Twenty-Five Years Later: The thoughts of a Pentagon survivor and the narrative he wrote of that day 25 years ago | MRFF Advisory Board Member Brig. Gen. Marty France, USAF (ret.)

It happens every time I go through a TSA check. I think about that day now 25 years past—the world before and the world after. It’s my regular reminder of a cultural change worldwide, but especially within my own country. Every time I’m patted down, because my hip replacement triggers the alarm, I suppress the urge to say, “Really? Me? Do you know where I was on that day? Do you know what I saw? What I did in the days and weeks that followed? Do you REALLY need to pat ME down?” But I hold it in. I smile. I thank them for being thorough and professional.

Realizing that the events of that day are as distant to us now as Kennedy’s assassination was when I was 29 years old gives me some perspective. The pre-HD TV clips now shock because of their low resolution, like our world was fuzzier then, just as the even fuzzier recordings of that day in 1963 remind us of any even muddled, near forgotten past. Twenty-five years after Pearl Harbor, recorded only in even more dated black-and-white, I was seven years old.

Today, our 4K views are sharper with the benefit of hindsight. We see how unprepared we were for an attack so hideous and destructive, yet strangely simple (at the time). We see the positives and negatives in our immediate reactions: the unity and the bravery; the fear and suspicion; both the truths and the lies that shaped our beliefs and actions in the years that followed.

As I read the narrative I wrote immediately after that day, now 25 years bleached and faded, it seems both immediate and archaic. Forty-three-year-old me seems idealistic and naïve, but almost refreshingly so–prepared for the future in many ways, less so in others; proud and brave; too trusting in a future directed by those with sometimes dubious motives.

Twenty-five years later, our nation is both wealthier than I could’ve imagined, but poorer in areas that can matter more than financial wealth: friendships; empathy; goodwill; a sense of common purpose and moral foundation built on mutual respect and empathy for our fellow humans.

Great advances in myriad fields make almost all lives better and safer than in 2001, but 9/11’s impact also played a role in splitting us apart as many searched more for enemies than building allies. We’ve found ourselves striking reflexively at targets, in some cases only because they are different to us, our leaders and many voters thinking that all differences are threats, when no existential or immediate threat akin to 9/11 exists.

The result is a world of blame and vitriol in which we’ve squandered the goodwill of allies and friends while somehow multiplying our enemies at an immense price. The costs are not only trillions of dollars that have produced nothing but more instability and hatred, but the lost opportunities to make our otherwise prosperous nation even more prosperous for ALL of our citizens (not just the billionaires).

A world parched for freedom and prosperity, or just relief from destitution, that has longed admired us and wanted to emulate the US, now doubts our willingness to be the very America they once envied. In this new way of putting “America First” over most of the last 25 years, we’ve found a way to damage gravely more than two centuries of amity and goodwill.

Twenty-five years later, promoted, hired, fired, and retired, I’m no longer the naïve officer who led his office from the building to North Parking and beyond, but I still hold onto a bit of that idealism. I can’t bring myself to believe, despite all evidence to the contrary, that we’re as irreparably damaged as we seem. But now I realize that we also can’t sit quietly and just presume that it will all work out, that “the pendulum” will somehow arc back towards justice as we’ve always assumed. I have to ACT to make the world better. I must SPEAK to help others hear and do the same. I have to commit to doing not only the big things when I can, but the little, everyday things that make the world around my friends and family just the tiniest bit better.

So, for the next 25 years, I’ll still think about 9/11 at every TSA checkpoint—and I promise to stay quiet when I do. I will commit to the (relatively) big things of being politically involved, acting as a solid supporter of the right causes and board member of two non-profits, helping local organizations that make all of our lives better, leading construction trips in the developing world as ambassador for basic humanity (shameless plug for @developingworldconnections), travel the world to see and share our common humanity, and enjoy and appreciate (and help protect) nature’s and mankind’s boundless beauty.

