I lived 100 miles south of New York City on Sept. 11, 2001 just outside of Atlantic City, New Jersey. The town I lived in is called Absecon and is only six miles from a Military Aviation Complex which protects the East Coast from attack called NAFEC.
September 11, 2001 was a beautiful day on the East Coast and started like any other day. I was cooking breakfast when I turned on the T.V. and saw that first tower had been hit by a plane. My first response was shock, but not alarm, because it looked like it may have been an accident. But within minutes after turning on the television the second plane hit and I knew that we were under attack.
My first response was to get my son from school, but I decided that I would wait until I knew what I needed to do next. Then I called my best friend who was hysterical because her husband was in New York City buying antique watches and she could not reach him.
We watched in disbelief and cried on the phone as the two towers fell and the huge dust cloud surged between giant buildings while knowing that people were dying at that very moment.
It turned out that he was at a breakfast meeting in Manhattan and didn't even know that there had been an attack on the two towers. Three hours after she began calling him, he called her back wanting to know why she had called him so many times. Only after calling his wife in New Jersey did he know that he needed to get out of New
York City.
It took almost a day for my friends' husband to make his way back from New York City to Atlantic City, New Jersey via boat, bus, and train. He walked with hundreds of people from Manhattan to the river where ferries were taking people to New Jersey. When the ferry arrived in New Jersey, organizers separated the people who had been exposed to the two towers' dust cloud from the people who had not been exposed to the dust. The people who had dust on them were given jump suits to change into and large plastic bags for their clothes, while the others were directed to board buses that would take them to Philadelphia. Once he got to Philadelphia he took a train to Atlantic City which arrived late at night. I saw him several days later and he told me the whole experience was surreal and could not be expressed in words while fighter jets roared over my house.
Fighter jets roared over my house every 20 minutes for the next two months as the two towers clean-up continued. During that time air marshals practiced in an outdoor shooting range for hours every morning until an indoor range could be built. I could hear the shooting from my house which was three miles as a crow flies. My neighbor's dog spent her mornings hiding in the bathroom because of the gunfire.
To add injury to insult, the anthrax scare happened during this time and a post office close to us was closed because of a tainted letter. My son would not let me bring mail into the house without checking it first. And when a party balloon floated over our house with a square weight on it I could only think that poison could be spread the same way. Because the airport was close to my house, every time I saw a jet flying low for a landing I could only think of it as a giant bomb that could kill thousands of people and bring a whole country to a standing halt while changing the American psyche for a lifetime.
'I had gone almost three years without knowing ...'
I lived on the island of Saipan, some 9,000 miles away, when the horrific events of 9/11 occurred. (Ironically my current Army Reserve unit this year will be drilling on the 10th anniversary of 9/11). Some three years later after 9/11, I was on active duty with the Army Reserve at Fort Bliss, Texas. I drove by a gym, and noticed that it had been named in honor of Major Ronald D. Milam. I have a pretty good memory, and knew that in my platoon during ROTC at Fort Lewis, Wash., in 1990, there was a Cadet Ronald Milam. The gym had a plaque in his honor with his likeness. I took a big gulp. It was my fellow warrior back from ROTC. The gym had been named for him, because he was killed on 9/11 at the Pentagon. I had gone almost three years without knowing that I personally knew someone who had been killed that day. Major Milam was briefing the top personnel officer in the U.S. military Lt. Gen. Timothy Maude. They both perished because they had happened to be in the portion of the building that got hit by the plane. His wife, pregnant with their second child, was in another portion of the building. She survived. Major Milam was an outstanding cadet, and a great officer. He had been to college in New Mexico. He really wanted to go on active duty and performed exceptionally well during ROTC. That was how he was selected for active duty, which fatefully placed him in that building at the wrong time. I was obviously incredibly grateful that I could continue on with my career. I ended up later the next year (2005) going to Afghanistan, and then Iraq in 2008 as an Army civil affairs officer. I went for many reasons, but one small one was to honor my friend, who had a gym named after him, and left an incredible legacy of honor and service for his family. Even a child that never got to see his father, and shares his namesake.
Growing up, I often heard my mother talk about the day JFK was assassinated and how she'd always remembered small details, such as what she had been wearing when she heard the news. 9/11 is a day I will always remember the small details, like what I was wearing. I was a senior at Eureka High School, and I awoke to my mother coming into my room and turning on my TV. I was half asleep, but I remember her saying something such as “attack” and “terrorists.” I didn't think anything of it, in fact I can't remember if I even knew who Osama bin Laden was until that day.
I left the TV on all morning while getting ready for school. I saw the live footage of the first tower falling. I didn't fully understand the gravity of the situation until I got to school, and class after class, we watched the news. In my favorite class, theatre, we sat in a circle and talked about what we were feeling. Some students cried.
