25th Anniversary: Where were you on nine-eleven?

September 11, 2001, or simply “9/11”. I’d bet you are pausing (here) to recall where, and what you were doing that Tuesday This 25th anniversary (for me) some added reflection of a singular day within a very special week

The Navy calls them; “TIGER CRUISES”: Relatives of marine and navy personnel; “The Tigers” – are invited to spend time aboard ships transiting the last leg of a deployment. I would join my son Ben, a marine captain/aviator (AH1W Cobra) for this Tiger Cruise from Pearl Harbor to San Diego.

11 September, (Day 6) 0630 hours; USS BOXER – LHD 4 (Landing Helicopter Dock). Ship’s position is at the western end of the Pacific Time Zone. Dawn has yet to peek above the horizon. The sky at this hour holds a pleasant purple-gray hue, which, upon meeting the ocean becomes ink-black. Boxer, turning 19 knots (a bit under 22 MPH) against a slight breeze, has a rhythm of a slow mild pitch – bow to stern. As has been my daily routine, I’m stretching out for my morning jog (9 1/2 deck laps = 3 miles). Perhaps it’s the time zone change – 5 to 6 AM, there aren’t many on deck this morning. I am 3 laps into my run and have just passed the Bridge/Island. Ben’s squadron HMLA (Helicopter Marine Light Attack) 267 is holding a logistics meeting for departing the ship 2 days hence. My solitude is broken by the shrill whistle of the bosun which precludes any announcement; “Attention all hands this is the captain speaking. We’ve just received a report that a small plane has crashed into the World Trade Center in New York. Will advise when more is known.” WOW! (To no one in particular), and I continue my jog.

I had just completed lap 4 and had settled into a stride which feels good given the ship’s motion. The Bosun Whistle sounds once more.

“This the captain speaking. A second aircraft crashed into the World Trade Center. This is not an accident but appears to be a deliberate attack on the United States. Stand by for further information and orders.”

I am about 200 feet from the ship’s bow. It’s like my feet are embedded in cement, breath sucked from my lungs. And, except for the muffled sounds of the chains, which hold the aircraft in place, there is silence. A surreal moment (forever etched in my brain) lies with how the sky had lost its pleasant morning hues and is now Ink-black with no discernable line from sky to sea. There is no dawn. The morning became very dark indeed.

Over breakfast there is a subdued conversation among Tigers. Information from back East is slow to come, and very grim. The Pentagon is attacked. A plane is taken down in Pennsylvania. No one leaves the Officer’s Mess. We’re just too stunned by it all. By noon (Pacific Time), Boxer is on “Alert.” The crew would spend the afternoon loading Sparrow Anti-Aircraft missiles and running through combat system checks. There was no doubt in my mind, America would retaliate and my son, those marines and sailors I’ve been with, would soon be “the-pointy-end-of-the-spear.” I tried not to show the fear gnawing inside me.

As sordid as the day had been, the Pacific sunset rewarded us, casting brilliant hues of orange, pink, blue and purple. Most, if not all the Tigers, a number of off duty navy and marines, were gathered on deck. Faces looking toward this majesty playing out before us. Not a word spoken, just quiet introspection of thoughts. It’s been a momentous day, but as I scan faces, I’d bet the anticipation for getting home after a 6-month deployment is foremost on the mind for all.

EPILOGE

I decided to call it a day. Upon returning to my quarters, I find a folded sheet of paper on my bunk. It’s an E mail from my wife Beth which Ben had dropped off but didn’t mention while we were enjoying the sunset. Having no way to contact her, yet knowing she was far from any danger, I had but a few thoughts “for her day.” There is much more to this, as I learned upon arriving home. But, at that moment, 2100 hrs., 9/11/01, the gravity for events of the day, and then her Email:

“FLAG IS OUT. LIGHT IS ON. BE SAFE. LOVE MOM.” I wept.

LEST WE FORGET.

It had been 27 years since I last wore the uniform (USAR). It was at a time when the nation was very split over the politics of the day, (sound familiar?) as well as the conduct of war policy. Serving one’s country was not popular, and Esprit de Corp, largely nonexistent.

Not many get an opportunity to spend a day, let alone a week, with men and women who at the (ripe old) average age 19 ½, train and perform in a hazardous occupation in a stressful setting twenty-four-seven. “WAR FIGHTING”’. Most of us could not or would not want to learn such skills. The occupation requires, no it demands dedication to constant training, and an intricacy of concentration far and away greater than a civilian job and exceeds that of any sport. The pay? Still isn’t all that good either. In fact, when one takes the oath to uphold and defend the Constitution, they sign over a blank check to Uncle Sam “for an amount up to and including their life.” There was a much different optic for me of military duty. I felt a strong mix of wonder and respect for what was going on around me.

It was a blessing to watch my son conducting his daily regimen; An intuitive officer and leader, always in motion, patient – calm- instructive, and in the air(?) INDEFATIGABLE! Yeah, there were some “SIERRA HOTEL” (Google that) maneuvers to a blaring sound system accompaniment of Wagners “Ride of the Valkyries” complete with guns and rockets. Nothing on any bucket list which might compare. The week may also be unique, in that, I have yet to meet another father who has had such an experience and wears the Gold Star. I can say with certainty; “That too is a blessing.”

So, as you recall where you were; “9/11”, twenty-five years ago, take a moment to recall an idea, which became a declaration, which for the last 250 years has endured as the foundation of the republic. Then, offer a prayer of solemn gratitude for those who serve in harm’s way to preserve such.

Very Respectfully, I Remain,

Steven B. Sammis

Rehoboth resident – 54 years

Proud Parent of Three Sons

One just happened to be a US Marine