Blog by Douglas J. Lanzo
September 7, 2026
My twin 17-year old sons and I visited the Flight 93 Memorial in Shanksville, Pennsylvania this summer. It was an incredibly moving and humbling experience to firsthand listen to the last calls of passengers aboard Flight 93 to their loved ones, especially passengers who had made the fateful decision to save our Nation’s Capitol Building from destruction at the hands of terrorists who had commandeered their flight to California and turned it around in a violent beeline heading straight for Washington, D.C. There are not enough superlatives to describe the actions of the courageous passengers on board that plane, but I hope that as we approach the 25th anniversary of September 11th we will all take at least one moment to ponder what they went through and to thank them, may they rest in peace, from the depths of our hearts.
Below is the poem, but before presenting it I’d like to include some beautiful tributes to these heroes and to thank the retired Army tour guide who so thoughtfully and insightfully relayed to us the immortal actions of these men and women who saved untold lives and deprived wicked terrorists of their objective, turning evil into good by one collective act of supreme sacrifice.
“Americans are alive today because the passengers and crew of Flight 93 chose to act… the world will little note, nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here.” — Then President George W. Bush
“They saved the capitol from attack. They saved God knows how many lives. They saved the terrorists from claiming the symbolic victory of smashing the center of American government.” — Former President Bill Clinton
“We’re here to pay solemn tribute to the 40 passengers and crew members on Flight 93 who rose up, defied the enemy, took control of their destiny, and changed the course of history… At this memorial, on this sacred earth, in the field beyond this wall, and in the skies above our heads, we remember the moment when America fought back.” President Donald Trump
“What I remember most about 9/11 is stepping off the helicopter at Shanksville, Pennsylvania, and being met by the brutal sound of silence.” — Then Pennsylvania Governor, Tom Ridge
Sufficient Certainty of Heroes
By Douglas J. Lanzo
Copyright 2026
In tribute to the 40 passengers and crew members of Flight 93 who sacrificed their lives on September 11, 2001 so that we might continue to live proud and free under the bright marbled light of our Nation’s Capitol Building
As my twin sons and I gazed out
upon the sacred ground where 40 heroes
lay down their lives, thereby saving
the heart of our democracy —
a gleaming beacon of domed light
that transformed a modest, grass-laden knoll
into the hallowed halls of Capitol Hill —
I pondered what the last minutes and even moments
were like for the 33 passengers, and seven crew members,
less two slain pilots, onboard the harrowing flight on 9-11.
Transfixed by the scene and mesmerized by
the voice of the park ranger, I heard the
voice of the brutal jihadist who had
slain the two true pilots falsely
assure the passengers that they were
heading back to the airport to have their
demands met and had a bomb, so passengers
needed to stay in their seats and be quiet.
Suddenly, I heard 37 frantic phone calls of
passengers and crew members, some telling
loved ones of their plight but assuring
them they were physically all right, while
others less fortunate than they only reached
their loved ones’ answering machines,
etching their final words into digital tapes that would be
forever treasured, while seared with loss and grief.
I relived the shock and horror of passengers
gleaning that their plane was a suicide
missile after being told by loved ones and
air phone operators that two hijacked planes had
crashed into the World Trade Center and that
a third hijacked plane had just minutes ago
crashed into the Pentagon while their fuel-laden,
non-stop transatlantic flight had taken a sharp
U-turn over Ohio and was now heading in
a bee-line toward Washington, D.C.
I heard hushed voices of passengers spread the word
that they were now passing over sparsely populated
fields and then a voice, who had recited Psalm 23,
conclude the Lord’s Prayer.
That same voice of a 32-year old account
manager and former baseball player, who had
aspired to go pro until a car accident ended
those dreams, boldly called out “Let’s roll!”,
leading a group of young business leaders,
who were once collegiate judo champions,
weightlifters and rugby players, to band together
with flight attendants and other passengers to
transform a makeshift food and beverage cart into
a high speed battering ram — repeatedly thrusting
it with sinewed strength against the crumpling
cockpit door with ironclad resolve, while ceramic
plates and porcelain mugs shattered, until
it finally heaved, buckled and breached.
I heard startled cries in Arabic and hijackers
frantically question their commanding pilot whether
they should ground the plane, to which he responded:
“No, not yet. When they all come, we put it down.”
I felt the plane violently jar left then right while thrusting up
and down as the pilot, scalded by coffee hurled by flight
attendants, desperately sought to throw the breachers off
their feet, lacerating arms and legs of passengers as they
thrust with all their might through the cockpit door.
I saw a final scene of chaos and shouts as all that
was just and good clashed in a climactic battle of
ultimate will with all that was indiscriminate and evil…
I heard the plane’s engines roar and screech in
vibrating fury as the pilot full throttled it, causing it
to rise sharply to 10,000 feet before Arabic cries
of “Put it in! Bring it down, down!” filled the air.
I witnessed a flurry of commotion as the buffeted
pilot abruptly inverted the plane onto its back, causing
everyone and everything that was not strapped down
to be hurled against its steel hull and the plane to nosedive
in an ear-splitting shriek toward grass-covered hills
at 580 miles per hour.
And then I saw nothing until one uncomprehending
millisecond later a hellish conflagration of fire
erupted into a once verdant field, consuming everything
and every being who had a moment before defied the odds
to take a final breath.
Only now, having been transported by our tour guide back in time,
did I fully appreciate the immortal words of Los Angeles Fire
Chief Captain Stephen Reuda embroidered in a quilt donated to
the Memorial: “A common field one day. A field of honor forever.”
“We don’t know for sure whether or not they fully breached
the cockpit door,” the Army veteran tour conductor concluded.
“But we do know for certain that they were heroes.”
.