Where Were You On 9/11?

So many people have recently reflected on, and shared their experiences of, the attack on 9/11,  now twenty years and a day ago.  In hearing so many perspectives, each unique and yet all unified through this tragedy, I felt compelled to share my perspective as well.  Not because my version is particularly captivating.  Not because I was there at ground zero, or even knew anyone there personally.  Nor did I experience a miraculous survival story, where I missed my cab to the airport, thus missing my flight on the very hijacked jet on which I was booked.  No, nothing so interesting at all.  I simply have my own point of view as an 18-year-old; with a narrow, short-sighted, and self-centered perspective.  This is the lens through which I experienced 9/11.

Despite these limiting factors, my desire to share still weighs on me, particularly to impart some meaning on that day for my children.  We've taught them of the event itself.  They've memorized it as the concluding item in their "History of the World" timeline song.  But they know of 9/11 the same way I know of the War in Vietnam.  I've heard of it, read of it, and met people that lived through it.  But to me it's a period in our country's history, not a personal memory.  My knowledge of the War in Vietnam is primarily academic.  The most impactful way I've connected to this period in our history was in hearing Senator John McCain speak to us at the Naval Academy, describing his experience as a prisoner of war.  And by sharing his personal experience, he has had a more lasting impact on me than reading about the war in a textbook.  So in some small way I hope to do the same here, for my children who will never truly be able to relate to the attack on 9/11 in any way more than academic.  Hopefully by reading this years down the road it will become a little more real for my them, and they'll be able to know me a little better too.

And it always begins with this...

"Where Were You On 9/11?"

Discipline.  Military bearing.  A resolute steadfastness in the face of stress.  We all have an idea of what this means.  That vision of the British Guards outside Buckingham Palace, or the Swiss Guard on Honor Duty at the Vatican.  A face frozen in stone, that not the most intense interaction,  bizarre situation, or most outright hysterical display could disrupt.  

Achieving this cold stone demeanor, at least in my mind, seemed like the purpose of much of the nonsense Plebes are subjected to during their first year at the Naval Academy.  Required to recite countless and unending amounts of military trivia and Academy history and tradition without stumbling, hesitation or confusion was a core part of this training.  Meanwhile, upperclass training cadre loomed a mere 1/2" from your nose, screaming at full volume, seemingly hating your very existence, intent of disrupting your full volume recital of the Man in the Arena, or weapons fore to aft on an Arleigh Burke destroyer.  Harder still, the oft used "peanut butter, peanut butter, peanut butter" whispered ten times fast an inch from your ear as you attempt to scream out the menu for morning meal during a chow call.  A great way to start the day.  Inevitably, the "peanut butter" routine often broke down a plebe to laughter... and subsequent discipline.  Military bearing was paramount.

But back to that question, "Where were you on 9/11?"

Tuesday, September 11th, 2001.  My first class of the day was "Leadership and Human Behavior" in Luce Hall at 0855.  With the good fortune of having 1st period off on Tuesdays, I marched over to class with a lightness in my step.  I was happy to be within the normalcy of the academic portion of the day, when upperclassman, for the most part, were forbidden from tormenting you (that's what lunch was for).  The constant stress found in the Bancroft Hall dormitory was replaced by the stress of mastering Chemistry and Calculus.  But this was "Leadership", and at least in the classroom setting, an easy 'A' (okay, I got a 'B').  But the stress level was about as low as it could get for me that morning.  I stepped into the classroom at 0850, just minutes after the first aircraft smashed into the North Tower.  By this point, the military instructor already had the live news feed streaming on the old box tv set atop a classic A/V cart, pulled to the center of the room.  We stood in silence and in awe, as did the whole nation, watching the devastation with confusion.  As we watched, the second plane impacted, and then things started to advance quickly.  Word was passed throughout the Yard to muster all midshipman within company spaces.  Classes were put on hold.

The gravity of the situation was quickly realized, and the Naval Academy immediately set FPCON DELTA.  Gates were locked, and the grounds were secured.  Rigid inflatable boats with mounted machine guns were quickly patrolling the surrounding waters.  Rifles, carried by security forces dressed in all black, were set up along all land perimeters.  We were considered a high value target, a potential next hit for the terrorists.  

While the Academy immediately transformed the highest level of Force Protection, the plebes were given their own part to play.  Midshipman security rovers were placed at every entry point to Bancroft Hall.  So there I stood, at 1500 on 9/11/2001, to do my duty.  With a large silver buckle and white cotton belt cinched tight around my White Works uniform, bayonet blade secured to my side, I manned the watch.  Right outside the dumpster loading dock of Bancroft Hall's 8th wing.  For the next hour, I was expected to maintain vigilance, impeccable military bearing, and ensure nothing was amiss.  All with my bayonet to protect me.  

And this is where the "training" at the Academy can get a little... confusing.  Because as I stood, imitating the Swiss Guard as best I could, (I mean my face was unbreakable), I noticed a 3rd class midshipman out of the corner of my eye.  He was sneaking about behind me on the loading dock.  

