I arrive at the memorial at around 11:30 after a one-and-a-half-hour drive from the Steel City, one hour of which is on the highway and half an hour through rural Pennsylvania. I have arranged to visit the memorial with former FBI Special Agent Matt Hoke, who responded to the scene after the disaster (and whom I interviewed in the past for this same blog); Matt's family is also with him, including his father, who is also a former FBI agent and was on duty in Cleveland that day.
Thanks to Matt, we have the privilege of taking a guided tour with an exceptional guide: Steve Clark, superintendent of the National Parks in western Pennsylvania. The first thing I notice is that a black marble walkway runs along the entire length of the memorial, following the route taken by the aircraft, and at regular intervals there are longer slabs displaying the chronology of events. At the entrance there is a raised model of the entire site showing where we are and where the rest of what we are about to see is located in relation to us. We stay there for at least an hour listening to Steve's explanation of how the federal government had to purchase the land to turn it into a National Park and how this was a unique event in history. He then explains that the design of the memorial was not created by a local architect, but by Paul Murdoch's California-based firm, because the entire nation, and not just Pennsylvania, was supposed to contribute to the rebuilding. Steve goes on to summarize the events of that morning, from the hijacking of American Airlines Flight 11 to the crash of United 93. From Steve's words, it immediately becomes clear what makes this site special: while in New York and Washington the resilience of a nation in responding to an attack is commemorated, here in Shanksville the heroism of the passengers who saved thousands of lives at the Capitol is commemorated.
After hearing the story of the reaction of ordinary people who decided, with the means available to them, to oppose the terrorists, we move to the observation point, where Steve points out a stone in the field marking the spot where the crash occurred, the place where the crater we have all seen was created on September 11, 2001. It is difficult to reconcile the field seen in the photos and videos of 9/11 with the meadow and the woods in front of my eyes, but thanks to Steve's explanation I am able to understand it.
We remain there for several minutes, during which Steve explains to us where and how the human remains, pieces of the aircraft, and personal belongings that survived the crash were found. We then move to the museum, where photography is not allowed. The facility is divided into various areas containing many of the objects recovered from the wreckage, such as the airphones, Ziad Jarrah's credit card, a circuit board that most likely came from a laptop computer, cutlery, pieces of seat belts, and many other everyday objects of all kinds. Looking at the graphic representation of how the passengers were arranged on the aircraft, two details stand out that would otherwise be difficult to grasp: how close the terrorists were to the cockpit and how largely empty the flight was, with only forty passengers on a 757 that can carry more than two hundred.
 |
| Matt Hoke and I |
Among the exhibits are audio headsets through which visitors can listen to some of the calls made by the passengers to their families: I listen to them again and am struck by how calm and determined they sound, to the point that their voices convey more courage than fear. The museum also contains many of the passengers' personal belongings, such as clothing, sports equipment, or keychains, which their families donated to the memorial and which explain better than many words that those who died on that flight were ordinary people who had left home to live a normal day. Toward the end of the exhibition there is also a wall displaying photographs of all the passengers; in front of it there are also monitors displaying their photographs that visitors can tap with their fingers to read their stories. It is impossible not to notice that the first person at the top left of the wall is Todd Beamer himself, the man who said Let's Roll, setting the assault on the terrorists in motion.
After the museum we move to the Wall of Names, which is a few minutes' drive away but lower down, at the level of the crash site. Here the marble walkway following the aircraft's path continues, and beside it stands the wall engraved with the names of the victims. On the ground there are also small mementos that families have brought for their deceased loved ones; for example, Steve tells us, one father brought seashells for his daughter, who was passionate about them. From here we walk all the way to the gate, which is the closest point from which the stone marking the crash site can be seen.
Before leaving, we stop at the Tower of Voices, a 93-foot-tall structure, corresponding to the number of the flight, consisting of forty tubular bells, corresponding to the number of passengers, which ring naturally thanks to the wind and today also the rain, so that their voices may echo forever.
There is no doubt that this is a memorial unlike the other two, because the story it tells is different. Here, unfortunately, there are no lives saved; here there is the courage of ordinary people who changed history by saving those in Washington from the second tragedy that would have struck the capital that day. Here we commemorate those who opposed the terrorists with the means they had at their disposal, using a food cart and boiling water as weapons to fight against those who wanted to turn them into a missile aimed at civilians.
Nessun commento:
Posta un commento