It was September the Eleventh, 2001, my birthday. I was 60 years old and 1,000 miles from home with fifteen cops, Special Forces Blackwater trainers and one from Gunsite. We’d been checking out a new tactical shooting school that was a ways away in Fort Worth, TX. You know, a ‘‘It wasn’t the middle of no place, but you could see it from there,” sort of place, and after a week we were ready to head for the airport in the morning.
But, turning on the early TV news I heard a woman say that a small plane had hit the South Tower of the World Trade Center, and then it showed a live shot with the unmistakable impression of a full-size airliner in the Tower with smoke and fire everywhere.
I called my editor in New York who should have been in his office, but as the phone was ringing, I saw another plane hit the other tower. I knew immediately who was behind it, as they tried to blow it up in 1993. Racing to the lobby, I found the Special Forces guys and a couple of cops watching the TV. I said, “That’s two,” and one of the Special Forces guys said, “Yeah, and I’m waiting for three and four.”
Then the news reported that there was an explosion at the Pentagon. Soon people began jumping out of windows from the South Tower; men and women, jumping to their deaths. With clenched fists and teeth, I started counting the seconds as they jumped rather than be burned alive. I think it was about 9 seconds. I wondered if they were praying, and as I held back tears, I prayed for them.
One of the cops got a call from his wife. Her friend worked for an airline and said that a plane was flying low over Ohio near Cleveland and had turned around to go east. A half hour later, her friend called back to say that the plane was on the ground in Pennsylvania with no survivors. My 28 years as a police officer suddenly meant nothing. I felt helpless.
By the next day every plane in the country was grounded, so another officer and I rented a car and headed west taking turns driving, and a day and a half later we were in Montrose, Colorado where I got out, and he continued on to Oregon.
Nineteen hijackers died on that 9/11 while murdering 2,977 innocent people, 574 more than the attack on Pearl Harbor sixty years before. The rest of 2001 was, for me, the beginning of a long, controlled anger and profound pity as I watched loved ones speak of those who, on that fate full 9/11, so horribly lost the rest of their days. This is not to forget that by May of 2024, 4,343 more had died from exposure to dangerous chemicals during the long cleanup. Thus, a total of 7,320 Americans had been killed so far from the attack on 9/11/2001.
Remembering A Horrific Day
Perhaps to feel closer and to remember everything possible about that horrible 9/11, I started to collect a few things connected to it. There was the likeness of a genuine police badge made especially by a badge company with the New York skyline and the Towers with words, “World Trade Center Commemorative,” and “September 2001.” It looked to be silver plated and on the box was marked “PH-912 WTC Police.” Another piece was a special silver dollar housed in heavy, see-through plastic with the American Flag and the Twin Towers and also a small NYPD hat pin badge.
In 2004, Spyderco Knives purchased steel from Tower One and with it designed a unique, numbered WTC Knife. I watched as that steel fell on 2001 and I ordered a “9/11” knife with number “1941.” Such items were comforting, but things took a giant jump one day when my longtime friend, Wayne F. Novak called to tell me that he had a new Colt .45 1911 with the serial number “911,” and he asked me if I wanted it. Of course, I said yes, and when he asked what I would like on it and I said, “NEVER FORGET.” Wayne said, “No problem,” and said there would be a “few” other special touches (24 of them), but I said it wouldn’t need grips.
I had come across a great photograph of the Twin Towers made late in the day and I asked Rio Grande Grips in Denver if they could put it on a pair of 1911 grips. The company said it could, and when I received the grips I couldn’t believe my eyes. There would never be a custom 1911 like this one, and when Bob Mernickle heard about it he offered to make a custom 9/11 holster for the Colt. I had two Mernickle holsters, and I told Bob that this gun may never get used. He said, “That’s fine. I just want to be part of it.”
In keeping this exquisite Novak Custom Colt 1911 together with the other pieces, I’ve never fired it and have only displayed it once at the 100th Anniversary of the Colt Model of 1911 at Gunsite Academy in Paulden, AZ, in 2011. I may run down to Gunsite someday and let everyone shoot it, but for now it will serve as a painful reminder of what is the most horrible sneak attack and loss of life to have ever take place on U.S. soil. Hopefully it will also encourage many to join the NRA and remind all Americans of our Second Amendment to the U.S. Constitution, and to be ready guardians to chant “NEVER FORGET.” May God bless America.
