Getting Home on 9-11
Step inside Book Four of the From Outlaw Biker to Airline Pilot and Beyond Series
For years, when talking to pilots and flight attendants, the topic was frequently: “Where were you on 9-11?”
Tens of thousands of flight crews and possibly millions of passengers had their lives turned upside down that day.
It seemed that everyone had a good story to tell except me. Having flown flight 77 many times, I was lucky to be home that day.
How the small Canadian town of Gander, Newfoundland, took in 6,500 people is an amazing story in itself.
Flight crews were stranded in places from Europe to Tokyo. Passengers were forced to pay for expensive hotel rooms in places they didn’t want to be.
Many who were working told stories of being at the gate with a loaded airplane when the FAA shut down the airspace. All airplanes would be deplaned. Flight attendants talked of Middle Eastern men being very agitated and sweating, not wanting to leave the airplane, apparently thinking they might be arrested. Nobody was. Everyone was allowed to leave. One flight attendant said an Arab-looking man with a thick accent, before getting off, angrily pointed his finger in her face and said, “You have been very lucky today.”
The rumor, though anecdotal, was that ten flights were planned to be hijacked that day, but only four succeeded. I’ve never seen anything to prove that, but the crew members I talked to were convinced their plane was to be next. This has never been discussed officially.
Clark was a good copilot I flew with. He commuted from Bozeman, Montana. On 9-11, he was flying with Arnie, a captain who coincidentally also lived in Montana. They just happened to be flying together. On the morning of 9-11, having laid over at Minneapolis, they were on their way into Chicago when the order was given by air traffic control to “LAND IMMEDIATELY; at the nearest suitable airport.” They were already bound for ORD in Chicago, so they continued inbound.
At the gate, when the passengers were all off, they left the airplane and stowed their kit bags in operations. Talking to other pilots, they tried to get up to speed on the rumors flying around at Mach speed. They were told the country was under attack, and all U.S. airspace was closed. As the bad news sank in, they realized there would be no flights home.
Clark said, “What should we do? Get a room? See what happens tomorrow?”
Arni said, “No, I don’t think this will be solved tomorrow, or the next day. I’m going to rent a car and start driving. You should come with me.”
After taking the elevator up and walking out into the Chicago terminal, they were amazed to find that it had been evacuated. It was always packed with people day and night. Now, “It felt like the Twilight Zone.”
It had been evacuated—even the stores, restaurants, and the food court were all closed.
Clark looked longingly at Burrito Beach and said, “Damn, I was going to get some lunch.”
“We’ll grab something on the way out of town.”
Their footsteps echoed in the deserted concourse as they walked toward the exit where they would find the car rental desks. In the silence, they heard sobbing.
They glanced at each other as if to say, “Do you hear that too?”
Rounding a corner, they saw an American Airlines flight attendant sitting on a bench next to her crew luggage, with her face in her hands.
When they stopped in front of her, she looked up with tears in her eyes. Arnie said, “What’s your name?”
She said, “Lois.”
Arnie said, “Can we help you with anything, Lois?”
“No, I don’t think so. It’s just that this is all so crazy and I’m scared.
“It’s crazy all right; nothing like this has ever happened before.”
“I don’t know if I can ever get on an airplane again. I just want to go home, and now I can’t. I commute, and all flights are canceled. I don’t know what to do.”
The tears welled up again.
Clark said, “Where do you live?”
Lois said, “Some small town you’ve never heard of, Park City, Montana.”
The pilots looked at each other and smiled. Arnie said, “Near Billings, on Highway 90?”
Eyes wide, she said, “How… how did you know that?”
Clark said, “We live in Montana too. I’m in Bozeman, and Arnie here is in Butte. We’re going to try to rent a car and drive home. You’re welcome to join us if you like.”
“I can’t believe this… yes, I’ll go with you, if it’s not too much trouble.”
“No trouble at all.”
“Thank you so much.”
“We crews have to stick together.”
Was it a coincidence? Or luck? Or Divine intervention? Certainly, a small victory on an otherwise devastating day. The world had just been turned upside down and inside out.
The three uniformed crew members gathered their luggage and started off down the yellow brick road on a new journey together.
Fortunately, the car rental desks were open and busy with a long line of passengers trying to get home. Arnie, the captain, had the furthest to go, so he paid for the car and refused to let them share the cost. He said, “I’d have to rent it anyway; you two just enjoy the ride.”
They took turns driving on the 31-hour road trip. With perfect weather and stops at diners along Highway 94, they became close friends; it was almost like a vacation. They tried not to listen to the radio, which was filled with the gloom of the attacks in New York, Washington, and Pennsylvania. A cloud of uncertainty now hung over their lives, the airline industry, indeed, over the whole country.