"Here we go," I thought.  "I know this game.  He'll try to distract me, but I won't bite.  I'm rock solid stoic."

    And right on cue a tennis shoe flew through the air and landed with a loud metallic pang against he metal sided door.  "Don't turn!" I thought to myself.  "Keep your bearing - be vigilant!"  And so I did.  This fool didn't know who he was messing with.  I wasn't going to crack.  I kept my eyes firmly down range, ensuring no terrorist threat.  

    He persisted.  A "Ca-caw, ca-caw!" crowed out from the loading dock.  

    "Now this is just getting ridiculous," I thought.  "No way I'm following for that!"  Please with my demonstrably impeccable military bearing, I kept my eyes open, my ears alert, for the terrorist threat potentially on the horizon.  And then the silence returned.  My distractor, clearly satisfied with my discipline, had departed.  

    The hour came to an end, and the same 3rd class midshipman acting as my distractor, approached me in full watch attire, silver belt buckle shining.  He was there to relieve me from my post.

"Whitehurst, what the hell have you been doing out here?!"

"Sir?", I responded, not understanding what he was getting at.  

"I could have been a terrorist sneaking into the building to blow the place to bits and you wouldn't have noticed!  I even threw a shoe!  You didn't even flinch, mind in the clouds!  How can someone not hear that?  Next time you're out here you'd better be paying more attention.  Dismissed."

"Aye, aye, sir!"  One of my five basic responses.  Attempting to explain myself would only brought upon more trouble.  Now frustrated that my seeming success in military bearing resulted in a collossal failure, I retreated to my room.  "This place is ridiculous," I thought to myself.  "I'm told to guard a dumpster from terrorists with a bayonet, and then I get yelled at for doing it wrong.  Only 44 more months to go."

That evening, as was the case every evening for a plebe, we formed up shoulder to shoulder in the main P-way.  In thong shower sandals and blue-rim t-shirt tucked into mesh USNA gym shorts, we 39 plebes looked near identical as we stood at attention waiting for the evening barrage from the Training Officer.  But instead of the 2nd Class Training Officer laying into us for our failures (rooms aren't to standards, failure of the weekly military professional knowledge quiz, etc.), the Company Commander and XO stepped forward.  "Eyes!" he shouted.  "SNAP, SIR!" we all screamed in unison, while simultaneously snapping our heads around to point in his direction, following him with our heads as he paced back and forth like a dog would follow a piece of jerky with its head.  

Now what was said was no speech from Patton, but for the next 15 minutes we were reminded that we were now at war.  "Several months ago, when you first arrived to the Academy, the country was basically at peace.  But now everything has changed."  He went on.  "The First Class midshipmen," he shouted, "will be leaving this place in less than a year and leading troops into battle.  Three year later YOU will follow them.   Look to your left.  Now to your right.  Some of you will die for your country.  A few months ago you took an oath, volunteering to be here, to serving your country.  But now, without a doubt, you will no only serve, but sacrifice, for your country.  Some of you may die for your country.  If you want out, now is your chance!  Are you scared? QUIT!  I want you to quit!  Do it right now.  Because I don't want to fight alongside somebody that isn't willing to sacrifice their life for me the way I am prepared to do for them.  Every day you are here, you are preparing for war.  Don't ever forget that."

And with those comforting words we were dismissed to our racks for lights out.  

Looking back, I remember feeling like his words seemed true at the time, but were maybe "exaggerated for effect."  At this point, we were all pretty used to being yelled at.  Though Attention to Detail is paramount, the fact that my gigline is off by half an inch isn't actually killing a Marine right now.  So this sort of dramatic display was often taken with a grain of salt. 

But twenty years later, after the War in Afghanistan has seemingly come to an end, I recognize the wisdom in what was said.  Perhaps before our nation even realized it, our upperclass understood we must train for the War against Terrorism.   And to war we went.  Nearly all of us found ourselves either in Iraq or Afghanistan in the years that followed.  Sadly, some of my Academy brethren suffered the greatest sacrifice for their country, their names forever engraved in the hallowed walls of Memorial Hall.  Other were severely and permanently wounded.  And others still, though to a much lesser extent, often missed the birth of their child or other life events while deployed overseas.  Many sacrifices were made.  I'm grateful for these men and women I've had the honor to train, commission, and serve with.  I, personally, don't dare consider myself among the heroes who have sacrificed so much for this nation, as so little has been asked of me.  But as a plebe, standing at attention in pajamas in the P-way that fateful evening, we were told we were going to war, that we would sacrifice.  But none of us knew which of us would be forced to pay the ultimate price.  All who continued beyond graduation (and not all did), did so with a sacrificial mindset.  "Service Before Self."  "Duty. Honor. Country." "Honor, Courage and Commitment."  Regardless of the Service (Air Force, Army, Navy respectively), these core values were on display for the last 20 years as our military responded to the attacks on 9/11.  And like most of America, my gratitude for those that sacrificed so much for our freedom and our safety cannot fully be expressed.  

That's how I remember 9/11.