But I will also happily commit to the mundane and trivial. I’ll pick up the litter instead of just walking by it. I’ll hold the door open for others. I’ll try to exhibit more grace and understanding—and even experiment with patience! I’ll sincerely thank the servers, doctors, nurses, receptionists, laborers, guides, taxi drivers, grocery store stockers, farmers, teachers, coaches, friends, etc., etc. for what they do whenever I interact with them. I’ll empty the dishwasher when the cycle is complete and not just pull out a clean cup. I’ll learn something new every day and simply strive to be a better human even while I stumble from time to time.

I’ll commit to do all of this because 25 years ago, I was in 1D963 and saw evil firsthand. I’ve seen more of it since and know we can’t just wish it away or assume it’ll all work out in the end. In the immortal words of Theodor S. Geisel: “Unless someone like you cares a whole awful lot, nothing’s going to get better. It’s not.”

And now, my annual posting of the narrative I wrote twenty-five years ago of that day:

I was in the Pentagon on 9/11. Serving in JCS/J8. Room 1D963.

We saw the first tower burning on the TV in our office. We saw the second plane go in.

Next, we heard reports of a fire at the Pentagon and saw smoke. We recognized the TV picture showing the helicopter pad and thought maybe a helicopter had crashed. We didn’t hear or feel anything from the impact–we were in a vault on the first floor. I remember thinking that I needed to get a staffing package coordinated by some folks in a nearby, so I took it over to them and got the signatures I needed. During that time, we discussed the attacks, but business was still fairly normal. No alarms were going off and there was no evacuation called yet. I came back about 10 minutes later and now they were emptying our office and alarms were sounding. I grabbed my gym bag since I knew we would be heading by the PAC [Pentagon gym] on the way out. I had my car keys in the bag, too.

By the time we got to the bridge exit on the east side of the Pentagon, streams of people were coming out and some were in tears. We could finally see the billowing clouds coming over the building on the west side. We walked to north parking and saw more smoke, plus the arrival of all of the emergency vehicles. Amazingly, the child care center had already evacuated and there were cribs in the parking lot with little kids. Teachers were leading strings of others around. People were trying to use their cell phones to no avail. I remember thinking that 10,000 of us standing around in north parking made a pretty good target, so I grabbed the guys with me and we started heading north toward Arlington Cemetery and the metro stop there. We couldn’t make it all of the way across the highway and back to the east side of the building because of emergency vehicles and traffic, but as we became parallel with the side that was hit we could see the destruction. Just then, we were stunned by two tremendous booms and we all four of us hit the ground instinctively. We looked up, though, and saw two Fighting Falcons [F-16s] arriving supersonically and turning at max g over the Pentagon, contrails streaming off the top wing surfaces. I realized I had tears of happiness and shock in my eyes.

Never as a cadet or officer did I ever think I’d see armed fighters patrolling my nation’s capital after an attack, but I was so proud of those damn planes I can’t describe it.

We walked to the Arlington Metro and the trains were stopped, but I spoke with several civilians there who were quite worried. I tried to call using a pay phone but had no luck. The trains starting running a few minutes later (north only) and we went to Rosslyn. From there, I got to a pay phone and called my dad in Phoenix. No local lines were free. I simply told him that I was okay and to pass along to everyone else that I was fine. I’d call back when I collected my wife and sons and/or made it home.

We heard the metro was working again, so we went underground and heard that the towers had collapsed. I dismissed this as impossible. The trains were running again to the south, so I took the train to Crystal City. There was no stopping at the Pentagon.

We came above ground at Crystal City (because the metros had stopped) and it looked like a war had started–people running everywhere, gridlock in the streets, people in tears. We could still see smoke coming from the Pentagon. The sky was clear and blue and there was the roar of F-16s in the air.

We entered a hotel to try to use the phones and in the bar were hundreds of people watching the TVs. That’s when I first saw footage of the collapsing towers. The bar had free water bottles and sodas for everyone. I called home and left a message that I was okay. I called my kids’ high school and left a message with their counselor to tell them I was okay. I called my wife’s school (she’s a teacher) and got hold of her. She’s a rock.

