Location(s)

It was my honor to visit the Flight 93 Memorial near Shanksville, PA last Tuesday on the sixth anniversary of the terror attacks. I've been there several times, but this trip was special -- I was there with my nephew, a decorated Marine who served three tours in Iraq.

The day started out very quietly. I was purposely avoiding the TV and radio, unable to watch or hear the recounting of the events of that day one more time. I had meetings in Altoona and Tyrone, and was just pulling my thoughts together for them when the phone rang. My nephew had gotten the day off, and wanted to go to the Flight 93 Memorial; would I like to go along? You bet.

A quick phone call and a few emails and I, too, had the day off. We met at the StoryTrax office in Altoona, and after a brief tour of our spacious offices, headed down the road. We found a great classic rock station on the radio as we made it over the Allegheny Front near Cresson, and spent the trip getting caught up on family news. He drove, so I got to enjoy the view from the passenger side, something I rarely get to do. The rain failed to dampen our enthusiasm.

As we exited Route 219 and headed east on the Lincoln Highway (Route 30), the rain lifted. We talked about how we had made a similar trip along this old soldier's road about ten years ago. That day, we'd been visiting forts.

I expected more traffic along Lambertsville Road and Skyline Drive, near the memorial. Maybe the rain kept people away. At the crest of Skyline Drive, the usual satellite truck was parked; closer to the memorial, there were about a half dozen more. Not as many as past anniversaries. 

I hadn't been to the memorial since the National Park Service took over. A ranger directed us to park in the grass behind the line of unnaturally blue-green porta-johns. We did, and picked our way through the mud and ruts to the temporary memorial. A small building has been erected on the site that houses visitor information and a sign-in book. Rangers prowled around, answering questions and assisting the few reporters still on site at this late afternoon hour. One person had an album of photographs and was holding court near a bench.

We walked around, studying the offerings tied to the chain link fence, reading the messages on the guard rail and flag pole, gazing at the impact site. As usual, the wind was blowing; I guess that's why all those giant wind turbines are beginning to appear around the neighborhood there.

We stepped a few feet away from the crowd and talked a little about the planned memorial for the site. For those of us who remember that day all too well, we don't need a lot of reminders of the powerful story of this place. But four score and twenty years from now, when the number of us who witnessed the day has dwindled to just a few, that story will need to be told to each new generation. This "temporary" memorial works for us now; it's OUR memorial to those unexpected heroes of Flight 93. We build it with every item or note we leave there.

Already, the presence of the National Park Service has changed the experience of the site. I didn't see anyone write a note on the guard rail, or on a bench; with the Rangers around, now it feels like we'd be defacing public property. The big white plywood boards that hung on the fence where you could write a note are gone. Now you can add your thoughts in the sign-in book in the little shed.

But no matter what changes happen here, there is no denying that this is a powerful place, a sacred place. As we walked back to the car, I asked my nephew what he thought. His response was, "It makes me feel like I want to go back into the Marine Corps."

I never felt so proud and so scared all at the same time.