One Day in September

Everyone has a 9/11/2001 story. Here is mine.  
May God bless the remembering and sharing of yours.

Tuesday. I looked forward to it every week. No early morning. No meetings. No paperwork, project management, or pastoral counseling. Just me, my laundry, some genealogy research and a chance to breathe. I poured coffee, sat cross-legged in the recliner and turned on the Today Show. Matt Lauer was interviewing the author of a book about Howard Hughes.

I sipped and waited for the cast to head out to the plaza to chat with the locals. My antidote to homesickness, I loved hearing my fellow “New Yawkis tawk.” I hadn’t heard my mother tongue much during the two years I’d been in isolated duty in Guantanamo Bay, Cuba. The Today Show gave me my weekly fix.

“Okay, I have got to interrupt you right now,” Matt Lauer said to his interviewee. “I want to show viewers a live shot of the World Trade Center.”

That got my attention. I put down my coffee cup to focus on the screen. After some fumbling with the camera feed, a shot of the Twin Towers showed smoke and flames billowing from near the top of the north tower.

For the next fifteen minutes, Katie Couric and Matt Lauer tried to fill the dead air as they displayed videos from feeds around the city.

Finally, Lauer put voice to something my distrusting inner New Yorker couldn’t let go.

“The questions have to be asked. Was this purely an accident or could this have been an intentional act?”

A minute later, the answer came. A second plane hit the south tower.

I flew out of the recliner and ran to the phone. My parents lived in New York. I dialed my mother, a church secretary, at work. The call didn’t go through. Not sure if it was my area or hers responsible for the problem, I dialed my friend Belle, who lived three counties north of New York City. Her husband Sal answered. Surprised to hear from me, I told him to turn on the news. I hung up and tried my mother again.

“The United Methodist Church of Lake Ronkonkoma. How may I help you?”

 “It’s me. Two planes just hit the Twin Towers. Close the office and go home.”

 “When? Nobody told me.”

 “It just happened.”

“What are you worried about? When you were a baby, a Cessna hit the Empire State Building and that turned out okay.”

 “That really happened?”

  “Of course it did.”

“Yeah. Sure. Look, you need to go home. Whoever attacked New York City may not stop there. You live too close.”

“Don’t worry about us. On Saturday your father and I are taking the Circle Line boat trip around lower Manhattan. I’ll call you when we get back and tell you if we saw anything wrong with the World Trade Center.”

“Stay away from the city.”

“We’ll see. I have to get back to work now. Bye.”

Returned to the recliner, I fixated on the TV screen, flipping through channels to catch news where I could:

0921    New York City Port Authority closed all bridges and tunnels.

0924    President Bush called the plane crashes “an apparent terrorist attack on our country.”

0932    The NY Stock Exchange closed.

0940    The FAA ordered our nationwide air traffic system shut down.

0943    American Airlines Flight 77 crashed into the Pentagon.

0945    The White House was evacuated. Matt Lauer announced a plane hit Camp David.

1000    United Airlines Flight 93, crashed in Somerset, PA.

1005    The south tower of the World Trade Center collapsed.

In minutes, the world, as I understood it, made a radical shift.

The phone rang. Startled, I ran to answer. The chapel assistant said, “Chaplain M. has called a meeting for 1230. Also, Leigh called. She’s upset and wants you to visit her.”

“Roger that. See you at 1230.”

 After donning my khaki uniform, I slipped out the back door to cross the field to Leigh’s house. Leigh and her husband Russ were regular attenders at the General Protestant Service. Russ was a Master at Arms. They had three sons. William, the youngest, liked to call me “God’s Best Friend.”

I knocked. “Leigh, it’s Chaplain Bender.”

She opened the door, sniffling. We hugged. The TV behind her blared the news.

“How ‘bout we say a prayer, and then watch what’s going on together?”

For an hour, we sat with a box of tissues between us, watching as the north tower of the World Trade Center collapsed.

