Since that awful day twenty-five years ago, United Airlines Flight 93 and American Airlines Flight 77 have been overshadowed by the two flights involved in the destruction of the World Trade Center. This is understandable considering the catastrophic loss of life and unforgettable visuals, many of which were witnessed in real time. Flight 93 stands out less for its tragedy than for its heroism. It was delayed long enough for the terrorists’ plot to be revealed to its unfortunate passengers via cell phone communication. Knowing that the terrorists were lying about the possibility of them landing safely, a group of brave souls busted into the cabin and prevented the plane from reaching its intended target in Washington, D.C., crash-landing it in a field in Somerset County, Pennsylvania instead. I knew it had since become a National Memorial, but I’d never seen any photos or footage of it, and for all I knew, it was a simple statue erected in its honor. Nothing could have been further from the truth. It is now an official National Park Service Monument complete with a museum, a National Park gift shop (proceeds supporting their services), an outdoor trail, and a tower. 

When I pulled into the parking lot, I was taken aback by the size of the visitor center/museum, which would have been impressive on its own. At the time, I didn’t know this building sat on over 2,000 acres of land. I expected to make a 15-minute pit stop and wound up staying over two hours.

I walked inside and saw the main exhibits, which featured items recovered from both Flight 93 and the World Trade Center. It had a timeline of events with news broadcasts and photos from that “beautiful, sunny” morning, not unlike the one I was enjoying that day. Interesting to note, unlike the WTC, there are no photos of Flight 93’s impact, only the footage of a plume of smoke taken that day by a local. 

Obviously, the mood was somber, but I saw people openly sob in one section that featured a line of telephones. Visitors could pick up one of these phones and listen to random calls the people on the plane made to their loved ones. I felt my stomach sink listening to one and needed fresh air. 

Outside the museum was a stone pathway that featured the names of all the Flights involved in the events of September 11th. 

Eventually, the path led visitors away from the building and out into the open.

I was greeted by a National Park Ranger who explained that the field outside where I was standing was the crash site and that treading upon it was forbidden unless you were a family member of one of the victims. 

While looking at the field, I noticed a fawn step out and graze. It was hard to imagine that twenty-five years ago this was the sight of such a horrible scene.  

I made my way back to my car and drove down a path that took me to the Tower of Voices. This 93-foot structure was built so that when you stepped inside, you would hear the sound of bells and chimes; forty different sounds, in fact, each representing one of the victims. 

After I returned home, I went down a 9/11 rabbit hole of sorts, watching numerous pieces of footage from that day at the World Trade Center. While I was at the Memorial, I sent a photo of the field to friends and relatives and said, “I’m in Pennsylvania. Whoever can guess the significance of this field gets a T-shirt.” The only person who got it right was my youngest son, Luke (the rest all guessed Gettysburg since they know I love American History), who is a 9/11 buff despite being born three years after. I walked back inside to the gift shop and picked up a “Flight 93 Memorial” shirt for my son and me. We wore them on the 4th of July and, while watching our town’s annual parade, several people acknowledged the shirts. “I can’t believe how many people commented on the shirts,” Luke said afterward. It made me sad. He’ll never know what the world was like before that terrible day, nor believe how united we all were in the days that followed.  

Dave~