On the morning of September 11, 2001, I was sitting in my stateroom aboard the U.S. Coast Guard Cutter DRUMMOND in the very beautiful tourist town of Port Canaveral, FL. I was 24 years old and had just been assigned to this cutter a couple months earlier. There weren’t many folks onboard that day because we had just returned home the day before after being deployed for a few weeks, and our crew was enjoying a much-needed day off with family. I was in for the morning, knowing we would only have a skeleton crew onboard, which would be the perfect atmosphere for me to finish some paperwork in the much-needed silence. I was not in uniform, since it wasn’t a scheduled work day; I was totally relaxed, just knocking out my to-do list in flip flops, a t-shirt and shorts. A couple hours later, with most of my tasks completed, I had just started to think how I would be heading home shortly. Right then, the crewmember on duty came flying up to my door and said, “XO, a plane just hit one of the World Trade Centers.” Although it was shocking and sad news to hear, I was not scared. I just assumed it was some sort of aviation mishap, and therefore, kept focused on my pile of papers. A few minutes later, the same crewmember was standing in my doorway again, and I knew it was bad.
The US Coast Guard Port Canaveral Station was home to several boats and cutters, including ours, and was typically a sleepy-fishing-station, aka “Station Vacation”. That morning though, the station quickly came to life. Security levels instantly escalated, and leadership meetings were pulled together for all the different residing units. My sister and I lived in an apartment together on Merritt Island, FL a few miles away, and I rushed home as soon as all the initial leadership briefings ended. I needed to change, pack, and get back to the ship, so we could get underway. I remember feeling absolutely-frantic—so much so, that I remember unintentionally driving over one of those concrete parking-lot-space-dividers in my brand-new, eclipse convertible on my way home… scratching the heck out of the bottom of my car. I knew then, as I kept looking up to the sky for any planes, that I was officially scared; scared for the safety of my family back home, for the future of our country, and for the changing plans in the Coast Guard. Most importantly, I was scared for the safety/strength of all first responders, service men & women, and all their families, as the operational tempo across the globe significantly escalated.
We followed our orders and quickly got underway the next morning at sunrise. There was an eerie fog across the channel, which was lined with restaurants, businesses, and bars. I was driving the ship from the top bridge, with the Captain by my side answering the radio. I was more alert than normal to any sounds or movements in front of me, not sure of what to expect, and still wondering if the eminent danger was truly over. As the engine kicked off and on to adhere to the no-wake zone, we slowly made our way out of the channel towards open water. On one of the moments when the engine cut off, we heard clapping off in the distance. As we looked towards the sound, we were surprised to see that we were being given a standing ovation by any and all spectators on the decks/piers.
I still get chills thinking back to the sound of those far off cheers.
God Bless America
