Wednesday, September 12, 2001- I was numb all day yesterday, and just
couldn't believe what had happened -- or how close we were to at least
part of it! In addition to serving three combat tours in Vietnam as
an Airborne Ranger Infantry officer, my father spent three years working
in the Pentagon during the Vietnam War. It has always been an important
symbol from my years in the U.S. Marine Corps. Although more directly
connected with the National Security Agency at Fort Meade, MD while
I served in the USMC, the Pentagon was always considered the symbol
of the heart of soul of America's fighting men and women around the
globe. I used to go to the Pentagon with my Dad on Saturday mornings
when he needed to work on the weekend. I NEVER thought I would live
to see the day it so badly damaged, with so much loss of life...
I prayed last night for guidance on what to do, and the answer came
back - get your butt to the Pentagon long before first light - maybe
you can get in before the world wakes up. I said Mass late last night,
consecrated a bunch of hosts, packed up my pastoral care for the sick
kit, and biked across the river. I arrived in dawn's early light,
before the crowds (later in the day there would be THOUSANDS of people
there).
I checked in at the Chaplains' tent, and a Navy chaplain was trying
to put together a four-man team - two enlisted Religious Personnel
and two chaplains. Most of the Navy guys had just come out of the
carnage, and were ready to pack it in. I volunteered and an old-timer
Army Catholic Chaplain (full colonel) asked me who I was. I told him,
and they still let me in! Turns out the priest knew one of the greatest
Army chaplains I ever met (Msgr. John McCollough (current NYC Police
Dept. Chaplain).
WOW!
Getting into the courtyard in the exact center of the Pentagon was
something! We had to pass through some incredible carnage - no bodies,
but wreckage beyond my comprehension. They were still trying to the
quench the flames -- nearly 21 hours after the plane-bomb devastated
the outer ring and severely damaged the next two rings.
The folks we talked to were Red Cross, EMTs, and lots of firefighters.
The other chaplain and his Chief Petty Officer were high energy, salt
of the earth types who spoke easily with the people on the scene.
The roman collar, however, worked even better -- since all of the
people on the innermost courtyard were non-military. I was distributing
Communion and hearing confessions before I even knew what I was doing,
and the camaraderie with the Chaplain Corps was instantaneous.
Two and a half hours later, I was REALLY disappointed when they came
back in for us, and said that we all had to go back out, check in
at the Chaplains' tent where the Army was slated to take the next
shift. They didn't send any more teams into the innermost sections
of the buildings, and everyone was then on the outer perimeter.
I was standing IN the gaping hole in the building, offered some prayers
for the dead, and also some for their families who still weren't certain
who had perished in the blast. The way I got to get so close was a
USMC officer working for the Red Cross escorted a Marine corporal
and I to a sight, "...we just had to see to believe!"
It was true - I couldn't believe it! Up on the fourth floor, just
to the left of the gaping hole (and visible ONLY from right up at
the building, looking inward - were the MARINE CORPS colors still
flying in an office which was only three feet from the point of impact.
It was so AWESOME - we just slapped one another on the back, shook
hands, and
yelled SEMPER Fi!
We made three more trips up there to the front of the building to
bring a videographer, a USMC colonel, and the officer photographer
from Combat Photography magazine. Each trip was so great - the adrenaline
was definitely pumping through our veins.
Early on, I made the very conscious decision NOT to bring a camera
to the site - I didn't want any confusion as to why I was there. I
went as a Jesuit priest, and not as a photojournalist. SMART move
on my part - I would have at least lost my film, and probably been
kicked out if I had tried to take any photos! There were BIG bruisers
with guns and dogs making sure that no unauthorized pictures were
taken. I saw them rip the film out of a firefighter's camera and storm
off with the unwound film blowing in the breeze.
I spent the whole afternoon "hanging out" with the Army
chaplains and walking through the various work areas. It was really
gratifying to have rescue workers, volunteers, EMTs, and firefighters
come up to me and tell me how much they appreciated me being there
for them. Some asked for blessings, the chance to go to Confession,
and when I told them I brought Communion with me, they were INCREDIBLY
grateful.
What did I see...besides the wreckage and devastation?
I saw an incredible outpouring of generosity and human kindness on
the part of the Red Cross and Salvation Army volunteers who prepared
fabulous meals for EVERYONE in sight. They also distributed ice cold
water, juice, and soda to those laboring in the hot sun. And I saw
the looks on rescue workers' faces when they received these FREE thirst
quenchers.
I saw the super professionalism of the FBI, NTSB, ATF, City, County
and State police as they made sure that everything moved smoothly
and that everyone was "on the same page." They made us feel
safe and secure amidst the overwhelming physical evidence to the contrary.
