The incessant roar of turbine jet engines has almost a calming effect that lulls me in and out of consciousness, even though I fight it. I can’t peacefully sleep on planes because I’m far too nervous, especially during the takeoff and landing. Somehow I feel like if anything is going to go wrong it will most likely happen then. When I boarded I was relieved to see that an off-duty commercial pilot was sitting across the aisle from me more than likely in transit to his assignment flight in Chicago, my destination. Now we were covered if one of those out of the ordinary movie scenarios should go down in the cockpit where both pilots are rendered unconscious by the mysterious gas that has leaked in through the ventilation system requiring someone like me to take over and be guided through a safe landing by Robert Loggia. We were 15 minutes into the flight, so I’d started to relax. It’s odd really. I’m less on edge the higher we climb.
Just before I drifted off uncontrollably, one of the flight attendant’s brisk movement through the coach section toward my general area snapped me back into an alerted state. The spirited smile that greeted me as I boarded had been replaced by a desperate aura of controlled concern as she fumbled her way along the aisle and around the outstretched legs of unaware passengers just slipping into their own airborne comfort zones. She was quickly approaching my area as I used my hands to push myself up into a more upright, at attention position.
My heart skipped a beat as she started to slow down just before reaching my row. I was relieved that her eyes weren’t focused directly on me; I have a tendency to be guilty of something in these situations. My relief catapulted into grave concern as I watched her stop next to me, squat down in front of the pilot to my right, and start to whisper something in his ear. I took a quick look around to gauge whether or not anyone else in my vicinity was also witnessing this cryptic scene that in my mind couldn’t lead to anything resembling good news. As if that wasn’t enough, the pilot slowly pulled away from the flight attendant’s whispered message and said something I can hear vividly to this day.
“You’ve got to be kidding me?”
I chose to break my silence with a quick, “you’ve got to be kidding ME,” quietly sent in their direction. But neither one of them heard me. Or perhaps they did and had no time to react. My aisle seat partner was already fumbling through the latch on his seat belt and was up and quickly moving along the aisle toward the front of the plane. I couldn’t breathe. I looked at the man to my left and envied him as he was peacefully snoring with his head resting against the fuselage. After a quick look around I realized that I was the only person who had witnessed the event. It was a cold and solemn feeling. I was packed together with several strangers, and I’d never felt so alone.
After what seemed like an eternity, a low cracked static broke through the silence like a punch to the face. Something was coming; I knew that much. But until that microphone popped back to life, there was no official word. Now, it was going to be official, and I’d have to live with whatever they said. Dammit I missed that silence.
“Ladies and gentleman,” a direct voice began. “I am going to need everyone’s absolute and undivided attention.”
It was the same man’s voice that greeted us at the beginning of the flight, and I took that as a good sign. At least he wasn’t unconscious. He was alive! That’s good news, right?
“I don’t know how to even begin to tell you this,” he continued, “so I’m just going to come out honest and direct with it.”
And with that, my heart hit the floor.
Every time I tell this story I find myself relaying things that we now know were happening at roughly the same time. A lot of the things took place behind the scenes of government corridors only some of which were reported as they happened. Others were based on eyewitness accounts. Either way, the chaotic events of September 11 as they happened were anything but clear. And there wasn’t anyplace less clear than onboard an airborne liner that day. I added a timeline in orange of happenings we now know to be true. How they were passed along and leaked that day is a different story all together.
9:45: United States airspace is shut down. No civilian aircraft are allowed to take off, and all aircraft in flight are ordered to land at the nearest airport as soon as possible. All international flights headed for the U.S. are redirected to Canada.
“Let me first clarify that what I’m about to tell you is not directly affecting this aircraft,” he continued as low murmurs broke through the stunned silence.
In retrospect, I have to commend the guy for the way he handled the situation. Things were very tense, and I’m not sure anyone would have fully heard what he said next had he not first made that clarification. Now everyone was at attention.
“We have been notified that 2 commercial flights have been hijacked. A plane has crashed into the World Trade Center in New York City, and there are reports of smoke billowing out of the White House. I’ve been flying commercially for 32 years and for the first time in history as I know it, the F.A.A. has ordered all airborne flights discontinued and grounded immediately. I know this is a lot to process, but let me emphasize again. Other than being ordered down, this flight is not currently affected by what I’m telling you. This flight has not been hijacked. Air traffic control in Nashville is currently trying to fit us in to land, but as you can imagine, they’re pretty busy there on the ground. As we find out more information, I will update you. What I need everyone to do at this point is to remain in your seats and calm until we have word from Nashville. Thanks for your attention, and we’ll be right back with you as soon as we know something.”
He was right, that was a lot to process. I turned to make a comment to the guy beside me, but he was still asleep. I looked at my watch. It was 9:51 am.
