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Published: December 1st 2015
September 11, 2001
United Flight 93 MemorialToday became an important lesson on how road trips differ from regular vacations. The latter are normally planned similar to a military campaign, with a schedule that must be precisely executed. On road trips, by contrast, the schedule is a guideline at best. Travel contains dozens of unexpected changes and spontaneous adventures, and adapting to change becomes the key. Today I was forced to throw out all my plans, and ended up at the most meaningful place of the trip yet.
First up, I owe a huge debt of thanks to the owner of the Bed and Breakfast I stayed in last night, the
Glades Pike Inn. As noted yesterday, I got there much later at night than I had planned. When I initially woke up this morning, I was still so sleepy I would be a hazard on the road. On top of that, driving while tired can drain so much energy that rafting days later becomes dangerous. I faced a long period of fitful napping in a parking lot somewhere. Few people were staying that day, so the owner let me go back to bed instead and check out late.
After lunch, I headed for the
Somerset Historical Center. It sounds
Frontier tools
How people survived in the western Pennsylvania of the 1700s impossible now, but in the early 1700s this part of Pennsylvania was the frontier of European settlement. Both the British and French coveted the region’s trade routes, making the area a battleground in the world-wide
Seven Year’s War (which most American’s know as the
French and Indian War). A war with the local Indians followed soon afterward, and the decisive British victory opened the area to settlers in earnest.
Immigrants trickled in and set up farms. Most of them came from Germany. New arrivals found life here very tough, with poor rocky soil and difficult travel conditions. They managed to prosper mostly through sheer effort, and the area soon supplied food to cities on the east coast.
The museum tells the stories of these farmers and their frontier culture. It has many artifacts, plows, barrels for trade, tinware, and so on. The yard contains reconstructed examples of settler cabins, plus a vegetable garden with plants from the era.
The displays are through and obsessive, in the best way possible. More than most museums, they emphasize how researchers reconstructed past lives. To pick one example, settlers rarely kept records during their lifetime but left a detailed one afterwards; wills had to be registered at
Quecreek Memorial
Tribute to the nine coal miners rescued on this spot in 2002. the country courthouse. These documents show that many settlers measured their wealth in livestock, the most valuable thing on the frontier.
Frontier culture faded for good by the middle 1800s. Coal mining and steel became the area’s dominant industries. Farmers now prospered by feeding local industrial workers. This was a good thing, because larger farms in the Midwest were taking over their traditional markets in the east coast cities. Ironically, the area now produces more agriculture products than it did two centuries ago thanks to the decline of the local steel industry over the last half century.
After the historic center, I wanted other things to see. Thanks to limited time, they needed to be in the immediate area. The local chamber of commerce puts out a pretty good map of attractions. Scanning it, I realized that two very meaningful places happened to be located in this part of Pennsylvania. Neither one was listed in my guidebook because they didn’t exist when my guidebook was published. I hesitated for a while before finding them, knowing the impact they would have. In the end, I realized I had to.
First, I drove a number of pretty rural roads,
Road to Flight 93 memorial
Beautiful and unexpected scenery on the road to the Flight 93 Memorial ultimately finding a short spur between a farmer’s cow pasture and duck pond. It ended at a parking lot facing a statue of a coal miner and an open area containing two shafts covered by mesh. On July 28, 2002 this was the site of a dramatic demonstration of the power of the human spirit, the
Quecreek mine rescue.
The entirety of southwest Pennsylvania sits on thick veins of bituminous coal. Men have mined it for nearly two centuries, most notably to create coke for the area’s steel mills. Although the surface looks beautiful and placid, this land contains enough underground shafts to resemble swiss cheese. Nine men were working in the Quecreek mine below this spot on July 24, 2002 when they broke into an unmapped abandoned mineshaft. Such shafts are filled with groundwater, which reacts with the remaining coal to form a toxic brew called
acid mine drainage. The water flooded the shaft trapping the men in cold liquid to their chests in complete darkness.
