalcy seemed frivolous and inappropriate. I knew I needed to mow the lawn but there were more important things to care about just then. The day felt unreal and detached, like we had drifted into a eddy on the side of the normally smooth stream of time and consciousness.
Late Tuesday afternoon I roused myself enough to bake a pan of brownies and take them over to the fire station in Crystal City -- one of the first responders at the Pentagon. It wasn't much and I felt a little ridiculous, like using an eye dropper to put out a fire. But I wanted to do something to show the guys some support because they're always so great about responding to emergencies (and who doesn't like brownies?). The fireman who answer the door when I knocked didn't invite me in as they had my neighbor who also took them some food.
Tuesday night I went over to my friend Karl's house. Karl, his boyfriend Bill, and their friend Roxanne were sipping martinis and watching the endless news and re-plays on TV. Sitting with them for a while helped me feel a little more connected, even thought we didn't have any new insights. They were just as tired and dazed as I was.
Wednesday at work in downtown DC was pretty quiet. Most people in the office seemed dazed, and only about a third of the usual work force was in my whole building at Federal Triangle. The place was empty like Thanksgiving Friday, or the week between Christmas and New Years. I managed to get a little work done, but left early to meet a friend who was in DC on business but was now stuck since all flights were cancelled. More people came in to work in Thursday but the day still had a surreal quality and it was hard to concentrate and to not go online every 5 minutes to look for more news stories or check email from friends.
Thursday afternoon, concerned by attacks against establishments owned or operated by Islamic or Middle Eastern persons, I stopped by a local business owned by a guy from Lebanon. I told him I had heard about the attacks and that I just wanted to see if he was upset, or OK, or what. I wasn't sure it was really necessary to express my support but I'm glad I did and he seemed to appreciate it. It was another small gesture, but one I felt I had to make. Thursday night around 9 p.m. a local news broadcast described how Salvation Army on South Glebe Road in Arlington was collecting lots of stuff and listed a few things they needed. So I went to the store and bought some stuff and went over to the Salvation Army. I had meant to drop off my few items and come right home but I stayed until 1:30 a.m. to help pack water bottles and load trucks. Again, it wasn't much, but I felt like I tried to do something to help.
While I was at the Salvation Army I looked at some lunch bags that children had decorated with drawings and messages that were going to be handed out to rescue workers in New York or DC. I assumed that teachers had organized this to not only cheer rescue workers but also as impromptu art therapy for their kids, to give the kids a way to express their thoughts and emotions. The children had drawn people and buildings, and hearts and stars, and other things, and written simple messages in big childish letters like "You are my hero!" and "Thank you for rescuing people!" Sometimes the kids wrote their names, too, like LaShawna or Alexander. I found it moving to think of the children trying to deal with the events of Tuesday by reach and support the rescue teams, like giving a little hug or smile. The decorated lunch bag I remember most is one on which a child had drawn a simple picture of a tall narrow building and a bright red plane aimed right at it, but no words. It was very plain but very clear, and the simplicity of the drawing for me underscored the depth of the suddenness of the horror we witnessed --just two days before-- and which we're all going to have to live with and deal with from now on.
Today is Friday and it's raining. I'm worried about what will happen next. Will the USA and the West in general and the USA in particular respond wisely and effectively? What is wise? What is effective? I am sickened by newspaper reports of the words of people like Jerry Falwell who are only too glad to use this hideous event to stir up hate and resentment against fellow Americans and for their own small ends, as well as whose words suggest a disturbing, even treasonous sympathy for the attackers' point of view.
I was surprised that today I wish instead of just going to look a the crash from afar, that I had gone directly to the Pentagon and tried to help. I don't know why I didn't think of it. I don't know what I could have done. I feel like I missed some sort of opportunity to do something. I don't know why I feel a twinge of regret because I'm not a hero person. I can't even dive headfirst into a pool when I swim. Oh, well, I'm sure I'll sort it out before too long, but still...
Overall I am heartened by the mainstream response, by most Americans, by kids, and by people in most other countries. I am gradually feeling OK, less empty and sad, but not much. Not yet.
Collection
Citation
“story1633.xml,” September 11 Digital Archive, accessed December 11, 2025, https://911digitalarchive.org/items/show/11333.