Reflections on a Tragedy – Military Neurosurgeon Recounts Pentagon Visit

Getting up in the middle of the night for professional reasons is certainly nothing new to neurosurgeons. All of the images I had seen, every emotion I have, and all of my logical thought processes led me to believe that this night would be different. It was quite different.

Nearly one week after the incidents of Sept. 11 I had become used to the heightened security, and our increased security measures often caused the lines at the hospital gate to be quite extensive. At 2 a.m., however, this was not the case. As we boarded the bus that would transport us to the Pentagon, I introduced myself to the rest of the team that would be working this shift. Accountability for each member of the team was essential, and the updated list was called into the command center as we pulled out. Military and District police vehicles escorted the bus in what was just another of so many surreal scenes over the preceding week. It is rare, even in the District of Columbia, to have four squad cars with lights and sirens activated through an entire transit of the city limits.

Since I had chosen not to join the crowd of people that routinely gathered each day along the highways adjacent to the Pentagon, this was to be my first direct view. As we exited the bus, golf carts drove us to security, where U.S. Secret Service personnel performed their check-in procedures. We headed to the crash site in less than 15 minutes.

Upon rounding the corner, we saw the bright white illumination contrasting sharply with the surrounding night, bringing out every detail of the torn and flame-scarred Pentagon. As we approached the site, I was struck by the enormity of the scene. Huge cranes, front-end loaders, bucket lifts, tents and hundreds of personnel were fully employed clearing debris and recovering remains. This thought was immediately followed by the realization that as horrific as this scene was, the scale of the New York site must have been orders of magnitude greater.

The human response left the most lasting impression. The cacophony nearly ceased each time remains were noted. Word spread quickly, all machinery except generators and the idling diesel motors of the big cranes stopped, and nearly every eye turned to the point on the site where the FBI investigators were dwarfed by the surrounding wreckage as they photographed, mapped and catalogued the remains. The torso, limb or other portion of what was once a human life, taken away in a fraction of a second by a heinous act of cowardice, was removed by Army Mortuary Affairs soldiers, some of them 18-years-old and just weeks out of basic training. The chaplain performed last rites, and I would make a viability determination in the refrigerator truck as the big machinery wound back up for another search.

Despite exhaustion in some and overwhelming emotions in all, the rescue workers, support volunteers, military and federal agency personnel-male, female, white, African-American, Hispanic, Christian, Muslim, Jew, Hindu-remained focused and accomplished their tasks as a team. While we all sincerely hope nothing like this will ever happen again, I cannot imagine that any country in the world could be better equipped to handle a tragedy of this magnitude. I don’t feel like it is a cliché at all to say that I am proud to be an American.

Leon E. Moores, MD, LTC U.S. Army, is director, Pediatric Neurosurgery, Walter Reed Army Medical Center, Washington, D.C.