nmah1474.xml
Title
nmah1474.xml
Source
born-digital
Media Type
story
Date Entered
2002-09-07
NMAH Story: Story
I work for the County of Arlington, Virginia. My job, as Disability Resources Coordinator, is on the 7th floor of a building on Wilson Boulevard that overlooks the Pentagon, which is approximately 2 miles away.
On the morning of September 11, 2001, just like every work day, I rode the Washington subway system, the Metro, to work, and, as usual, changed from the Blue line to the Orange line at the Pentagon Station. Nothing was unusual. Nothing indicated the horrors that would happen just a few minutes later.
When I arrived at work, I went down the hall, and as I approached the door to my office suite, a coworker, Margaret Smith, stopped me and said, "Randy, did you hear what happened?"
"No," I replied.
The Pentagon and the World Trade Center have been bombed," she nervously exclaimed.
My first reaction was to discount it. I couldn't believe it. I thought what she was saying must have been some terrible rumor.
"Come here," she said. "You can see it."
She led me just down the hall to a large meeting room on the North West side of our building. Although the Pentagon building, itself, is not visible from there, because of the woods surrounding the structure, we clearly, unmistakably, saw the thick, black smoke rising from the Pentagon, and the helicopter hovering overhead.
Another of our coworkers joined us. We stood there for a moment. We could only imagine the tragedy unfolding before us. We held each other and wept silently.
I then went to my cubicle. Edith, a friendly, cheerful woman who works in the cubicle adjacent to mine, had her radio on. Coworkers dropped by, asking the details of the terrible, unfolding events. The radio reporters relayed rumors that had begun to spread - that other government buildings and large apartment buildings in the Washington area were being bombed.
The radio relayed the collapse of the first World Trade Center tower. Shortly afterward, another coworker said that you could see traffic streaming out of Washington, DC, heading up Wilson Boulevard, the street right outside our building, and one of the major traffic arteries linking Washington and Northern Virginia. This time I went to another conference room - this one on the North East side of our floor. Sure enough, bumper-to-bumper traffic was headed up Wilson Boulevard. It was surreal. It was like rush hour - only worse. This traffic was far more dense than typical morning or evening traffic, and it was barely 11:00 a.m.
With rumors escalating and worsening as the minutes passed. Radio reporters now reported that the Metro was closing down. People began to leave work. As a wheelchair user who normally relies on the Metro for transportation, I began to be concerned that I might be trapped at work.
I called a taxi company and asked for a wheelchair-accessible taxi. The dispatcher told me that they were swamped with requests, and did not know when they would be able to get one to me.
I went outside and parked my wheelchair on the corner next to the door of my office building. It was a bright, sunny morning. At a time when this neighborhood was typically calm and quite on a workday at about 11:00, there were dozens and dozens of people walking down the street. Many were walking together in groups of 3-6. Many were obviously stunned; some seemed in a daze. Many walked slowly, not seeming to have a destination.
I got lucky. I met a friend who owns an Arlington taxi company. He saw me and radioed to the driver of a wheelchair-accessible taxi to pick me up. The cab arrived about 20 minutes later. Because of the traffic jam that snarled the Washington area, a trip home that normally would have taken 30-45 minutes took almost three hours.
I called family and friends to let them know I was OK, and to relay what I had seen, what I had experienced, and my sorrow for the victims and families of the people who perished.
Once home, my eyes, like most Americans, were glued to the television. My high-rise apartment overlooks the Potomac River towards Washington, DC. It was amazing to look out the large window and not see one, single, solitary plane cross the sky where I normally saw the airline traffic from National Airport, which is just a few miles away.
While my apartment is about nine miles away from the Pentagon, the days following the September 11 events did not leave my subconscious. Over the next few nights, while the ban on air traffic was still in effect, there were a few times when I was jolted out of sleep by the loud sound of helicopters passing very close to my neighborhood.
On this one-year anniversary, my heart goes out to the families who lost loved ones and friends in the attacks, and to those who sustained permanent injuries.
On the morning of September 11, 2001, just like every work day, I rode the Washington subway system, the Metro, to work, and, as usual, changed from the Blue line to the Orange line at the Pentagon Station. Nothing was unusual. Nothing indicated the horrors that would happen just a few minutes later.
When I arrived at work, I went down the hall, and as I approached the door to my office suite, a coworker, Margaret Smith, stopped me and said, "Randy, did you hear what happened?"
"No," I replied.
The Pentagon and the World Trade Center have been bombed," she nervously exclaimed.
My first reaction was to discount it. I couldn't believe it. I thought what she was saying must have been some terrible rumor.
"Come here," she said. "You can see it."
She led me just down the hall to a large meeting room on the North West side of our building. Although the Pentagon building, itself, is not visible from there, because of the woods surrounding the structure, we clearly, unmistakably, saw the thick, black smoke rising from the Pentagon, and the helicopter hovering overhead.
Another of our coworkers joined us. We stood there for a moment. We could only imagine the tragedy unfolding before us. We held each other and wept silently.
