The stories and videos below represent personal accounts of where people were, what they were doing, and how they felt when they heard about the attacks on September 11, 2001.

“Daddy’s Little Girl” – Wendy Ploger Shares Her Story

I wasn’t ready. But he wasn’t ready either. America was not ready. – Wendy Ploger

I was daddy’s little girl, his Wendy-san. Hours upon hours we spent playing catch with a Nerf football, having water fights, and teaming up for our weekly tennis matches. He even used the cloth from my old diapers to wipe the sweat off his brow. We watched silly movies and “The Three Stooges” together. These are memories that I will always have, but new ones shall cease to be made.

My father had recently remarried. What I loved about his wife was that she once told me she didn’t want to try to be my new mom, but rather to be a true friend. They were very much in love. Due to their busy schedules, a honeymoon had been postponed until September 11, 2001. Hawaii was to be their ultimate destination – first class all the way.

I could see smoke billowing from the Pentagon from the sixth floor of my office building. Feeling the same bewilderment and shock that others felt that morning, I was still unaware of the possibility that my dad’s life had ended. It wasn’t until about 10:30 am that I called him on his cell phone to make sure he was okay. No answer. I called my mom from a pay phone while waiting for my husband to pick me up at the Metro. She told me dad and Zandra’s itinerary was found on their kitchen table and their plane was American Airlines Flight 77. At that moment I looked up into the deep blue sky, perhaps searching for a desperate chance to say goodbye or to ask to go with them.

I wasn’t ready. But he wasn’t ready either. America was not ready. There were supposed to be many more tennis matches and conversations about remodeling their house and hearing about the next patent he was working on. Simple things: Christmas, birthdays, drinking beer and watching him light his cannon on the 4th of July. I do these things with him now, but only when I’m asleep, only in my dreams.

Humans have an amazing way of protecting themselves. Something takes over, very much like going on auto-pilot. In the following September days, I managed to get up in the mornings, eat a little, feed the cats. Three years later, I sometimes still feel like I’m going through the motions; just getting through the day.

I take comfort in many things one has to: warm, sunny days, stroking the soft fur of a pet and feeling a father’s love. A memorial is going to be built on the grounds of the Pentagon. While memories of my dad and Zandra will always live in my heart, I will soon have a special place to further reflect on the magnitude their lives had on those of us still living – a place that tells my story.

Elaine Donovan Shares Her Story

Even in his death, Bill continues to have a profound effect on people. – Elaine Donovan

My husband, CMDR Bill Donovan, was interred at the United States Naval Academy columbarium overlooking the Severn River in Annapolis, MD. It was beautiful and warmer than usual for a December day. At the end of his service, I spent time walking alone. I needed time to reflect and compose myself before I could face family and friends at the reception. Though I found comfort in reading the names on the other niches, I struggled with the knowledge that each name represented a man just like Bill… a husband, father, son, brother, uncle, friend.

This knowledge seemed to be too much for me to bear, but as I cried and meandered through the columbarium I noticed some niches had the naval insignia on them. Not only were they fathers, husbands, sons, brothers, uncles and friends, they were surface warfare officers, pilots, submariners and seals. I immediately wanted to do this for Bill. I also noticed the dates on the niches just listed the year of birth to death. This really bothered me as I felt everyone who walked the columbarium like I did should know the day he died. It is a day few people will forget.

A few months later I had a small plaque made. The design was simple: pilot wings and under them the words, “PENTAGON 9-11-01.” I ordered two plaques. I heard embellishments to the niches were not allowed and USNA might take them off. I bought some liquid nails and I was ready. Together with some close friends we went to USNA for some special night ops. We secured the plaque and shed some tears. I put the extra plaque along with the liquid nails in my glove box. I wanted to be prepared in case I ever went back and the plaque was gone. Mission complete, or so I thought.

Every time I went back, the first thing I would do was to make sure Bill’s plaque was there. It always was. The last time I was there, a few months ago, I was nervous because I’d forgotten to bring the backup plaque and liquid nails. What if I needed it? As I got out of my friend’s car, I stood there looking at Bill’s niche. Something was wrong. I got weak in the knees and started crying those deep slow painful tears. Everyone’s insignia was gone, every niche was cleared. All the rows upon rows of niches in the columbarium were uniformly military. All except Bill’s. My eyes are naturally drawn to Bill’s niche. His plaque is there for all to see. I’m sure many passersby have stopped to pay their respects and reflect on that day. Even in his death, Bill continues to have a profound effect on people.