When I headed for the chapel, the base was at THREATCON DELTA. A roll of concertina wire and a young Marine blockaded Sherman Avenue at the base of Marine Hill.

“ID, Chaplain Bender,” the corporal said. I handed it over without mentioning the irony.

“Chaplain, Ma’am, where are you headed?”

“Chapel Hill, Corporal.” He waved me along. I felt safer already.

I parked in the middle of the parking lot, between the chapel and the office building. Last month’s threat condition training had taught me that during DELTA, vehicles had to maintain distance from all buildings. Why had we so recently held that exercise? Had we known an attack was imminent? I took a deep breath before exiting my car. Meetings with Chaplain M. required patience and a level of calm I wasn’t sure I could maintain that day. Recently, he’d ordered me to sit on a chair in the middle of his office until I told him how I felt about him. Stubborn, I’d made it two hours before excusing myself to lead Bible Study for the hospital staff. On this day, of all days, I prayed his freak flag would be at half-mast.

Our office sat in the middle of an open-air courtyard, surrounded by a white, one-story classroom building. A roofed walkway with a green tiled floor led a full circle around its inside edge, connecting on one side with our office entrance. A garden of orchids and bougainvillea, tended by Filipino contract workers, members of Iglesia Ni Cristo, created a tropical oasis in contrast to the arid base.

Out of habit, I picked a red bougainvillea blossom. “Hey Iggy,” I called.

Across the courtyard, a large Cuban Rock Iguana came at full trot. He stopped in front of me and waited for the toss. “Good to see you.” I gave him his treat before entering the office.

The Religious Program Specialist (RP1), the chapel assistant, and I waited outside Chaplain M.’s door. At the dot of 1230, he told us to take seats.

“The United States has been attacked. We are in THREATCON DELTA. I attended a secret meeting this morning for department heads only.” He giggled. “Today’s AMC flight is on hold in Jacksonville. Only mission essential visitors will be allowed on base, no personal visitors. Phone use has been limited to official business only. FM 103.1 and TV Channel 4 are now base news only. A curfew will be in effect from 2100 to 0600. The Navy Exchange, since it is our only store, will remain open during normal hours, but no alcohol will be sold. All boating has been suspended. Our seventeen remaining Cuban commuters were sent back through the Northeast Gate this morning and will not return until our THREATCON status changes. The base migrant camp is on lockdown.”

I took notes on all Chaplain M. passed. So far, so good.

“Any comments or questions?”

I said, “It’s interesting that terrorists chose 9/11 to attack because 911 is our American distress call. And we certainly are in distress today.”

“Chaplain Bender. Stop talking. You may never say that again. The terrorists are not that smart. They don’t understand our systems.”

The pen slipped out of RP1’s hands. She quickly bent down to retrieve it. The Chapel assistant winced.

 Below the notes in my book, I sketched the tail of a horse.

Chaplain M. rose from his seat, walked to his office door, and closed it. Returning, he addressed us in a furtive tone: “Are there any Muslims on base? Military or civilian? Do you know if any of them have any C4? If they do, I want you to tell me immediately. Don’t go to NCIS. Come to me. And if you tell anyone I said this, I’ll deny it.”

Around the horse’s tail, I drew a big ass.

“Chaplain Bender, do you know who has C4?”

“No, Sir.”

“I don’t trust you. You’re not Navy material. You don’t have any leadership or communication skills. I don’t know how you got here. All I know is that if we get into combat, I’d frag you immediately.”

Silence followed.

“RP1, I’ll let you know if the order comes for you to draw a weapon from the armory. We’re going to set a watch here for round-the-clock coverage. You’ll work with me from 0700 to 1900. Chaplain Bender will work alone from 1900 to 0700 to answer emergency calls.”

Chaplain M. rose, retrieved a pink plastic flashlight from his desk, and returned to his seat. He leaned toward me. “Every two hours, from the time you arrive until the end of your shift, I order you to walk the Chapel Hill perimeter. Use this to see.”