I then went to my cubicle. Edith, a friendly, cheerful woman who works in the cubicle adjacent to mine, had her radio on. Coworkers dropped by, asking the details of the terrible, unfolding events. The radio reporters relayed rumors that had begun to spread - that other government buildings and large apartment buildings in the Washington area were being bombed.
The radio relayed the collapse of the first World Trade Center tower. Shortly afterward, another coworker said that you could see traffic streaming out of Washington, DC, heading up Wilson Boulevard, the street right outside our building, and one of the major traffic arteries linking Washington and Northern Virginia. This time I went to another conference room - this one on the North East side of our floor. Sure enough, bumper-to-bumper traffic was headed up Wilson Boulevard. It was surreal. It was like rush hour - only worse. This traffic was far more dense than typical morning or evening traffic, and it was barely 11:00 a.m.
With rumors escalating and worsening as the minutes passed. Radio reporters now reported that the Metro was closing down. People began to leave work. As a wheelchair user who normally relies on the Metro for transportation, I began to be concerned that I might be trapped at work.
I called a taxi company and asked for a wheelchair-accessible taxi. The dispatcher told me that they were swamped with requests, and did not know when they would be able to get one to me.
I went outside and parked my wheelchair on the corner next to the door of my office building. It was a bright, sunny morning. At a time when this neighborhood was typically calm and quite on a workday at about 11:00, there were dozens and dozens of people walking down the street. Many were walking together in groups of 3-6. Many were obviously stunned; some seemed in a daze. Many walked slowly, not seeming to have a destination.
I got lucky. I met a friend who owns an Arlington taxi company. He saw me and radioed to the driver of a wheelchair-accessible taxi to pick me up. The cab arrived about 20 minutes later. Because of the traffic jam that snarled the Washington area, a trip home that normally would have taken 30-45 minutes took almost three hours.
I called family and friends to let them know I was OK, and to relay what I had seen, what I had experienced, and my sorrow for the victims and families of the people who perished.
Once home, my eyes, like most Americans, were glued to the television. My high-rise apartment overlooks the Potomac River towards Washington, DC. It was amazing to look out the large window and not see one, single, solitary plane cross the sky where I normally saw the airline traffic from National Airport, which is just a few miles away.
While my apartment is about nine miles away from the Pentagon, the days following the September 11 events did not leave my subconscious. Over the next few nights, while the ban on air traffic was still in effect, there were a few times when I was jolted out of sleep by the loud sound of helicopters passing very close to my neighborhood.
On this one-year anniversary, my heart goes out to the families who lost loved ones and friends in the attacks, and to those who sustained permanent injuries.
NMAH Story: Life Changed
After September 11, the most visible change in my life is that during my daily commute to work. I no longer change Metro stations at the Pentagon station.
NMAH Story: Remembered
I hope our nation continue to learn important lessons from September 11 - That death is an inevitable reality, and that we must learn to appreciate life and other people more actively.
As Americans, we have learned to take pride in rugged individualism, the ethic of 'pulling ourselves up with our own bootstraps.' Certainly, these are virtuous traits. We have learned them well.
However, this ideology ignores two central things - other people, and our own mortality. Until September 11, we had not had the national experience of battle on our own soil since the civil war. From the industrial age to the present, we have focused so much on what we 'do' rather than who we are, that we easily neglect the dignity and splendor of individual people to focus on the splendor of material things and projects. I know this first-hand. In 1989-1990, I walked the halls of the U.S. Capitol to fight for a law that would give me and millions of other people with disabilities the right to enter a public building, such as a store, hear a concert, or take part in many other opportunities that others take for granted.
I am glad that today, those laws will help ensure that those permanently injured in the World Trade Center and Pentagon attacks will enjoy these same freedoms.
I hope we continue to learn that hard work, focus on detail and accomplishment has garnered much for America. But if we focus on work, detail and accomplishment at the expense of our fellow human beings, in the end, we shall have accomplished very, very little.
As Americans, we have learned to take pride in rugged individualism, the ethic of 'pulling ourselves up with our own bootstraps.' Certainly, these are virtuous traits. We have learned them well.
However, this ideology ignores two central things - other people, and our own mortality. Until September 11, we had not had the national experience of battle on our own soil since the civil war. From the industrial age to the present, we have focused so much on what we 'do' rather than who we are, that we easily neglect the dignity and splendor of individual people to focus on the splendor of material things and projects. I know this first-hand. In 1989-1990, I walked the halls of the U.S. Capitol to fight for a law that would give me and millions of other people with disabilities the right to enter a public building, such as a store, hear a concert, or take part in many other opportunities that others take for granted.
I am glad that today, those laws will help ensure that those permanently injured in the World Trade Center and Pentagon attacks will enjoy these same freedoms.
I hope we continue to learn that hard work, focus on detail and accomplishment has garnered much for America. But if we focus on work, detail and accomplishment at the expense of our fellow human beings, in the end, we shall have accomplished very, very little.
NMAH Story: Flag
No, but as a symbol of freedom, I am very proud of the American flag. May we never forget that just as gifts are no substitute for love itself, so the flag is no substitute for freedom, itself.
Citation
“nmah1474.xml,” September 11 Digital Archive, accessed November 23, 2024, https://911digitalarchive.org/items/show/42715.