Crucially, they had managed to signal their position before power was lost. Their colleagues began a
desperate rescue operation, drilling straight downward from this spot. The mesh covers now protect the rescue shafts. Local residents consider it
Crash site
The spot (at treeline in the distance) where Flight 93 fell. a sign of God’s providence that four days later all nine miners were rescued alive. They had stood back to back with arms tightly locked to keep their heads above the water, and slept in shifts.
(LATE UPDATE: The memorial site described below has been redeveloped, and now looks nothing like I saw. Personally, I consider that a big disappointment)
After Quecreek, I drove east on the area’s main road, Route 30. That lead to a poorly signed turnoff along a poor quality rural road. It reached the base of a ridge and forked. Following the hand-made sign, I turned left and climbed the ridge.
Unexpectedly, at the top the road broke into a huge open field. Views of rolling hills stretched to the horizon. This place shows the beauty of rural Pennsylvania in full. The ridge is actually a reclaimed strip mine. The road rolled along with view after view, until it reached a little drop with the edge of the forest in the distance. A large dirt parking lot appeared here where the road was closed off.
An enormous American flag sat on the edge of the forest in the distance. It marks the
Flight 93 tributes
A small sample of the tributes that form the memorial place where, on September 11
th 2001, a jet airplane fell from the sky and crashed as passengers fought homicidal fanatics for control. The flag flies over the
final resting place of United flight 93.
Everyone who witnessed the horrifying events of that morning, certainly every American, has their own feelings of what they experienced. Some, like me, feel a compulsion stronger than mere words to stand here and witness this ground. Many visitors have
left tributes behind, which form the most effective memorial I have ever seen.
One fence next to the parking area contains hundreds of letters, patches, hats, and other tokens of remembrance. A set of benches bears the names of all passengers on the flight. A set of sculptures shaped like angels does as well. Memorial plaques and stones surround the area. Coins and crosses appear everywhere.
Depending on one’s level of cynicism the whole place can seem overdone, but there is no doubting the sincerity of the gestures involved. Everything here was donated. The memorials are remarkably free of politics (although one memorial stone liberally quotes a now ex-President). The only thing marking it as an official government memorial is the trailer where the Park Service hands out brochures. The entire
Flight 93 angels
One figure for each passenger and crew on the plane. This is only a sample. site is low key, heartfelt, and very effective.
Unfortunately, it’s not likely to remain that way. The Park Service sign board showed plans to turn the place into a full featured memorial museum like those found at Civil War sites. The memorial will also have a new access road from the nearest major highway. The isolation and simple beauty that for me is such a part of the place will be gone.
Many current visitors, and most local residents, feel along similar lines. The current site promotes highly personal contemplation of terror, loss, heroism, and its collective aftermath on our nation. Turning the place into a
full-blown tourist attraction, no matter how well done, will remove a good portion of that.
(LATE UPDATE:
The official memorial is now open and the site looks almost nothing like I experienced)
After the memorial, I drove west on US 30, the
Lincoln Highway. The road was the first highway paved from coast to coast, running from New York to San Francisco. Along the way, I passed a barn mural memorializing the old road. Finding a safe place for a picture was difficult.
All that history came at a price. In this area, the
Lincoln Highway
Memorial to the first paved highway across the United States Lincoln Highway followed even more historic routes. Planners didn’t know much about highway design back then, so the road rolls over the mountain ridges straight as an arrow except for places where it follows narrow ravines. Signs warn trucks to check brakes and use low gear, and in some places they are banned entirely. I was very glad I have a shiftable transmission on this part of the drive. The views, obviously, were tremendous. Eventually, I turned south for Ohiopyle. I reached the town just before dark, and promptly set up camp and went to sleep.
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auspicious
Michelle Duer
This was such an interesting read, Ezra. Especially considering recent events, it's an interesting psychological insight into how we mourn, memorialize and pay our respects. A shame that the area with all it's personal touches has been redeveloped, though I confess I'm curious how the new "memorial" will compare to what you have captured here. Thanks for sharing!