“Never in my life before or since have I felt so completely powerless”
A COLUMN from Steve Sprague, photo from 911Memorial.org
Some years the memory is more vivid than others. Some years it passes quietly. But 9/11/2001 can always make me remember how tiny and powerless I am when it comes to the things that really matter in life.
I had been living in the Washington area for 25 years by that Tuesday morning. The skies were pure blue and the weather was so perfect I celebrated the fact that I had an excuse to avoid the office in Alexandria, VA, that day. I was living in Woodbridge, 20 miles south of the city and had a 9 am doctor appointment that morning.
Constantly tuned on the car radio to the premier news station, WTOP, any time I needed to drive anywhere (they reported traffic every 10 minutes), a flash about the first plane hitting the twin towers was the original startle. The second plane hit just as I arrived at the doctor’s office. It was clearly an intentional attack.
I strongly considered going to my office after the doctor’s visit thinking maybe there was something I could do to help. But before I could leave, the third plane hit the Pentagon. In a city where even a forecast of snow could clog traffic for a dozen miles, I abandoned the idea of my office. I’m told smoke from the Pentagon filled the air where I would have gone.
By 2001 I had left my original jobs in Congress, the reason I moved from this area years before. But with news of a fourth terrorist-controlled airliner probably headed toward Capitol Hill, I grew concerned about the dozens of friends and colleagues still there.
Then the real awakening hit me. As I drove toward home, it occurred the fourth jetliner still in the air, still controlled by barely-trained terrorists and confirmed to have turned back toward Washington with suicidal intent could be a personal disaster, as well.
At that moment, concern and compassion for the victims of the New York attacks and even that for friends at the Capitol faded. My son was still at school near home; my younger daughter in her first year of college, 50 miles south of DC. Both the school and my home were easily in the path of the deadly threat.
Never in my life before or since have I felt so completely powerless to protect those closest to me. Should that plane make it back to anywhere close to its target, it would certainly be shot out of the sky or go down by other means. Where it came down could be anywhere.
News that the courageous passengers aboard Flight 93 brought down that flight in an empty Pennsylvania field lifted the immediate weight from the Capitol region. But America had never before seen such a broad and coordinated attack on our soil. Could there be more than those four still looming as threats?
The most important man with those same concerns was one of my personal heroes and, I dare say, a casual friend from my days on Capitol Hill. Norman Mineta, former Democratic congressman who had unusually been selected as Secretary of Transportation by a Republican president, issued an absolute order to ground every airliner over America.
Without regard to anything but immediate compliance at the nearest airport, nearly 6,500 aircraft were grounded. America mourned for those lost but we breathed easier. America changed that day. I changed that day.
Within two years, I had joined the headquarters staff of the new Transportation Security Administration (TSA) with my windows overlooking the Pentagon and the new memorial built there after the attack. Each year we marked the anniversary of the 9/11 attacks with a solemn ceremony.
The last year I was there to participate before moving back to the Southern Tier was 2021. Norm Mineta was the guest of honor and speaker for that event. I was honored to have about 25 minutes alone with him after the ceremony.
At almost 90, he was frail but as alert and delightful as ever. We talked about people we both knew (and laughed at) and occasions we had crossed paths. But I did something that day I’ve avoided like the plague all my life.
Most of my careers have been shaped with basic journalistic behavior: respect the office or the accomplishments of your subject but only respect the individual who earns it. And never admit to being a fan or in awe.
That day, I confessed to Norm that I considered him a hero of the Republic. A good man, a superb public servant and a friend. Sadly, Norm passed away just over a year later.
On September 11, 2001, 28,537 commercial airline flights were scheduled. Of those, only four carried out the attack. Do the math: that represents a margin of error of 0.00014017%. But look how America and the world changed because of that error.
I changed that day. I now freely admit how powerless I am. But I keep trying. We all need to.