After watching hours of TV, wondering what we could do, the metro started running south again and I took it to Springfield. From there, I bummed a ride to the Rolling Valley slug line and recovered my car. I got home at about 1600 and the whole family was there. We had a group hug.

I asked my sons [today, one is a Captain in the USAF, the other just completed a 5-year stint in the USMC] if they’d gotten my message from the counselor. Neither had. My oldest said, “Dad, I saw the pictures of the Pentagon and knew your office was on the other side of the building. I wasn’t worried.” The younger one (15 at the time) said, “Dad, I called your office phone and when the answering machine picked up after four rings, I knew your office hadn’t been hit and that you were okay.” They’re rocks.

We watched coverage all evening. At about 2000, my boss called me and said I was to report to the NMCC [National Military Command Center]for crisis action team duty at 0600 the next day. I had the first week of day shifts as the J-8 representative on the Joint Staff.

We slept on the family room floor–catching only an hour or two of sleep that night.

The next day, I jumped into my truck in uniform and drove past the Rolling Valley Slug Line. There were people there waiting to catch a ride to work–TO THE PENTAGON!!! I picked up two DoD civilians and we drove to North Parking in the dark without saying a word the whole way. At the traffic lights along the way in, people looked at me in uniform and many saluted.

I took my camera with me, and as I stepped out of my truck in north parking, I took a shot of the Pentagon in the twilight, still on fire with smoke billowing from the west.

I walked in the same entrance where I had exited about 20 hours before and smelled the acrid smoke in the 8th corridor. Tongue depressors and bandages littered the outside of the DiLorenzo clinic and stretchers were in the hallway. The guards were in full battle dress and they looked closely at my ID but did nothing else. I passed through the ID card slide and went up to the 3rd floor.

The whole place was eerily silent and empty–never seen anything like it. The smell got stronger on the 3rd floor. I swiped my card at the NMCC gate, greeted the guard, punched in my pin and entered.

It was just like a movie inside the NMCC. People running everywhere. We were putting together sitreps [situation reports] from around the globe, coordinating military support for NYC and getting casualty counts. It was by no means heroic or brave–just some of the same old PowerPoint crap, but with a more urgent meaning. We had a 1000 briefing to prepare for the NMCC ops officer, Brig Gen John “JR” Rosa (USAF).

I took a short break for a Coke at about 0830 and walked to the A-Ring. I looked across Ground Zero [the center Pentagon courtyard] and saw the smoke and flames spreading across the roof from the 5th corridor area towards the north. Water was shooting up from firemen on cranes, crashing down on the roof and burning structure while some walked on the solid parts of the roof with axes. Still others walked atop of the building with automatic weapons.

About 30 minutes after I went back into the NMCC, we were told to gather up our stuff. The fire was NOT under control and we would get the order in 30 more minutes if we were going to evacuate the building entirely and go to ‘another site.’ The fire had ignited the shingles and wooden roof structure of the unrenovated building and was spreading. Water damage was knocking out communications around the building.

We gathered up our binders, books, and everything else we could get our hands on and waited. Our 1000 briefing was done, but we just waited to present it. At 0945, we got the word that the fire was under control and we unpacked.

The following days were just a blur, but I remember those first 24 hours distinctly. As a career academic, R&D guy, rocket scientist, and staffer, I never thought I’d see the things I did or what followed. The next few months would find me in NYC as the ops officer for the military team supporting CDC’s anthrax investigation from the NYC public health labs. We were right across the street from Belleview and heard the sirens every time another fireman’s body was found. We saw the wall of photos outside the hospital begging for info of loved ones. And, we toured Ground Zero in October along with our FBI support for the investigation. We saw it at night. The fires stilled burned underneath the ground. I smelled the same smells I had that morning of 9/12 in the Pentagon. I saw awesome destruction and indomitable will.

I thanked the Air Force Academy for long ago preparing me to face challenges I never thought I could face–for preparing me to think in situations I never imagined and for teaching me to solve problems and get results when lives depended on it. I’m as cynical as the next grad, but on those days I was proud to have long before walked through a passage that said, “Bring Me Men…” and done so with so many GREAT women and men.