They sent the bomb-sniffing dogs in first with FBI agents to inspect every private plane before it took off from Newark Airport that morning. The terrorism threat level was high. It was the first anniversary of 9/11, and Osama bin Laden was still out there.
Fifty private pilots from every state had brought their state flag to New York City for a ceremony aboard the USS Intrepid. I was flying with Norman Schwartz from Calabasas, delivering the Hawaii state flag for his daughter-in-laws parents, who were native Hawaiians.
A week earlier the same flag had flown over the USS Arizona Memorial at Pearl Harbor, and now it was on its way to ground zero. Dec. 7 and Sept. 11 — two dates that will live in infamy — sharing the same flag. It felt right.
Most of the pilots had spent the night in Newark before the ceremony, and a few of us went out looking for a good Italian restaurant. They’re not hard to find in New Jersey.
We were sitting at a corner table having a glass of wine before ordering when a group warily sat down at the next table. The father looked over and sized up the situation. These guys weren’t local.
“Where you from?” he asked. It wasn’t a question as much as it was an order. We told him. He got up, walked over and shook our hands. Then, his whole family followed.
“Please, take our prayers and well wishes to the families of the victims with you,” his wife said.
How many times had we heard that request crossing the country? From farmers in Shanksville inviting us in for a home-cooked dinner to blue collar families in Memphis offering us a room in their homes for the night.
From California to the heartland, from the Pentagon to a dinner in Newark. One voice.
“I think everyone in the country had been looking for a personal way to show their feelings on what happened that day, and we (pilots) were fortunate to give them that opportunity,” said John Martins, a Moorpark businessman who was transporting the California state flag given to him by then Gov. Gray Davis.
When it came time to pay the check that night, the waiter said don’t worry about it, it’s on the house. Wherever we went, it was on the house.
“I didn’t pay for fuel or food once coming across the country because people wouldn’t let me,” Martins said. Schwartz agreed. “We were treated like family,” he said.
It had been an emotional ride to get here, and nowhere more so than Shanksville, Pennsylvania, where it was nearing sunset when we drove 20 miles down a one-lane road — past farmhouses with an American flag flying from every porch — to a dirt parking area next to an old strip mining field.
Janie Kiehl was just starting her 4-hour shift. She was one of 40 “volunteer ambassadors” living in this coal mining town of 245 people who greeted visitors and guarded the American flag stuck in the middle of the field at the exact location where 40 people died fighting the terrorists who hijacked Flight 93.
Now, it was a year later, and she still couldn’t make it through a shift without fighting back the tears. “It still never fails to make me cry when I see mothers and grandmothers begin to weep as they read the letters and tributes people have posted,” she said.
Unlike New York and Washington D.C., both major tourist destinations, no one comes to Shanksville to sightsee. You come for one and only one reason. To pay your respects. People were coming from all over the country to do just that.
“You can read about it, see pictures of it, but until you’re here, you really can’t feel it,” Schwartz said. “It was our most emotional stop.”
The following day we stood on a grassy knoll across the street from the Pentagon with a Navy chaplain and a representative from the newly formed Transportation Security Administration. The Pentagon had been closed to public tours since 9/11, but we were invited in.
We walked past the concrete barriers, and armed Humvees, past all the checkpoints with combat helicopters flying overhead every minute of the day. This was no drill, it was the real thing. They were ready for action.
We were met inside with some stares and questions from military personnel wondering who we were? When we told them, there were handshakes all around. You got the feeling the men and women working behind the scene to keep the country safe enjoyed seeing the public back inside the Pentagon to take a look around.
The next day we made our entrance into New York City. Norm was the lead pilot because he had the fastest plane, a four-seat, 340 Cessna. It was the first time since 9/11 civilian aircraft were allowed in the area.
We flew single file down the Hudson River past the Statue of Liberty and ground zero – each plane two minutes apart. Above us were two fighter jets patrolling the route in case an intruder tried to cut in the formation, and deliver another deadly, terrorist attack – this one on our most cherished symbol of freedom – the Statue of Liberty. We were ready this time.
The flag presentation ceremony aboard the USS Intrepid was exactly as billed. No politicians, no dignitaries and no long-winded speeches. All that was going on at a ceremony nearby at ground zero.
Aboard the Intrepid were construction workers, Port Authority officers, firefighters and police officers, who had lost friends and family at the World Trade Center.
“I remember there were two daughters of a fireman and police officer who died on 9/11 sitting in the first row crying,” Schwartz said. “The more they cried, the more the emotions began pouring out of every one there. You couldn’t help it.”
It was the first anniversary of 9/11. Our emotions were still raw, our compassion for the victims still fresh. We made a promise to never forget, and 20 years later we’re still keeping it.
Dennis McCarthy’s can be reached at dmccarthynews@gmail.com.