The construction workers, heavy equipment operators, and engineers
also exemplified professionalism and wholehearted dedication to securing
the very not-secure structural situation.
I saw up close and personal the eyes of the firefighters who volunteered
to come to the Pentagon from all over Virginia, Maryland, and the
District of Columbia. Their faces were worn and haggard, but their
eyes, their bright shining eyes said, "We're here and we're NOT
leavin' til the job gets done!" Working shoulder to shoulder
with the firefighters were the world renowned, world class Fairfax
County Search & Rescue Team members. On the radio I heard, "They've
gone around the world to help others; today they only had to go around
the corner to help neighbors, friends and family right here at home."
Their faces told the story of pure grit and determination, speaking
through actions more than words that they would be the "first
in - last out."
I saw two groups which really jumped out and grabbed my attention.
The first was the Army HAZMAT team - standing tall and proud, knowing
full well that the very next sights they would witness would sicken
them and bring them to their knees. They knew they couldn't "handle"
seeing dead bodies and mutilated body parts, but they suited up like
something out of a sci-fi movie and marched into harm's way just same.
In them, I witnessed pride and courage unparalleled.
In addition, I saw in The Old Guard an amazingly contradictory image.
On April 28, 2001 I presided at the burial ceremony in Arlington National
Cemetery for a World War II/Korean War U.S. Army veteran. Fort Meyer's
3rd Regiment, The Old Guard provided the honor guard, and they were
IMPRESSIVE! They were dressed impeccably in their dress blue uniforms,
marched crisply, and looked sharp - they are real pros! On September
12, 2001 I saw The Old Guard again - this time doing the backbreaking
work of filling sandbags and digging ditches. Up to their knees in
mud, drenched in sweat, and laboring in the heat of the day, I still
recognized them because of their eyes and their faces. They swung
a shovel with as much pride and military bearing as they used folding
the funeral flag or giving a 21-gun salute.
The millions of gallons of water pumped at the still burning Pentagon
cascaded down the building's walls, threatening to flood the perimeter
and hamper the traffic flow of incoming cranes and heavy equipment.
The young men of The Old Guard turned the most menial of labor into
a full-scale military operation. They made it possible for the rescue
attempts to move forward, and their faces told the story better than
any words could describe. They marched back to their tents just as
tall and proud as the replacement platoon they passed along the way.
Many collapsed in exhaustion, but they would be ready once again in
a matter of hours.
Finally, I saw the Chaplain Corps at its best. Deployed in a three-prong
effort to meet the spiritual needs of the military personnel on duty,
the civilian rescue workers/volunteers, and the families of the wounded/missing/dead,
they geared up for the long haul. They had been assembled from up
and down the east coast, many called in from leave, or were reservists
put on active duty. They were men and women who had the look of having
"been there and done that" -- chaplains from World War II,
Korea, Vietnam, and the Gulf War. They were men and women who knew
firsthand the trauma to the psyche and soul caused by battle, war,
and accompanying loss of human life. Many had gained experience in
Oklahoma City and the first bombing of the World Trade Center. Sunburned
and deeply wrinkled faces also contained compassionate eyes, a ready
smile, and a friendly glance for all with whom they came in contact.
Most of the families of the missing were across the highway in the
Sheraton Hotel where Family Services attempted to bring comfort and
consolation. One woman, the Command Sgt. Major at Fort Belvoir, VA
chose to wait in the Chaplains' tent - as she waited to hear the unbearable
news that her Command Sgt. Major husband perished in the blast of
the terrorist plane-bomb at the Pentagon. Somehow, she knew that being
in the chapel-tent with the Chaplain Corps was the place to be.
The big hoopla during the day was when the alarm sounded, and EVERYONE
was hurried off the roof, and EVERYONE was rushed across the street
and up the little hill across from the Pentagon. An identified plane
was heading right for the Pentagon, flying VERY low!
It was the Federal Emergency Management Administration (FEMA) taking
pictures! I'll bet someone's butt is in a sling for that one. They
SCRAMBLED thousands of people away from the building in no time --
just because someone "needed" to be in secure air space
- through a no-fly zone, without letting the people on the ground
know what was happening.
I pretty much hit the wall about 4:00 p.m., said my good-byes, told
them I'd be back if I could, and headed back across the Potomac River,
from Virginia into Washington, D.C. The adrenaline was gone, and it
was a LONG hot ride home. Only then did it hit me how much smoke I
had inhaled during the course of the day. My lungs were burning, and
my clothes smelled terrible.
It was, however, so worth it! I couldn't do much in the grand scheme
of things, but I did what I could. That's all I could hope for in
the middle of this incredible and still unbelievable tragedy.
© 2001 Father John Quinn, S.J.
jquinn@jesuit.org
