True American Heroes

Rating: 8/10 (25 May 2006)

Following the deadly attacks on America, I twice visited the crash site of Flight 93, going behind the scenes. I wanted to get closer and somehow gain a better understanding of the significance of what happened that day and what it meant.
Take a rare, inside look with me and perhaps reflect more deeply into those events and the heroic sacrifices rendered for each one of us by the men and women of Flight 93.
January 11th, 2002 was a bitterly cold and blustery day just outside the town limits of Shanksville Pennsylvania. Standing at the temporary memorial site, the frigid air held the flags straight out at attention. With camera in hand, I had to frequently hold it under my arm against my body, so I could cup my ears, trying to provide some warmth and protection from the relentless, snow-laden gale. A road wound back into the trees, beyond an unlocked gate. I could see a cabin and vehicle parked there. Large, bigger than life orange signs stood on each side of the gate, sitting in the field on either side, which read, "Road Closed." Plenty of small white no trespassing signs lined the path.
With some real misgivings, I drove in and parked in the driveway. The thick evergreen trees made it appear darker outside. The wind had seemingly stopped because of the protection provided by the trees. Fresh snow covered the ground, only blemished by the tire trail that led up the long driveway to the cabin's front entrance. I approached the far door, where footprints in the snow led and knocked on the door. I waited 15 seconds, but no one answered. Deciding not to knock twice, I turned around to leave when the cabin door swung open. A comely man, appearing to be in his 30's, with long, dark brown hair, dressed like a lumberjack, scowled directly at me.
"Sorry to interrupt you," I said, introducing myself by name. "I always lock that gate." He murmured. "I'm not sure why I didn't lock it this morning, although I should have." He continued to reject my presence. "There are 'no trespassing' signs all along that gate" "I sincerely apologize for the intrusion." He paused a moment, "Accepted." He said.
I explained my interest in writing a patriotic piece about Flight 93. "Is that the accident site over there?" I asked. He nodded and stepped outside and kept walking, with me following. "This isn't actually my house. It's down there" He pointed through the thick growth of tall, evergreen trees. I said my name again and waited for his response. We shook hands. "Hi, I'm Barry Hoover." "I know I can go down to my property, but I'm not sure if I can take anyone else." He said, walking towards the structure, with me following step for step. Stooping, he showed me the base of his garage and how it was moved off its foundation from the force of the blast. "You are at ground zero." He said, standing back up. "First, this was a death scene. Then, it was an accident scene. I was not allowed to come back to the house for 12-days." He said.
I realized how much his life had been disrupted. "I didn't have any clothes, toiletries  nothing  and had to go buy all new things, and borrow." He explained how he had to live in a hotel. "I'm sorry you had to go through all that." I said, empathizing with his ordeal. "My concerns were for all those families who lost their loved ones" He said, "not for me." Windows were still missing. The doors, originally blown off their hinges had been replaced. The inside was still vulnerable to the wind and rain. The furniture was not salvageable. His house, from top to bottom, had been pelted with bits of aircraft and contents, most of which were gathered up by investigators. Charred, black patches of trees and shrubs dotted the landscape, which were more visible on the second visit, after the snow had melted. "I'm amazed none of those little fires spread into bigger ones." He said.
There were hundreds of pieces of metal from the aircraft that were no larger than a quarter and wires that still covered the ground like confetti.
I turned around and looked out through the glassless window, back towards the crash site with a better sense of the magnitude and force of what had taken place right where I stood and tried to envision the horror of those final imperiling, heroic moments being experienced aboard the aircraft The sacrifices for freedom of those brave heroes who died on Flight 93, who viewed liberty as being worth more than life itself, are truly worthy of our constant remembrance. May we never forget.