At the end of the meeting, I stopped at my office to check messages.

RP1 walked in and closed the door. “I want you to know this now. If the order comes for me to draw a weapon, even though I’m the chaplains’ bodyguard, I will refuse. I would rather go to the brig for disobeying a direct order than to allow a loaded weapon anywhere near that man.”

“Roger that, RP1. I’ll be a witness for your defense.”

After reading a few messages, I sent one to my mother:

From:   Bender, Laura J. (NAVSTAGTMO n15a)                                                   To: Gloria

Glad I could get through to you when I did. We are OK here. Tightened security, though. Important to be cautious. You, on the other hand, don’t have the Marines guarding you. Go home and stay home. I mean it. Our phone system is not working for calls off the base right now. When it comes back up, it will be only for official calls, so I cannot call you. Email should stay up. I am going home now to sleep. I have to be back in five hours to work a 7pm – 7 am shift. Chat later – and stay home. love, Laura

I went home to sleep, but the sunlight in the bedroom made it difficult. Taking a blanket into the walk-in closet, I stretched out on the floor. Frightened voices screamed in my head. I couldn’t stop thinking about passengers on the planes, workers in the towers, and people running for their lives. Lying in the dark for a few hours was as close as I got to sleep.

I reported, as ordered, early for my shift. Chaplain M. had already gone home soon after our meeting, leaving RP1 to tell him if I did not show. After she left, I settled in front of my computer. Thankfully, both the email and the internet were working. I wasn’t alone. At 1900, I walked the circle around the portico, checking classroom doors. Finding them all locked, I strolled Chapel Hill’s perimeter. Two seagulls perched atop the swing set. An iguana slept beneath the front step of the chapel. Not wanting to wake him, I tiptoed past to check the door. My car sat alone in the middle of the parking lot. All was well.

Back in the office, I searched for news. At 1400, in addition to THREATCON DELTA, COMNAVBASE GTMO had gone to DEFCON Three. Assuming that was not good, I continued reading. Base schools were closed until further notice and all non-essential personnel were to remain in quarters. The City of New York announced that 200 firefighters had been killed and 78 police officers were missing. Also, Seven World Trade Center, a 47-story tower, had collapsed from ancillary damage.

An email arrived from my mother:

The Pres. will speak at 9 pm. Now Kabal, Afghanistan is in flames. What a world! We will stay close to home (only out for cat food). The only thing flying over tonight are Army helicopters. Right now, on TV, Congress is standing up and singing God Bless America. After Pearl Harbor was bombed, America became so patriotic – that is what got us through that terrible war. Poor Nell Schroder, who is 86, said “I couldn’t stand another war because I would have to ration sugar.” I told her not to worry because I would give her mine. That seemed to settle her down. I saw pictures of 42nd St on TV and it made me live again standing on that corner when I was ten and reading the bombing of Pearl Harbor 60 years ago. History certainly repeats itself. This must be the first time a foreign power attacked America. I’m back to TV. Talk again later. Mom

At 2100, I grabbed the pink flashlight to make rounds in the sweet evening air. Three banana rats sat near the door to the sacristy, under a picnic table, where someone had left scraps. The trio of raccoon-sized critters happily munched on their find. At the far end of the parking lot, two enormous vultures chowed down on a flattened banana rat. Welcome to the food chain.

Returning to my office, I noticed something moving in the corner near my desk. There, immobilized in the glue of a bug trap, lay a 3” long lizard.

“Here, let me help you.” I squatted to grab him gently around his middle. He didn’t budge. I tried again, but the glue was too strong. Not wanting to leave him there to die, or rip off his legs, I called Claire, the base veterinarian.

“Use baby oil,” she said. “It will deactivate the glue.”

“I don’t have any in the office and I can’t leave. Besides, there’s a curfew.”

