I’ve watched hundreds of NFL games. Most of them blend together or are completely forgotten.
The huge ones stand out. Denver – Cleveland, January 11, 1987 (The Drive). Denver – Green Bay, January 25, 1998 (Super Bowl 32). Buffalo – Tennessee, January 8, 2000 (The Music City Miracle). Denver – NY Giants, September 10, 2001.
There was nothing spectacular about the last game. Just a Monday Night contest. The Broncos were trying to stay relevant following the departure of John Elway a few years beforehand. We had steaks and martinis and watched it from my friend’s house in Northern Virginia.
I remember it because of the next day. The events on September 11 make everything traceable. What I was doing the night before, the weekend before, the day of, the next day. It’s not just the memory. I can still feel the dread. I can still smell my smoke-filled apartment. Some images are as clear as if they happened last week.
Working in the White House on September 11 doesn’t change the tragedy of the event but makes it surreal.
Not a replay
Going to Starbucks on 17th street following the communications meeting was a daily ritual. Colleagues Mercy Viana (Schlapp) and Wendy Nipper (Homeyer) and I walked back to our offices talking about the day ahead as we always had.
The image on the TV screen stopped us. The Today Show host said she heard the plane lodged in the World Trade Center was a Cessna. They were speculating it was a fluke.
Because of that when Mercy’s phone rang, she picked it up. We had no idea of the enormity facing us or the country. I stood next to the TV, more perplexed than anything.
With absolute terror, I watched as another plane careened into the second World Trade Center building.
“No, no, no, no, no, no” I said to the screen as the images appeared to happen in slow motion.
I remember gasping and not believing what I had just seen. I feel it now. I can feel that same dread. I walked over to my boss’ office and told him what I saw. “You saw a replay,” he said, cupping his phone.
“I saw a second plane,” I insisted.
“You saw a replay,” he said, waving me off.
Moments later he came into my office and apologized. “Gather the team, we need to have an emergency meeting.”
We grouped together at the table in his office. We all worked in the Old Executive Office Building — the giant, grey battleship of a structure on the White House Grounds right next to the West Wing.
I had forgotten my pager (remember it was 2001). I got up mid-meeting to grab it and picked up the ringing phone on my desk.
“Dude, a plane just hit the Pentagon,” said my friend Rob Jennings, a lifelong friend who worked as a fundraiser in DC.
“Are you sure,” I asked him.
“I just saw it. I’m looking at the burning Pentagon now.”
Rushing back to my boss’ office to let him know, the sirens went off. Moments later, the Secret Service began banging on every office door and yelling for us to evacuate.
“A plane is headed for the White House,” screamed one secret service agent.
The sight and sound of dozens of shaken White House staffers running – literally running — toward the north entrance of the White House is crystal. As is the memory of being among more than 100 staffers standing in Lafayette Park stunned and wondering what we should do next. I wanted to call my family. I couldn’t. My flip phone fell off while running for the gate.
“A bomb just went off at the State Department,” someone said.
That rumor kept circulating throughout the rest of the day.
Scramble for answers
We all went to the Chrysler Building blocks away to regroup. The most senior of the White House staffers were picked off by the secret service and taken to the Situation Room or other locations.
As a White House spokesman and the Digital Director, my only goal was to get the White House website online again.
It was bad enough from a communications perspective that we couldn’t get the president’s statements up on the website. But it paled in comparison to the enormity of the message we sent the country and the world that the White House site was down. Or missing. Or removed.
Optics are important. And the site going back online (thanks to my friend George Lewis) was every bit as important and comforting as the president flying back to DC after stops at Air Force bases in Louisiana and Nebraska.
The next few hours were a blur – not nearly as vivid as the preceding time. We were told to research anything associated with the morning’s events – the date, the time, the locations, etc. Anything that might give us a clue as to why this happened.
When I arrived home that evening, I was struck by how much smoke there was in my apartment. I lived less than a mile away from the Pentagon but my windows and doors were closed. There was no escaping the day.
Like many of my colleagues I didn’t sleep that night and the next few days, weeks, and months were hard as they were for all Americans. But nothing like it was for the families of the victims.
The two images that haunt me the most were not from that day. Instead, the first happened that weekend when we spotted my friend Rob Wallace’s 3-year-old daughter building towers out of wooden blocks and then knocking them down with her toy plane. It was very hard not to cry.
It was impossible not to cry when family members of those lost in Flight 93 came to the White House for a memorial service two weeks later. As all the White House staffers lined up to shake their hands and express our condolences, I still remember that little boy in his little suit who jumped up to me to get a hug. I was told his father was on that plane. I never felt less worthy.
These memories have not faded. As painful as they are, it’s important that they don’t.
Jimmy Orr was a White House spokesman and Digital Director for President George W. Bush from 2001 – 2005.