9:52: The National Security Agency intercepts a phone call between a known associate of Osama bin Laden in Afghanistan and someone in the Republic of Georgia, announcing that he had heard “good news”, and that another target was still to be hit.
What happened inside that cabin moving forward from there has been hard for me to describe over the years. The details sounded so murky that there was an air of unreality behind the message. For someone who is on edge in planes, I would have to describe myself as uncharacteristically calm in those first few minutes. I can’t say the same of my fellow passengers. The pilot handled that initial announcement very professionally exuding a tone of control over the situation. I have to give him lower marks for the next 20 minutes of airtime, however. Hindsight being 20-20, it would have been an excellent time to shut down the onboard Airfone system. Once hysterical and often misinformed voices from home entered the mix, that plane became a flying tube of chaos hurtling forward with no real known destination.
9:57: Passenger revolt begins on Flight 93.
The load was light that day. So light in fact that as we taxied out I remember being surprised the flight wasn’t cancelled because of lower than expected revenue. The fact that there weren’t that many passengers was probably a good thing. What we didn’t need at that point were more people reporting from the ground. Only so many Airfones could be used at any one time, so people were starting to get irritated that they couldn’t get through to loved ones on the ground. Hysterics hadn’t kicked in just yet, but with every phone clicked back into its casing a new piece of intel from folks 30,000 feet below us filtered through the cabin:
“My husband said they weren’t positive it was a plane that crashed in New York, it might have just been an explosion.”
“My friend’s building in Manhattan was just evacuated because of a fire.”
“My wife is watching the news and they are showing the World Trade Center. It’s definitely on fire. She says there was just another explosion or something happened. Also, it wasn’t one plane, it was two.”
“The Pentagon is on fire.”
“My wife said they are talking about the Sears Tower in Chicago on TV. She thinks a plane has crashed into it. It’s definitely being evacuated.”
A lot of these comments were misinformation, but we had no way of knowing that. It was like the most serious game of telephone you’ve ever played and it was frustrating as hell. By the time something from the front row got to the back of the plane, it may as well have been tossed. But those phones were our only link. As the minutes ticked along and the information started to congeal into a less convoluted storyline, tensions started to escalate.
9:59: The South Tower of the World Trade Center begins to collapse, 55 minutes 53 seconds after the impact of Flight 175. Its destruction is viewed and heard by a vast television and radio audience. As the roar of the collapse goes silent, tremendous gray-white clouds of pulverized concrete and gypsum rush through the streets. Most observers think a new explosion or impact has produced smoke and debris that now obscures the South Tower. ABC is the first to get word of the building’s collapse as reporter Don Dahler tells Peter Jennings of the collapse, which he had witnessed from his apartment overlooking the site. When the wind finally clears the immediate space, it is plain to see that the tower is gone. Even so, CNN continued to believe, even long after the collapse, that some kind of third explosion had caused the collapse rather than structural failure.
“Folks, let me have your attention for a minute,” the captain started again. “I’m sorry to report that not much progress has been made up here to get us worked into the landing rotation in Nashville. We’re circling now waiting for direction. We’re not sure what they’re going to tell us. We may be headed back to Atlanta or we may try our luck in Knoxville. Rest assured that we want to get on the ground just as quickly as you do and we’re doing what we can up here to make that happen. I’ll make another announcement when we’re instructed to leave this holding pattern.”
Oddly enough, this bit of non-information was the catalyst for the troubled environment that we would all endure for the next few hours. The reports were coming in, incorrect or not. We still hadn’t landed, and most of what we started to hear concerned airborne flights.
10:03: United Airlines Flight 93 is crashed by its hijackers and passengers, due to fighting in the cockpit 80 miles (129 km) southeast of Pittsburgh in Somerset County, Pennsylvania. Later reports indicate that passengers had learned about the World Trade Center and Pentagon crashes on cell phones and at least three were planning on resisting the hijackers; the resistance was confirmed by Flight 93’s cockpit voice recording, on which the hijackers are heard making their decision to down the plane before the passengers succeed in breaching the cockpit door.
10:20: President Bush, aboard Air Force One, tells Vice President Cheney that he has authorized a shoot down of aircraft if necessary.
Then a guy a few rows up from me, who later became one of our leaders that day, actually stood up and announced what he had just learned from his phone conversation with his wife.
“My wife says that the news is reporting that the military is going after a plane in Texas that has been hijacked or at least isn’t responding. They’re talking about shooting it down.”
And then things got strange. Everyone stared at him blankly, and then at each other. Then all heads turned toward the windows with desperate eyes gazing at the ground still thousands of feet below us. Everyone remained silent as they peered outward. Some kept focused on the ground wishing for that feeling of descent to come over their stomachs. Others scanned the horizon hoping that we were in fact as alone up there as we felt.
