This is the first in a series of monthly columns in which residents share their stories of an extraordinary connection to a significant person, place, or event.
9/11
I was a security guard at the Federal Aviation Administration (FAA) facility in Nashua, New Hampshire, on Sept. 11, 2001. The Nashua FAA facility housed the air traffic controllers for the northeast section of the United States, and entrance to the facility was monitored by two guards each shift. Charles and I had come on duty at 6 a.m. the morning of 9/11.
When Charles and I first heard the radio report saying something about a plane and the Twin Towers in New York City, we thought the announcer was detailing the misadventures of a weekend aviation ace. As the reports continued, it became apparent that was not the case. Our suspicions were confirmed when FBI agents showed up, surrounded the facility, and barricaded the entrance. Seeing sharpshooters set up and hearing the tensions in the agents’ radio transmissions, I felt as though they must be playacting.
I don’t remember having time for questions or concerns as the agent in charge asked me to deliver orders to evacuate the building while Charles remained at the security station. I was also asked to collect the air controllers’ tapes for that day. At some point it occurred to me that although we had evacuated the air controllers, Charles and I remained in the facility.
It was only later that I learned these precautions were taken because there had been an unidentified private aircraft still flying in the now-closed airspace. The FAA was never attacked, but the stunning reality of that day has never left me.
Pat Jennings
Fairbank Street
Accident at Three Mile Island
In 1979 my husband and I were living in Lancaster, Pennsylvania, a town downwind from the Three Mile Island nuclear power plant. At the time, we did not worry about the risk posed by the plant. There had never been a major nuclear accident in the United States, and we did not think about such a possibility.
But on March 28 an accident occurred at the plant. At first the news coverage was reassuring; experts said the accident had been contained but for a small leak of radioactive water into the Susquehanna River. As the days went by, however, the news got grimmer. Now we were told there was a “hydrogen bubble” forming in the reactor, and it could cause an explosion that would affect the surrounding countryside. At this point people began to evacuate, although there was no official order.
Jim and I packed up essential belongings, put the dogs in the car, locked the doors, and set out to shelter with relatives in Philadelphia. I will never forget my feelings that morning as we left our home, potentially never to return. In addition to fear, I felt curiously free, as all of the referents in our lives might be gone. We were nuclear refugees, unable to predict what would come next.
Eventually we were able to go back, and I am forever grateful that I could return to my life.
Deb Thomson
Poor Farm Road
The future of this column rests with you, our readers. Please send your stories to editor@harvardpress.net with the subject line “Witness” and include your phone number and address with your name.
—Edited by Carlene Phillips
