I was a Seattle-based B-737
captain for United Airlines at the time. My neighbor four
homes down the street was also a United B-737 captain. His
wife telephoned my home that morning; I had just woken up as
I was scheduled to fly that afternoon. She asked me, “Are
you watching television right now?” I said, “No,” and she
responded, “Turn on your television.” For the next two
hours, I sat there stunned—in near disbelief and shock as I
watched the recounting of what had happened. I watched the
first World Trade Center tower collapse and then a while
later the second tower went down. I was sickened by what I
was witnessing. As the hours progressed and more of the
picture came into focus, it was clear that a group of
terrorists had hijacked four airliners, attacked the United
States, and committed mass murder. Two of the airliners were
from my company, and 16 of my colleagues had been brutally
assassinated along with their passengers and thousands of
innocent people on the ground.
Now I was beginning to fill
with a rage that was difficult to suppress. I went to my
friend’s house, the other United B-737 captain, and we
watched the continuing news reports on TV together. Our
shock, outrage, and helpless anger were overwhelming. I had
never felt this way before. Every fiber of my being was
screaming out for vengeance. All I could think was “find the
cowardly bastards who had orchestrated this horrible act of
terrorism and kill them immediately.” I had no resolution
for this; I just had to accept it. Back at home later that
afternoon, my two children were beginning to understand the
immensity of the events of the day. An overwhelming fear had
finally shaken my oldest daughter and she held on to me and
sobbed. I knew in that moment that those cowards had hurt my
family, shaken their security, and put fear in their minds
for the sake of their father, an airline pilot who, save for
his schedule, may have been in one of those airplanes. Now I
was welling up with anger and vengeance once more, and my
heart was pounding as I held on to my daughter trying to
calm and reassure her that everything would be all right. My
country, my colleagues, and my family had been attacked by
these ruthless lunatics, and in that moment I could do
nothing about it. My frustration was immeasurable.
Like everyone else in our
country, the next few days were heart-wrenching and I felt
as though I were operating in a fog of emotions. All
commercial flying had been grounded throughout the United
States and I was desperate to do something. Finally, after
about a week, our United crewmembers who had been out flying
trips that terrible day, and had been stuck wherever they
had landed, were beginning to return home. A small group of
pilots organized ourselves to go to the airport and welcome
them home after their flights parked at the gate. The
terminals were eerily empty and quiet; no one was allowed
past security unless they had a ticket to fly, so not one of
the returning crewmembers’ families could meet them upon
arrival. It was just a few of us United pilots in uniform
and badged who were allowed out to the gates. Those days of
going out to greet the returning crews were a bit of a balm
for my emotional wounds. I felt now that at least I was
doing something positive. Talking with the other greeting
pilots and the incoming crewmembers allowed us a time of
conversational healing. We could vent and express our fear,
rage, and resolve. We helped one another for a small moment
in time and we built camaraderie to help carry us through to
a future that we knew would change dramatically; we could
not possibly know how much.
Captain Lawrence J. McDonough, United |