It’s September 10th, 2001—just another ‘B’ shift at the firehouse. Truth be told, I can't recall a single detail from that shift. Nothing. Nada. Just another routine day of checking equipment, answering calls, and debating whether or not we should trust the leftover chili in the fridge. That all changed the next morning.
September 11, 2001—A Morning Like No Other
At approximately 6:00 a.m. on September 11, the loudspeaker crackled to life, shaking us from whatever semblance of rest we had managed to steal.
At Portland Airport Fire & Rescue, our emergency calls came from one of two places: Fire Dispatch or the PDX Control Tower. And when the Tower called, there was no mistaking it. The sound was distinctive—almost like a telephone receiver being lifted from its cradle.
We knew immediately. The Tower.
Normally, what followed would be an Alert 1, 2, or 3—each level indicating the seriousness of an aircraft emergency. An Alert 1 might involve a relatively minor problem. An Alert 3 meant the unthinkable: an aircraft had crashed, was on fire, or both.
But this morning, the Tower wasn’t calling to send us anywhere. There was no aircraft emergency at PDX. No engines starting. No apparatus rolling out of the station. Instead, the voice coming over the speaker was alerting us to something happening nearly three thousand miles away.
The controller’s voice was calm and measured. “A plane has crashed into the North Tower of the World Trade Center in New York City.”
For a moment, that was all we knew.
The world watched in horror as the towers fell, as smoke and ash blanketed the city, as lives were forever changed in an instant. We, like the rest of the nation—and the world—were left stunned, silent, and numb at the sheer devastation.
We would later hear of the tragic end of United Airlines Flight 93, which crashed into a field near Shanksville, Pennsylvania.
In the hours and days that followed, we learned that several passengers had been able to make phone calls to loved ones and others on the ground. Through those conversations, they discovered what had already happened in New York and Washington—and began to understand what the hijackers intended for their own aircraft.
One of those passengers was Todd Beamer, who spoke at length with GTE Airfone operator Lisa Jefferson. As the passengers gathered what information they could, a small group made an extraordinary decision: they would attempt to retake the cockpit.
They knew what that decision might cost them. Yet they moved forward anyway.
Their courage, and ultimately their willingness to surrender their own lives, prevented Flight 93 from reaching its intended target in Washington, D.C.—very likely saving countless others on the ground.
Their final act was not one of helplessness. It was one of courage.
A Deafening Silence at the Airport
I had worked at airports for more than twenty years, but I had never experienced anything like the eerie stillness that followed.
Portland International Airport, like airports across the country, came to a complete standstill. No aircraft taking off. No engines roaring down the runway. No familiar hum of air traffic overhead.
Just silence.
And for the next three days, that silence settled over the airport in a way I had never known.
Only once more in my career would I witness PDX come to such a complete stop—during the major ice storm of 2004. But even that was different. An ice storm could shut down an airport.
September 11th seemed to shut down the world.
343: A Brotherhood’s Ultimate Sacrifice
There were moments at the firehouse when we would pause to pray—usually at dinner, when someone would muster the courage to say grace before an audience of hungry firefighters.
But that day was different.
As I stood in the firehouse and looked around at my brothers, I felt compelled to ask a simple question:
“Can we pray?”
I don’t remember the words of that prayer. But I remember the weight in my chest, the anguish in my heart, and the quiet understanding among us that nothing we could say could make sense of what we were witnessing.
In time, we would learn the full extent of the loss—343 FDNY firefighters who gave their lives in the line of duty, running toward danger while thousands of others were trying to escape it.
Their courage and sacrifice cannot be overstated.
If you ever visit New York City, take time to remember them. Visit the FDNY Museum. Stand before their names. Consider the lives behind those numbers.
Their legacy is not defined only by how they died, but by how they lived—and by the courage, duty, and selflessness they displayed when it mattered most.
2,977 Lives… A Call for Peace
The final count would stand at 2,977 lives lost on September 11, 2001. But numbers can never tell the whole story. Each one represented a name. A family. A story. A life interrupted far too soon.
In the years since, I have often reflected on that day—on the terrible loss, the extraordinary courage, and the resilience of those who stepped forward when everything around them seemed to be falling apart. I think of the firefighters climbing those stairs, the passengers aboard Flight 93, the police officers, paramedics, ordinary citizens, and countless others who chose courage in the face of fear.
And I am reminded that this world desperately needs peace. Not simply the absence of war or conflict, but something deeper. Something the world cannot manufacture through prosperity, power, or policy alone.
More than two thousand years ago, the angels proclaimed over Bethlehem: “Peace on earth, goodwill toward men.”
That message still matters... The peace I have come to believe in is not found in surrender to fear, anger, or hatred. It is found in surrender to the Creator and Redeemer—the One who offers a peace that reaches beyond circumstance, beyond tragedy, and even beyond our understanding.
Might you consider His peace, His love, His purpose in your life this year?
A Stair Climber’s Tale
In February 2012, I took on one of the most demanding physical challenges of my life—the Empire State Building Run-Up. The course climbed 85 flights and 1,576 steps to the 86th-floor observation deck.
My legs screamed. My lungs burned. Somewhere along the way, I began questioning my life choices.
And still, I kept climbing.
Why? Because sometimes, as firefighters, athletes, and simply as human beings, we take on difficult things not because they are easy, but because there is something in the struggle itself that calls us forward.
Those five days in New York were unforgettable—cold, sunny, and filled with adventure. But nothing from that trip affected me quite like my time at the 9/11 Memorial and its reflecting pools.
Standing there was different. The noise of the city seemed to fall away. The names surrounding the pools, the endless movement of the water, and the enormous empty spaces where the towers once stood created a silence all their own.
It is one of the most powerful memorials I have ever visited.
If you ever have the opportunity to visit New York City, make time for it. Stand beside those pools. Read the names. Remember the lives behind them.
And if you cannot make the journey, even seeing the annual Tribute in Light offers a glimpse of the solemn beauty of remembrance—a reminder that while the towers are gone, the memory of those lost still reaches into the sky.
Twenty-five years have passed since September 11, 2001, yet the weight of that day has never fully left us. Time has softened some of the edges, but it has not erased the images, the names, the courage, or the sacrifice. We remember those who were lost, those who ran toward danger, those who carried strangers to safety, and those who went home afterward forever changed. For me, the lesson of that day is not only that life is fragile, but that courage, faith, compassion, and service still matter when the world seems darkest. We cannot undo what happened that morning, but we can choose what we carry forward from it. May we refuse hatred. May we seek peace. May we serve one another well. May we speak the names and tell the stories. And may we never forget that even from the deepest grief, God can still call us toward hope, toward love, and toward the light.
YouTube: … Tribute in Light
Though I wrote a similar blog many years ago, the approach of the twenty-fifth anniversary of September 11—and watching the movie 'United 93' for the first time—compelled me to return to that story and tell it again.
Twenty-five years have passed, but some stories should never be allowed to fade with time. This is one of them.
It is a story of heartbreak and loss, but also of courage, sacrifice, faith, and ordinary people doing extraordinary things when the moment demanded it.
It is a story that still needs to be told.
And remembered.
