From the Editor

Hallowed Ground

Tom Inglesby, editor
tom@editor7.com

I grew up in a military environment during World War II and then came of age, as it were, during the Korean War, the first one brought into your living room on a daily basis through television. The air raid drills in school (duck and cover protection against nuclear blasts seems so naïve these days) and the parades on Memorial Day — before the Indianapolis 500 start, of course — were staples.

And yes, the Cold War was scary for kids and adults but it was not the primary concern of day-to-day existence. To most of us, "it" was not likely to happen because we had the power to stop it. We were the powerful nation, always in the right. And wars were always fought "Over There" in the still heard words of a song from 1917.

That image was shattered on September 11, 2001. It was "Over Here" now.

Lincoln, in his address at the cemetery at Gettysburg, Penn., gave voice to the feelings we have toward those who died defending our freedoms:

"But, in a larger sense, we cannot dedicate — we cannot consecrate — we cannot hallow — this ground. The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it, far above our poor power to add or detract"

And so it is today at the three places where Americans died — along with citizens of dozens of other countries — on September 11. Perhaps more so in these cases for these people died, not in defending America, but because they were in America. They had no chance to fight back, with the apparent exception of the passengers on United Airlines Flight 93, the one that crashed in a Pennsylvania field 120 miles from Gettysburg.

Even those dedicated to the protection of America from foreign armies, the 125 military and civilian workers who died at the Pentagon, were ambushed. No matter that the rule has always been that military personnel accept the risk of death in war. At the time they died, there was no war, and they certainly didn't know they were in a combat zone.

Moments after the attack, others came forth to fight — firefighters to fight the flames, police to fight the anarchy that often follows tragedy, everyone to fight the fear of what had happened. Among these were our comrades in arms, construction workers of all trades. They know buildings, engineering, the methods used to put up what came down. That determination to help restore what was damaged continues to this day.

At the Pentagon, The Phoenix Project reported on in this issue was successful because of the drive of the workers and the acceptance, even of the usually bureaucratically tied-up government, that red tape doesn't build buildings, people do. And they did. In record time, under budget, with less rancor than most had ever seen on a job of this magnitude.

Our hats are tipped to the concrete contractors and ironworkers who made the new walls so much stronger than the old. And to the Masonry Arts crews who had made the old walls stronger in the almost-but-not-quite completed renovation of Wedge 1 where the plane hit.

That work is credited with allowing many people to escape death or injury by holding the building together so they could get out. The 35 minutes that the reinforcement work provided them doesn't seem like much, but when you are on your hands and knees, frantically searching for an exit, it's an eternity.

On September 11, 2002 the rebuilt section of the Pentagon will be dedicated. The reviewing stands will be filled with VIPs; the audience will be filled with even more VIPs, those that worked on restoring the building, the construction guys and gals.

We'd like to make a dedication now; to all the construction company workers, managers and owners who made it happen: Good work — and Thanks.