Silence ruled for what seemed like about 30 seconds. When it finally broke, it was an escalating panic that set in. There was no word from the cockpit and the flight attendants had disappeared for the most part.
10:37: Associated Press reports that officials at the Somerset County airport confirm that a large plane has crashed in western Pennsylvania. CNN’s Aaron Brown passes along reports that a 747 is “down” in Pennsylvania. He stresses these reports are unconfirmed. At 10:50, this report is updated: A 767 has “crashed this morning, north of the Somerset County Airport”.
Everyone, including myself, started to look at everyone around them seemingly studying faces and moods. The guy beside me dozed on but 2 gentlemen behind me were speaking furiously in a foreign language. It surprised me that I hadn’t noticed it until that moment. Highly suspicious, I leaned backward as far as I could to gauge the context of their conversation. I was relieved to hear a few words and phrases I recognized as French. I’m not sure why that settled me at the time, but the fact that I didn’t hear “Allah” at any point probably had something to do with it.
10:39: Another hijacked jumbo jet is claimed to be headed for Washington, D.C. F-15s are scrambled and patrol the airspace above Washington, D.C. while other fighter jets sweep the airspace above New York City. They have orders, first issued by Vice President Cheney and later confirmed by President Bush, to shoot down any potentially dangerous planes that do not comply with orders given to them via radio. Eventually, the aircraft is revealed to be a medevac helicopter on its way to the Pentagon.
The guy who had stood up to announce the latest news got fed up with the waiting and decided to head toward the front of the cabin. His desperate attitude didn’t help the intensity onboard which was becoming palpable at that point. But we all wanted answers so no one tried to calm him down. This was the first instance that I noticed someone crying. She was behind me a few rows on the opposite aisle. She was leaning over her tray table with one hand covering the side of her face blocking all sound to her left ear while the other hand pressed her Airfone against her right ear. I couldn’t make out the conversation, but she was gently weeping and that wasn’t helping me.
11:05: The FAA confirms that several planes have been hijacked in addition to American Airlines Flight 11.
11:16: American Airlines confirms the loss of its two aircraft.
As Mr. Desperate reached the front of the plane one of the flight attendants stepped out to block his passage. He was out of my range but his hand gestures and facial expressions allowed me enough translation to get a fix on the exchange. She was doing her best to calm him down and get him to return to his seat. As he complied, she stuck her head into the cockpit for a moment presumably communicating to the pilots that an as yet reserved panic had begun to set in with the passengers regarding the lack of descent and overall confusion with the things that were reportedly happening on the ground.
11:26: United Airlines confirms the loss of Flight 93 and states that it is “deeply concerned” about Flight 175.
It prompted another announcement from the captain, which I was thankful for. And even though it was another report of “no new news”, it did contain information that was weighing on everyone’s mind at that point.
“It seems that a lot of you are in touch with friends and family on the ground and obtaining information about some of the events happening this morning. A lot of the things that are being reported have come back as misinformation already, so I wouldn’t hang my hat on many of these reports. From what we’ve gathered in our communication with the FAA and the ground towers is that there’s a lot of confusion down there. There have been multiple hijackings, that has been confirmed. The validity of anything else I can’t comment on at this point. We are one of the few planes still in the air, and that is due to traffic backups at the airports. The logistics of grounding every aircraft is overwhelming to say the least. We are in direct contact with the ground and the FAA. They are tracking us in the air and trying to find a home for us. We are not one of the planes they are listing as ‘no response’ which seems to be the subject making everyone a little uneasy. Please bear with us.”
Everyone’s fears had slowly shifted over the last few hours from “are we hijacked” to “do they know we’re not hijacked”. So, the captain’s words were assuring.
11:53: United Airlines confirms the loss of its two aircraft.
Thankfully, not much time passed at all between the captain’s reassurance announcement and his return to the mic to pass on news of our clearance to land in Knoxville. The cheers from the passengers were the first positive energy I had felt since shortly after take off. It was also enough to jar the slumbering man next to me to a brief moment of attention before he snuggled back into his spot against the window.
The plane dropped out of the clouds and we were careening over Knoxville in what seemed just a matter of seconds. As we approached the runway I remember being more nervous than normal about landing safely. It was an odd thing to worry about at the time, but I had a lot of negative thoughts bouncing around in my head.
It wasn’t until we actually touched down that I noticed the emergency vehicles lining various sections of the runway. Elation was contagious and echoed through the fuselage as we raced along and felt the jerk of the brakes being applied by someone in the front. We slowly wheeled to a stop just before reaching the terminal and emergency vehicles parked on all sides. A stairway on wheels appeared from behind the jetway we would have been using under normal circumstances, which I guess we had strayed away from a few hours ago.