I remember I had plans that day to drop off a script to a friend at what used to be Redwood Curtain Theatre above Lost Coast Brewery. I got to Old Town, and many shops were closed, even the local ice cream parlor I worked at that year, Bon Boniere. Many shops had signs in the windows, “closed to be with family.”
I remember feeling heavier and more sad as the day went on. I called the local Red Cross and asked if they needed blood. They said they were too overwhelmed with volunteers and that it would be better if I came in the following week.
The footage of people screaming and running from the Trade Center falling will forever be etched in my mind. I remember when the war on terrorism was announced, and I put a black band on my wrist, naively stating that I would take it off when the war had passed.
I remember I wore my favorite blue denim jacket that day.
Usually when I wake up, the first thing, and I mean the first thing, that I do is turn on the news. For some reason, on 9/11, I got up and just lay on the couch, thinking about the day. Then my daughter said, “Dad, are you watching the news? A plane crashed into a building in New York!” So I turned on the news and I was shocked. The first plane had hit, and the visual of that on the television was unreal. All I could think about was how it was like the old sci-fi flicks I had watched as a child. This couldn't be real! I just sat there, transfixed by what I was watching. After a while, I realized this indeed was history unfolding in front of me so I stuck in a tape in the VCR and began recording. I set it on SP so I could get as much as possible. As I'm sure most of the nation felt, the thought that we had been hit so severely on U.S. soil was a real blow to the system. As the reports of the shutdown of airspace came out, I realized that this is one day that I wouldn't have to go to work. For the past 20 years or so, I have met planes at Murray Field every morning and night because of my job as a local courier, and surely, no planes were coming in this day! What also made this day so gloomy, was that at least in McKinleyville, there was some of the thickest, darkest fog I had seen. This dripping cold fog seemed to amplify the feeling of dread. Many folks have said this, but it just seemed to be a disaster movie, come to real life.
Having met airplanes every day due to my job, and living close to the airport in McKinleyville, it was surreal not to see or hear any air traffic during the days after the attack. The skies were so quiet. I think it was like three days later when the airspace was beginning to open. The FAA had opened Redding airspace before our local area. The courier company I worked for had sent their plane from Redding to McKinleyville before our airspace had been cleared. That was a problem, as the plane received a military intercept in air, and was met by law enforcement and I believe the military when it landed. I was sort of proud to be associated with the first aircraft that landed here after 9/11, even though it had mistakenly broken the rules. That evening, after the plane had repositioned to Murray Field, we all watched as it took off, and I must say I watched it with a lump in my throat. It looked like things were going to be O.K.
The phone rang at 5:45 a.m. on 9/11/2001. It was a patient of mine due with her fourth baby who said she was in early labor. I couldn't get back to sleep, so I put the radio on and heard the news. I first thought maybe somehow my patient could put off the birth until the next day, but then I realized that the delivery of a healthy and loved baby into the world would be a life affirming event for all of us. In the early evening of 9/11 a beautiful baby boy was delivered into the outstretched arms of his mother and his loving family.
Ten years later, three things stand out in my mind
1). Some women and kids pulled a wagon down my street on Friday evening, setting candles in red and blue jars in front of every house to make a chain of light four blocks long. They knocked on every door. Neighbors came outside and talked to one another in the twilight. We felt better.
2). My son in New York e-mailed, “I hope we don't go to war with Afghanistan or even bomb their villages. I am tired of explosions.”
3). A friend sang a new song by Kitty Donohoe that ended, “Hand in hand we all will stand because we must.”
On that day that will always be in our hearts, I was counselor at Hoopa Elementary. A day after the eleventh, I was asked by a teacher, with permissions in place, to help a young tyke because he was scared and frightened that what happen to the people falling out of the building would happen to him. I immediately checked out the global world map from the library, grabbed my trusty Atlas, toy airplanes and pictures of fighter airplanes with drawing stuff. I took his little fingers, and we traveled across via Highway 80 the U.S. from Hoopa to New York City. Also, we looked at foreign countries telling him how far these countries are from Hoopa! He had no concept of directions nor time. I told him in the simplest of terms that he was safe. A former colleague had airplane fighter friends that would have came to talk to him. I explained, yes if needed, and told the teacher I would be glad to continue to help him if needed.
