(September 11—the twenty-two-year anniversary of the day that changed all of our lives forever. This is the first in a two-part series to commemorate the attacks of 9/11 and the roots of the biggest attack on the United States ever.)
On the morning of September 11, 2001, I was a recently retired Air Force colonel, pilot, and a wet-behind-the-ears pilot for Delta Air Lines. I was scheduled to fly that morning from Atlanta to New York’s LaGuardia Airport with a departure around 9:30 AM. As I was kissing my wife and children goodbye for a few days, I noticed the living room television in the background and witnessed the impact into the first World Trade Center tower. Katie Couric and NBC were speculating that it was a small, private aircraft that had somehow wandered off course and collided with the tall tower. I sat down on the couch and told my wife, “There is no way.” It was a crystal-clear blue day in New York City, absolutely perfect for flying. Pilots refer to this as “visual flight rules.” The aftermath of the first attack was demonstrably more devastating than anything a private small craft could produce.
As we sat there, I watched the second aircraft hit the sister tower. Same immediate damage, and a convincing display of force. “That’s a lot of jet fuel,” I said. “We’ve been attacked.” It was yet to be determined who the attackers were, but we’d quickly learn that it was racial Islamic terrorists seeking to undermine the U.S. and kill Americans. And I immediately knew that my former boss, President Bill Clinton and his administration were largely to blame. A few years previously, I’d been assigned to the White House and was Clinton’s Air Force Military Aide and carrier of the “nuclear football.” The “dereliction of duty” of the Clintons had come home to roost.
The Delta Operations Center called me and said, “You’re not going anywhere. Stay home and hunker down.” The nation’s airspace had been completely closed with the exception of Air Force and Navy fighters that screamed across the silent skies over Atlanta searching for new attacks are eerily remembered. The republic of the United States had been forced to its knees by a group of terrorists operating from caves in Afghanistan.
When the airspace over the nation was reopened three days later, I resumed my trip for Delta and flew the original trip, or “rotation,” from Atlanta to NYC. As we were making our final descent into LGA, I looked to my left and saw the attack scene in downtown New York. Just over my shoulder. It was still on fire, and the smoke billowed hundreds of feet into the sky. It was quiet and sobering. I asked the passengers on the left side of the jet to take a look and remember.
Now, 22 years later, it’s important to remember exactly what happened and how we got there.
As the military aide to Bill Clinton, I was privileged to see the same intelligence that our president and senior staff members were privileged to see. When I first arrived at the White House in the spring of 1996, I immediately began seeing message traffic that suggested there were Al Qaeda plans to pull off a significant attack on U.S. assets involving the hijacking of American targets of the Trade Center, Pentagon, Chicago’s Sears Tower, and Los Angeles. As a pilot, that fact obviously raised the hairs on my neck. And I started paying attention to the commander-in-chief and the decisions that he made.
In the next piece here at the Buzz Cut, we’ll specifically address what Clinton knew, when he knew it, and the toll that Americans, then and now, had had to endure. Especially that of the direct victims of that tragic day.
Never forget.
