I remember what I was doing on that morning, ten years ago. Back then, I wasn’t the blogger and twitterholic we all know now. I was just your average US Army Reserve Recruiter wondering how I was going to make my quota for the month (yes, we had them despite what was heard). I was even one rank lower than the SSG I hold now (was a SGT back then).
I was driving east on I-474 heading towards my station in Bloomington after stopping at the Bartonville McDonald’s for a cup of coffee. It was an uneventful start, the morning DJs on the radio were yakking it up like normal.
By the time I came off I-55 turning on to Veteran’s Parkway in Normal, one of them said that news reports were coming in of a plane crashing into one of the World Trade Center towers. I wasn’t watching on television, so I thought it was a small plane…boy was I wrong.
I got into the station and was joking around with another recruiter about flying her remote control plane into a building when an applicant came in to get ready to go take the “written test”. He said that a second plane had crashed into the second tower of the WTC. The other recruiter that was in the office and I looked at each other with raised eyebrows. The kid said it was something big.
The applicant and I got into my G-ride (Government car) and started toward Decatur so he could take his written exam. Needless to say it was a long hour drive while listening to the events unfold on the news station out of Bloomington. We had heard the the first tower fell, along with reports that a plane had crashed into the Pentagon. When we got to the Marine Corps Reserve Center in Decatur (yes, we use all 4 services), we were told that the testing was cancelled and folks were moving any and all Government vehicles away from the building.
Yep, this was beginning to be something big.
The crash of Flight 93 and the confirmation of the plane hitting the Pentagon came over the news reports while we were on our way back to Bloomington. That and the almost crying reports of the WTC towers falling, one at a time. Neither one of us could believe it as I parked my G-ride close to the street instead of near the doors like I normally do.
It was time, so I walked over to the neighboring pool hall to have my lunch. I watched on their big screen TV the events as I slowly ate my burger and fries. The color left me as I was watching the sickening events being replayed. I had just lost 343 brothers in the WTC. I don’t remember how many of my comrades in arms I lost in the Pentagon, but the 343 brothers that I lost will be eternally burned into my mind.
I went back to my station and went over to the American flag that was between the row of desks. I picked it up along with its base and took them both outside. I proudly posted the Colors in between the Army and Navy recruiting stations and saluted before going back inside to my desk.
Later in the afternoon, I was instructed to go get some paperwork to a prior service applicant in El Paso, about 45 minutes away from the station. Thankfully, the G-ride had a full tank of gas because I saw the prices jump from the $1.75 (remember THAT?) a gallon up to $5.25 in one spot, $4.45 in others (almost what we’re paying NOW). A few choice words came out of my mouth as I saw that. The news on the radio was still giving play-by-play of the day’s goings.
I was en route back to the station when I happened to look up and saw the only three planes in the skies since the events started unfolding: Air Force One and her two fighter escorts.
I arrived back at the station and picked up one of the many binders of high school juniors and seniors and placed it on my desk. I opened it up and lifted the receiver on the phone. I looked at the phone and then at the lead list. I put the receiver back in its cradle and looked at my boss. “Today, it just wouldn’t be right.” I told my boss.
Thankfully, he agreed as we grabbed our coffee and looked at the crane at the grocery store across the street hoisting up a giant American flag. All of the recruiters in my station spent the last several hours in quiet reflection. It was the only time I didn’t get yelled at for not doing my job.
I made the trek back to Bartonville and went home to my (at the time) wife and (then) 3-year old daughter. It was hard not to cry as I watched everything on TV again as I was pressing my uniform shirt for the next day.
There’s my war story. One from when I was a newly minted EMT-B at the state level and just becoming a combat medic before I went to become an Army “salesman”.
Now, I’m single, with not only a @lilssgjbroyles, but a now 13-year old, mobilized twice, and close to retiring from the Army. Occasionally, I will pour out a little bit of coffee onto the ground while stating “One for the brothers”, so that I’ll never forget.