Having traveled extensively abroad for a lifetime of years we were anticipating a routine flight home from London to San Francisco following a two week trip that covered much of Scandinavia, as well as time in London. Our British Airways flight was over Iceland when the pilot announced that there had been a terrorist attack and that we were returning to Glasgow. The message came through hardly audible and the flight crew as well as the passengers were stunned. We assumed as did the crew that the attack was on our flight. We didn't know what to do except say good-bye to each other. There was no panic that we observed. An Irish couple and their teenage son sitting across from us were hugging each other and saying good-bye. Most of the other passengers were doing the same. We did the same, knowing that our life had been filled with wonderful experiences and if we survived, we would fly again. When we landed in Glasgow, much to our relief, we were clearly informed that the attack had occurred in the U.S. Nine days later, we were able to book a flight to San Francisco and Arcata. Sept. 11 was indeed a defining movement in our lives!
I stopped by the Humboldt Bay National Wildlife Refuge the week before Richard Guadagno flew back East. I had a cup of coffee and hung out with him and his Labrador retriever at the old Refuge headquarters building. We talked about the upcoming waterfowl season. Rich wasn't just a refuge manager but he was also a USFWS Refuge law enforcement officer and he had completed nine-plus weeks of federal police training at the Federal Law Enforcement Training Center.
Over the years, I would bump into him at the federal court house in Eureka. Every fall he would make some good lead shot and over limit cases during waterfowl season. He loved the Humboldt Bay National Wildlife Refuge and his job. He was a great guy and very down to earth.
Rich took his position of being a federal law enforcement officer seriously. I have no doubts that he was one of the passengers that fought with the terrorist on Flight 93.
The images and feelings of Sept. 11, 2001 remain seared in our memories. The Times-Standard archives has my press releases from 9/11 and the one year anniversary of those horrific events. Those documents are reflective of my feelings at that time. I wish to use this opportunity to recognize the initial actions of our police department and our citizens in Eureka.
The men and women of the Eureka Police Department provided response, service and the support our community needed as we grappled with the magnitude of what had just occurred. The order of the day was visibility of police, reassurance for our citizens and protection of rights.
While I gave the formal direction, I believe the department members intuitively knew what to do. Why? Because, while theirs was a call to action, they and their families had to cope with the same emotions as the rest of our citizens. They responded magnificently. Whether just off work with no sleep, on days off or volunteer patrol members: they checked in with the department. All were ready to return to duty and help whenever and wherever they were needed. To say I was proud of them is an understatement. I continue to be very proud of the department.
Our citizens were wonderful. Initially we had many calls from the public asking what was happening and what they should do. But over the next few hours the tone of the calls changed. Many citizens were now calling to express their condolences for the loss of life in New York City and their support for Eureka Police and Eureka Fire personnel. On the streets, patrol officers were repeatedly approached by citizens expressing their concern and support.
Unnoticed by many, but not by the members of your police department, was the immediate display of American flags. The number of American flags on homes and businesses grew daily. This patriotic display of flags expressed Eureka's anguish and anger but also solidarity and pride in their country. It should come as no surprise that your police department was moved by the verbal and visible displays of support for them and for our nation.
To all of you, I thank you again for your support of your country, your community and your public safety personnel.
It was very early in the morning when got a call from my son Mark in Fortuna. He was informed by his son Don, who is in the Air Force stationed at Nellis AFB. What a shock, and unbelievable pictures from Ground Zero in New York. Watched the tragedy all day while packing for a boat trip up the Columbia River. Then, later in the day saw a picture of Richard flash on the screen. We immediately called the Humboldt Wildlife Refuge and talked to Shannon. She confirmed what we had seen on TV. The plane had crashed in Pennsylvania as those on board made a heroic effort to keep another D.C. location from destruction. The whole day was one of sadness and not being able to concentrate on anything. We said right away that Richard was definitely one of the passengers that averted D.C. from having another target.
We were neighbors of Richard, as he lived just below our property off Westgate Drive in Eureka. We knew him to be a very hard and dedicated worker. He had moved into a real fixer upper. Really took a jungle setting and made it into a beautiful home and property. Shannon came to Richard's home and his sister, Lori, came out and stayed there. We were privileged to meet her and learn more about Richard.
The dedication in April the following year at the Humboldt Bay Refuge, we along with many in the community got to meet Richard's mother Bernice and father, Jerry. It was a beautiful ceremony and so fitting for the refuge to be named after Richard.
On Sept. 11th, 2001, I remember sitting in my sixth grade class and my teacher turned on the TV to show us the news of the attack. At first, I was dumbfounded by what was going on and I couldn't fully understand it as well. Seeing everyone on the TV as well as people around me for the next several days really showed me that this event was bigger then I thought. The news that followed that day really made me think about all the brave men and women who fought to save lives and all the families that lost a loved one.