12:16 p.m.: The FAA says all aircraft ordered to land at 9:40 have landed.
As we deplaned, we were directed to a stairway that led us to the main terminal area. When I entered the terminal, the silence was overwhelming. There was no one there. No passengers waiting on flights, no gate agents arguing with weary travelers, and even the TVs were turned off. It was an eerie experience. Terminal security escorted everyone in a single file line to the baggage claim area and anyone that didn’t have checked bags, which included me, was directed into a small room with several tables. Blinded by the confusion of the last few hours, we simply did what we were told without an explanation.
As I waited patiently with the rest of my fellow passengers, the flourescent lights and metal tables filling the room cast an aura of formality that caused a sense of wrongdoing in a way. We were being held without instruction and it was starting to wear on everyone.
Just then I remembered my phone. With the commotion of the landing and the distractions of the airport it had slipped my mind. I reached in my bag and powered it up just as the monotony of the cold waiting room was compromised by furious action through the only door linking us to the rest of the terminal. Our “checked bag” colleagues were joining us with all their luggage and a small team of airport security employees.
We were asked to gather in a line shoulder to shoulder. There were several passengers that began asking questions but the staff stifled all inquiries with their own admittance of confusion. They were armed with clipboards and started to make their way down the line completing a sort of mangled, disorganized roll call. They checked our names, our reason for flying, our final destinations…basically a list of random questions. Just as they reached me, my phone came to life beeping incessantly. I glanced at it quick and saw that there were nineteen messages waiting for my retrieval. I immediately thought of my mother who was certainly worried I was traveling – I keep my family generally apprised of my schedule, but the exact days and the destinations of my movements aren’t discussed in detail. I would need to call as soon as I could.
I answered the questions they asked and waiting for the next direction. Then, in came the dogs.
1:00 p.m. (approximately): At the Pentagon, fire crews are still fighting fires. The early response to the attack had been coordinated from the National Military Command Center, but that had to be evacuated when it began to fill with smoke.
1:04 p.m.: President Bush puts the U.S. military on high alert worldwide (known as Force Protection Condition Delta). Taped remarks from the President were aired from Barksdale Air Force Base, stating that “freedom itself was attacked this morning by a faceless coward and freedom will be defended.” He also said that the “United States will hunt down and punish those responsible for these cowardly acts.” He then leaves for a U.S. Strategic Command bunker located at Offutt Air Force Base in Bellevue, Nebraska.
I’m still not sure what the dogs were looking for; I assume they were bomb-sniffers. After the dogs were done with us they were led out into the terminal and we were asked to follow them. The skeleton security staff marched us in single file through the barren baggage claim and outside the terminal. A bus pulled up seemingly from nowhere – the usual traffic jam outside of airports was missing – and we were told to board after the dogs checked it for explosives. Comforting.
2:39 p.m.: At a press conference New York Mayor Rudy Giuliani is asked to estimate the number of casualties at the World Trade Center. He replies, “More than any of us can bear.”
We were given a choice. There was a rental car company in town that might have cars left and we were shown a direction to walk. Otherwise, we could board the bus and be transported back to Atlanta. A few hardcore businessmen chose to walk away from the airport and I assume made it to a rental car company with the intent of driving to Chicago. I chose to join the majority and board the bus to Atlanta.
It was a solemn ride. The reality of the day was lost at 30,000 feet because the lack of accurate communication made our day into the worst game of telephone ever. As phone call chatter bounced around the walls of the bus, details of the day became clearer. We rolled south never able to process fully what everyone else had experienced on the ground. Ours was a different experience – one I’d rather not relive.
I stayed up all night that evening at my aunt’s home in Atlanta. My car was stuck in airport parking for three days and I spent the majority of that time lying on the floor in front of her tv watching constant coverage of a day that in a sense I missed, but experienced all the same. I cried at times like everyone I suppose, but a lot of my time was spent reflecting on how little we believed up there. It’s a true testament to the severity of that day. It was truly something you had to see to believe.
7:00 p.m.: Efforts to locate survivors in the rubble that had been the twin towers continue. Fleets of ambulances are lined up to transport the injured to nearby hospitals, but they stand empty. “Ground Zero”, as the site of the WTC collapse becomes known henceforth, is the exclusive domain of New York City’s Fire Department and Police Department, despite volunteer steel and construction workers who stand ready to move large quantities of debris quickly. Relatives and friends of victims or likely victims, many displaying enlarged photographs of the missing printed on home computer printers, have appeared around New York. The New York Armory at Lexington Avenue and 26th Street and Union Square Park at 14th Street and Broadway become centers of vigil.
