story5978.xml
Title
story5978.xml
Source
born-digital
Media Type
story
Date Entered
2002-09-12
911DA Story: Story
I had been a member of the Pentagon police department, the Defense Protective Service, from 1988 until September 2000. I no longer worked at the Pentagon on September 11, 2001, but I knew many people that did. When I heard what had happened, I boarded a Metro Subway train to go to the building, or as close as I could get.
The smoke from the fires was visible eight miles away in Alexandria. I could only get to within three miles of the Pentagon. The train would go no further. I decided to walk the remaining distance along Route 1.
From the time I left the train (about noon) until the time I reached the Pentagon parking lot (about 1 pm), I was the only person walking toward the site. However, there was a continuous line of people and cars going in the opposite direction. Those on foot were making better time, steadily putting distance between themselves and the crash site. (Traffic was virtually at a stand-still.) There was no sign of panic.
I saw only one civilian aircraft land at National Airport, and it was escorted by a fighter jet. I thought that unusual, and ominous, to see and hear the sound of a fighter over the Nation's Capital, but it was a sight/sound that would become familiar in following days.
I arrived near the Pentagon, wanting to help in some way, but, of course I could not enter the compound. I climbed a nearby hill and watched the fires burn out of control. A lone fire truck kept up a pathetic and ineffective stream of water. There was a black scorch mark running along about half the west side of the Pentagon--evidence of a fireball.
A small crowd had gathered on the hill, which, had at one time been the site of a Union Fort built to protect the Capital. Ironically, it bore silent witness to an assault that could not be prevented. Radios told the story of the Pentagon and what had happened in New York and Pennsylvania. People wondered where the terrorists would strike next and whether such an attack, if launched, could be prevented.
For me, it was personal. I trained and prepared for years to protect the building, as had my colleagues on the police department, yet when the time came we were bystanders. Nobody had expected an attack by civilian aircraft. Fortunately, no officer on the Defense Protective Service was killed. But, in subsequent months, talking to the police officers, there was universal frustration that they could do so little and could not save more people. They took pride, however, as they pointed out that they stood by their posts and did the best they could responding to the attack even as most people evacuated the area.
I left the Pentagon overlook around mid-afternoon and walked the ten miles to my home (it was quicker that taking a bus, with traffic at a stand-still). I felt a bit anxious, guilty and powerless and, like others, wondered what the following days would bring.
The smoke from the fires was visible eight miles away in Alexandria. I could only get to within three miles of the Pentagon. The train would go no further. I decided to walk the remaining distance along Route 1.
From the time I left the train (about noon) until the time I reached the Pentagon parking lot (about 1 pm), I was the only person walking toward the site. However, there was a continuous line of people and cars going in the opposite direction. Those on foot were making better time, steadily putting distance between themselves and the crash site. (Traffic was virtually at a stand-still.) There was no sign of panic.
I saw only one civilian aircraft land at National Airport, and it was escorted by a fighter jet. I thought that unusual, and ominous, to see and hear the sound of a fighter over the Nation's Capital, but it was a sight/sound that would become familiar in following days.
I arrived near the Pentagon, wanting to help in some way, but, of course I could not enter the compound. I climbed a nearby hill and watched the fires burn out of control. A lone fire truck kept up a pathetic and ineffective stream of water. There was a black scorch mark running along about half the west side of the Pentagon--evidence of a fireball.
A small crowd had gathered on the hill, which, had at one time been the site of a Union Fort built to protect the Capital. Ironically, it bore silent witness to an assault that could not be prevented. Radios told the story of the Pentagon and what had happened in New York and Pennsylvania. People wondered where the terrorists would strike next and whether such an attack, if launched, could be prevented.
For me, it was personal. I trained and prepared for years to protect the building, as had my colleagues on the police department, yet when the time came we were bystanders. Nobody had expected an attack by civilian aircraft. Fortunately, no officer on the Defense Protective Service was killed. But, in subsequent months, talking to the police officers, there was universal frustration that they could do so little and could not save more people. They took pride, however, as they pointed out that they stood by their posts and did the best they could responding to the attack even as most people evacuated the area.
I left the Pentagon overlook around mid-afternoon and walked the ten miles to my home (it was quicker that taking a bus, with traffic at a stand-still). I felt a bit anxious, guilty and powerless and, like others, wondered what the following days would bring.
Collection
Citation
“story5978.xml,” September 11 Digital Archive, accessed January 9, 2025, https://911digitalarchive.org/items/show/18959.