The day before Sept. 11, a group of people and I left Eureka on a tour bus for San Francisco, on an Umpqua Bank trip to Nova Scotia, Prince Edward Island and New Brunswick. We stayed that night in a hotel near SF Airport. The next morning (9/11) we were boarding the tour bus to go to the airport, when a lady asked me if I had heard about the plane hitting the tower. At that moment, I knew nothing about it. On the bus, the radio was talking about the airliner hitting the tower.
While we were at the airport checking in, everything went dead. The bus driver had parked a block away, because he figured we were not going anywhere; he sat waiting for our call to come and get us. He took us back to the hotel to have breakfast and figure out what we were going to do. It was decided to go home. We were lucky we didn't get stuck in the middle of the U.S. with all airplanes ordered down and grounded.
We went over the Oakland Bay and San Rafael-Richmond Bridges because there was word that the Golden Gate Bridge was going to be sabotaged. Our flight was to land at Logan Airport in Boston, the same airport that two of the terrorist planes flew out of. I have often wondered, this tour was going out of Boston every two weeks -- if we had gone two weeks earlier, could we have been coming home on one of those terrorist planes? Yes, I have a very good memory of 9/11. Fortunately, I made the same trip the following year.
I landed at Logan Airport in Boston at about 1 a.m. on 9/11. A few hours later, the 9/11 hijackers who attacked New York would walk where I had walked, on their way to their targeted airplanes. I was never in any danger but, to this day, my proximity to those monsters feels eerie.
I was a dean, one of many, at a college in Cambridge, Mass.; I ran a national education program from Colorado. Having arrived late from Denver on a delayed flight, I slept in a little. By the time I arrived at the campus, intending on a week of meetings, the first plane has struck the World Trade Center. Shortly thereafter, the second tower was hit, and we knew, like everyone knew, that our country was under attack. Many of us knew instantly and instinctively that al-Qaida was our attacker.
The memories of that day replay like a photo collage. The television pictures, of course, looping over and over. Many more people in Massachusetts had friends and family in New York than is true for us in the western U.S. so their fear was more personal and very close to home. We had an incoming freshman, a member of Osama bin Laden's extended family, who was due to arrive on campus for orientation. It's important to note here that the bin Laden family is huge, and very few of them have anything to do with the late al-Qaida leader. Still, she never showed up and I don't blame her. I don't know this, but I've always suspected that she was one of the bin Laden family members who were whisked from the country by the Bush administration.
The work week was untenable, of course. The president of the college called for a special assembly. I was ordered, as a member of senior management, to sing “Give Peace a Chance” with our other leaders. For those from the 1960s, there was general buy-in that singing peace songs was somehow worthwhile. For me and others who were younger, we mouthed the words while wishing that we could personally , vengefully shoot Osama bin Laden.
Ten years later, I don't know if either group got it right that day.
After two days in Cambridge, and with no hope soon of a flight home, I rented the last car available in the region. I left, going west, at 3 a.m. on the 14th. I drove hard, gripping the wheel, head down, hunched through Massachusetts and corners of Connecticut and New York. I saw the signs for Niagara Falls and, on some other trip, I would surely have made the detour to see sunrise over that iconic place. All I wanted, however, was to be home with my wife and that goal lay straight ahead.
The sun came up over Pennsylvania, and I started to look around. The sky was shockingly blue and utterly empty of aircraft. It was the weirdest thing, seeing empty sky over urban areas. There were no police out there either; wherever they were, they weren't on the interstates. There were truck drivers and there were guys like me, one to a car, barreling to wherever home was.
Ohio took longer, and then Indiana. I developed a routine for listening to the world: National Public Radio, local radio, and a call on the cell phone staying in touch. NPR was still all 9/11, all the time.
Darkness fell over Illinois. I listened to a high school football game, all four quarters, on some powerful Western Illinois radio station. As I drove, I cried hot, wet tears for the sheer American normalcy the game represented.
On the phone, my colleagues and my wife were pleading with me that I should stop someplace, get some sleep. I had been driving for over 18 hours. In Iowa City, I took their advice, got a room and slept for eight hours.
Back on the road ... more of Iowa, all corn and rolling hills, and then the full, flat, dry breadth of Nebraska. I think I first saw an airplane in the sky again, finally, somewhere in that vast geography. Colorado appeared near sunset, one of those gorgeous Colorado sunsets, orange over the blue of the distant Rocky Mountains. Another two hours on now-familiar roads and I would be home.
Tish ran to me in the driveway and we held each other close. What would come was hugely uncertain to us, but I was now where I needed to be.
-- Michael and Letitia Kraft moved from Northern Colorado to the North Coast in 2004.
Editor's note: We want to thank all of our readers who submitted their memories. We're sorry we were unable to run all of them in the print edition, but will include them in the online version.
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