I know everyone is talking about the debate. I'm not saying it isn't important to do so. But it's also September 11th and I committed years ago to spend this day, every year, doing my part to keep alive the memory of those who died the day the world changed forever.
One of the most iconic images of 9/11 that remains burned into the memory of my mind's eye is the massive American flag that firemen and emergency personnel dropped over the side of the Pentagon. The juxtaposition of its vivid colors against the charred façade and crumpled wall where 189 people died is something I, and so many other Americans scarred by the horror of that day will never forget.
Truthfully, that's the plane and the attack we know the least about. Unlike American Airlines Flight 11 and United 175 that struck the two towers of the World Trade Center in spectacular fashion, the latter on live television, American Airlines Flight 77 seemed to slip into D.C. without notice. And unlike United 93, whose heroic passengers have become legendary for their daring attempt to wrest away control of the plane, thwarting the hijackers' plans, the story of those aboard American 77 often goes untold.
But among the dead there in the smoldering wreckage of the Pentagon were 3 elementary school teachers - Hilda Taylor, Sara Clark, and James Debeuneure - who were flying with 11-year-old students Rodney Dickens, Asia SiVon Cottom, and Bernard Brown. The three inner-city schoolchildren had been selected by National Geographic for the chance of a lifetime - to fly all the way across the country to California and spend several days studying the Pacific Ocean.
They boarded American Flight 77 that morning at Dulles International Airport for their first-ever plane ride.
They weren't the only children on board. Three-year-old Dana Falkenberg and her sister, eight-year-old Zoe, were on a family adventure with their parents, Charles and Leslie. Charles got the window seat, Zoe in the middle. Little Dana sat next to them on the end, so she could reach over and hold her mom's hand across the aisle.
Two of the five terrorists who would kill them that day were seated just a few rows ahead.
Digging through the rubble of the crash site, responders believed they found some remnants of a tiny Elmo doll that 3-year-old Dana Falkenberg had clung to in her final, terrifying moments.
Authorities say that Flight 77 took off at 8:20 am and was commandeered by the attacking hijackers 31 minutes later. I try to imagine the excitement of those 11-year-old ocean scholars sitting next to their teachers for those first 30 minutes. They heard the roar of plane engines for the first time, and felt that other-worldly sensation of sailing into the sky. I try to imagine what was going through their heads as they stared out the window, looking for their small houses, waving to their parents far below.
What were they thinking? What were they anticipating California being like? What were they dreaming of becoming one day? Maybe Rodney wanted to become a marine biologist. Perhaps Asia was going to be an oceanographer or full-time researcher? Experiencing the thrill of flight for the first time, maybe Bernard was convinced he would one day fly airplanes like that one?
What about Dana and Zoe? Was Zoe cuddled up against her dad's arm? Was Dana entertaining everyone in the rows around her as she carried on a full conversation with Elmo?
I don't just think about those kids, of course. I think about their parents and teachers. In those disorienting moments when the five terrorists viciously stabbed flight attendants, murdered the pilots, and herded all the passengers to the back of the plane, what were they thinking? Did they think about fighting back, or did they prioritize shielding the eyes and ears of those innocent kids?
Terrified as they were, I imagine the Falkenbergs hugging and holding their little girls. I imagine those 3 teachers reassuring and comforting their young students that it would all be okay, that they would see their families again, that they would live to see their dreams become reality.
Five terrorists did all they could that awful September morning to ensure that none of those things would happen. But two days before he would step aboard that ill-fated flight, teacher James Debeuneure sat in the balcony of First Baptist Church in Highland Park and heard his minister, Henry P. Davis, preach a sermon. The message was entitled, "Getting Your Room Ready," and it conveyed the eternal truth that no tragedy, no terrorist can undo.
That there awaits the faithful a life unending, where every tear is wiped away, every sorrow is erased from memories, and every dream is realized beyond our wildest imaginations. That's how I choose to remember the story of those five precious children, their teachers, and their parents ending.
