9/11 Retrospective: Remembering the Heroes of United Flight 93

In September 2001, I was working at WJBF NewsChannel6, living in a cottage in Olde Town with my dog Lucy and cat Spike. Sept. 11 started as any other day. I walked Lucy, showered, dressed and, by 8:45 a.m., drove the 10 blocks to the television station.

As I entered the newsroom, I saw the early morning crew and producers all standing, staring up at the bank of monitors that were tuned to the local stations and the three major news networks. I kept walking to my desk but turned to look at the end monitor.

I’ve always heard people say this, never believed it, but it’s true: everything went into slow motion as I saw smoke billowing from the first tower and a plane slam into the second.

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I told people to make calls. Call Plant Vogtle. Call SRS. Call Thurmond Dam. Call Fort Gordon. I called a friend with the Secret Service to ask if they still had their offices in the World Trade Center. They did in February 1993 when the bomb was set off in the underground parking areas. Voicemail. I left a message. After that, I called Fort Gordon and asked for comment on what was happening.

Shouts in the newsroom about a third plane, this one hitting the Pentagon.

I called the public affairs officer at the Savannah River Site and told him photographer Mike Ludwikowski and I would be heading to the site. We arranged to meet at the administration building. I got a call from a public affairs officer at Fort Gordon with a statement from the commanding general. I emailed it to the producers.

Then producer Adrienne Turner, reading from the Associated Press wire, said a fourth plane had crashed. It was in southwest Pennsylvania. Holding my breath, I asked where.

“Somerset County,” she replied.

“That’s home,” I said and dropped into my chair.

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I opened the AP story and read the crash site was in Shanksville. Born and raised in Geistown Borough in neighboring Cambia County, I knew immediately where it was.

United Airlines Flight 93 had departed from Newark, N.J., heading to San Francisco, Calif. Less than an hour later, as the plane neared Cleveland, four hijackers commandeered the aircraft and turned it back to the east.

The plane first passed over Pittsburgh, then the Johnstown area where people at the Johnstown-Cambria County Airport saw it overhead. Air traffic control repeatedly ordered the pilot to land. Others at the Metropolitan Life Insurance building and Galleria Mall, all in Richland Township, saw it fly over.

The jetliner, traveling 580 miles per hour, would have covered the roughly 19 air miles from my childhood home to the crash site in Shanksville in less than a minute.

That’s when I called my mother. She answered, said everything was fine, and she was watching the television coverage. I asked if she knew where my father was. She did not. I had her turn on our police scanner, and I listened to Richland Township Dispatch for a few moments. I asked her to call if she heard from dad. I promised I’d do the same.

My father had a small farm with a few head of cattle in Bedford County on the other side of Somerset County. Just something to keep him busy. He loved tractors and spent a lot of time hanging out with his brother-in-law who owned a dealership in Stoystown, just minutes down the road from Shanksville.

He was also a police officer, a former constable and deputy sheriff. He was one of those guys who ran toward what everyone else ran from. Although not his jurisdiction, I knew my father was hardwired to go try to help at the crash site if he was close by.

While Mike drove us to SRS, I tried calling the farm and the dealership. No answer. I called dispatch to find out what assistance was being sent to Shanksville. And I asked if they had heard from my dad. They had not. I tried the farm again. Still no answer.

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When we arrived at SRS, we met up with the public affairs officer and the head of security with Wackenhut. Soon after we got there, they got word to evacuate all non-essential personnel and lock down the site. Mike and I watched, getting video as the Wackenhut staff changed from street clothes to protective gear. Sidearms were joined by assault rifles. The exodus of cars began, and the gates closed. Bomb dogs searched all vehicles that remained in the parking lot.

There wasn’t much for Mike and me to do as the networks stayed on the air broadcasting from New York and Washington, D.C. None of the other NewsChannel 6 crews in the field had much to do either.

I’m not sure who got to Shanksville first, the television stations in Johnstown and Altoona or from Pittsburgh, but eventually those images appeared on the monitors in our live truck.

It was about 6 p.m. when my cellphone rang. I looked at the Caller ID and jumped out of the truck.

It was Dad.

MORE: 9/11 Retrospective: Retired Public Affairs Officer Remembers Response

I was so relieved just to hear his voice that I honestly don’t remember where he said he had been all day. I don’t remember anything he said. I just remember hearing his voice, and that was enough. When we finished talking, I called Mom and let her know he was fine and back at the farm.

The station cleared us. Mike and I packed up the live truck and headed back to Augusta.

But I had heard my mother’s voice. After eight hours of searching, I had heard my father’s voice. The story would continue. For many days.

I was at Shanksville for the one-year anniversary. I visited there every trip home, and for the 10-year anniversary. My last visit was March of this year.

On Sept. 11, 2001, 2,996 people were killed. Forty-four died when United Flight 93 crashed in Shanksville, Pa., 40 of them heroes who fought what has been called America’s first victory over terrorism.

“A common field one day. A field of honor forever.”

The National Park Service will livestream Saturday’s 20-year anniversary observance.

https://www.nps.gov/flni/planyourvisit/sept11observance.htm

I’ll be watching. And remembering.

Dana Lynn McIntyre is a Staff Reporter with The Augusta Press. You can reach her at dana@theaugustapress.com.

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