“Let me see what I can do.”

Fifteen minutes later, she appeared with a security escort to attend to the “veterinary emergency.” Curious, the escort asked if he could see why she was there. “This is the best thing I’ve seen all day.”

I picked up the trapped lizard and Claire doused him with baby oil. Within minutes, the little guy was free.

“We need to wash off the oil,” Claire said, “so his skin can breathe.”

We took him to the bathroom sink and turned on the water. As soon as the first drops hit him, he slipped off my hand and down the drain. Aghast, the three of us stared at the hole. Suddenly, two tiny feet reached up and grabbed hold of the rim. Then a small head popped out. I put my hand near the drain, and he crawled into my palm. To keep him from finding another sticky trap, we took him outside to release him in a flowerbed. It took ten minutes for him to crawl off the safety of my hand. While we waited, Claire and I had a chance to chat. It felt good to spend time with a friend after such a horrendous day.

Once Claire and her escort left, I returned to my desk to wait for phone calls that never came. At 2300, I again grabbed the pink flashlight to make rounds.

Next to the chapel, I startled a crane nesting behind a shrub. Flapping his enormous wings, he flew directly over my head. I yelled and flailed my arms.

“Don’t worry, Chaplain. It’s only a big bird.”

I turned toward the voice. Two guys from security stood behind me.

“You know there’s a curfew, right?”

“I have perimeter watch.”

“Let me guess, this is El Diablo’s, I mean, Chaplain M’s idea.”

I nodded. “He ordered me to do this every two hours, from 1900 to 0700.”

“And this is the third time we’ve watched you. We have other work to do besides keep you safe. Just tell him the watches were completed and stay in your office. This is our job, not yours. By the way, what did he want you to do if you caught a terrorist?”

“Whack him with my pink flashlight, I guess.”

After midnight, with rounds off my radar and most news feeds repeating the day’s tragic events, I checked my regular list of things to do.

“Prepare liturgy. Write sermon.”

The words glared on the page. This would be no ordinary Sunday. The chapel would be packed with people looking for guidance to get themselves through whatever lay ahead. I’d be standing in front of the Sailors and Marines who would soon head into harm’s way, and the family members who would manage the home front while waiting for their return. What could I say that would be helpful?

So much had changed.

Yes. But much more had not.

Prayer had still given Leigh comfort and hope even as we watched the towers fall. God was still our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble, even this trouble. Chaplain M. reveled in his “El Diablo” nickname, but that didn’t relieve me of my responsibility to work for the good of others. Compassion and teamwork were a powerful combination. Just ask the tiny lizard. As my mind raced through the day’s events, I called up a blank screen and put my fingers on the keyboard.

“There are some things that do not change for people of faith, even in the midst of unthinkable tragedy and loss. God does not change. Our relationship with Christ does not change. We are still commanded to love one another, which extends even to the others who would harm us. The mandate to overcome evil with good remains. And the Lord still requires of us to act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with our God.”

My weary mind and heart wrestled with these thoughts until daybreak.

Chaplain M. arrived at 0700. He reminded me that my usual workday was 0800 to 1600 and working overnight did not relieve me of that duty. He would, however, allow me to eat breakfast before I started.

“Will I then follow with another 1900 to 0700 shift?”

“Of course. I’ve assigned that to you.”

“Have a nice day, Sir. I’m going home to bed.”

On the way to my car, I fed Iggy his morning bougainvillea blossom.

Turning back, I noticed a patch of teal fluff sitting in a tiny nest woven into dying vines dangling from a flower basket someone had hung and then forgotten. I moved in for a closer look. In that precarious perch, open to wind, rain, heat and predators, sat a baby hummingbird, just growing into his spiny beak and iridescent feathers.

“Consider the birds of the air, how they neither sow, nor reap, nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them.”

The wee bird stared at me through eyes still too big for his face. I don’t think that Bible verse made any difference to him, but it did to me.

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