To have Bill acknowledged by the Naval Academy in this way is truly an honor.

Isabelle Slifer Shares Her Story

It was a beautiful day, she remembers. It was the second week of school for her two boys – oldest 15 and youngest 12 at the time – and for some odd reason, she decided not to wake them for their routine, “See you later. Have a nice day” goodbyes. It was the start of what she thought would be an ordinary day and yet, when she got to the Metro, something told her to call home. Her youngest answered the phone and she said, “Have a nice day and tell everyone I love them.”

It was Isabelle Slifer’s sixth day at the Pentagon. Having been an Army Reservist for over twenty years on Active Duty, her new job at the Pentagon was as a Reserved Components Policy Integrator. In plain English, she says she writes policy for the Army Reserve Components. Her office in the Pentagon was 2C450, the section directly above Flight 77’s point of impact on September 11, 2001. In the day’s earliest hours, the office was buzzing and she remembers a Sergeant Major saying, “I hope this day isn’t boring.”

Moments before the plane hit, Isabelle had stepped away from her cubicle and was talking with two officers about the attack at the World Trade towers and what her role might be in Pentagon response. After witnessing the second tower attack on an office television, Isabelle immediately called her husband and recounted the past horrific minutes in New York; she recalls saying, “Don’t worry about this building. We’re in a short building. No one would hit us!”

Soon thereafter, she was proven very wrong. When the plane hit the section directly beneath her, she remembers feeling as if she were watching an action movie. Surreal is the only way she can describe it. “It was a matter of where you were standing at the time,” she said. She feels so fortunate to have been able to get out.

In the days following the attacks, she and other survivors she knew felt a strange range of emotions, especially a tremendous guilt. On September 14, 2001, she and her colleagues got together for the first time since the attacks. She remembers her then boss, Colonel Manske, saying, “I can’t tell you how to pray, meditate or think, but I’ve been doing a lot of praying and God has told me that it just wasn’t my time yet.” That comment or advice put things into perspective for Isabelle and began the healing process for her and countless others.

Isabelle always says, “It was both my worst day and my best day, because that life-changing experience has made me strive to be a better person to my family and to the Army.”

Isabelle Slifer was a Coast Guard “brat” growing up, but claims Buffalo, New York as her home. She is retiring August 31st of this year having served a total of 30 years in the Army. Instead of hosting a get-together to celebrate her retirement, Isabelle has donated $500 to the Pentagon Memorial Fund to honor her colleagues who passed in the 9/11 attacks and to be a part of building a memorial that she feels will be a beautiful one for future generations to enjoy.

Her husband and two sons are doing great. After that day, her oldest son said, “Mom, no matter what time it is in the morning,wake me up to say goodbye!”

The Pentagon Memorial Fund would like to thank Isabelle for her thoughtfulness and generosity. Thanks for making a difference!

Kathy Dillaber Shares Her Story

On our way to the Butterfly Garden, we stopped at the flower shop located on the Concourse of the Pentagon. Kathy Dillaber, a Department of Army civilian working in the Pentagon, purchased a single pink carnation, as she explained to me the difference in security since 9.11.01. “The escalators you came in on used to go straight down to the Metro. Now it’s been blocked off. The concourse is only for Pentagon employees and security has increased notably.”

We made our way out to the five-acre courtyard of the Pentagon as she said with a tear in her eye, “The main thing I want people to know is that I had a great sister. This is her story not mine.” At that moment, she stopped in front of a small garden of pink and red flowers and two small green shrubs adorned with tiny purple flowers that she later explained are actual “Butterfly Bushes.” She kneeled and placed the single pink carnation on a small, stone plaque donated by the staff, family members and children of the Pentagon Day Care Center. The plaque, decorated with a mosaic of flowers and a feather butterfly resting on top, read:

“They are not gone who live in the hearts of others. Shelley Marshall and Patty Mickley. September 11, 2001.”

Patty Mickley, 41-year old Department of Defense civilian also working in the Pentagon at the time, was Kathy’s baby sister and pink was her favorite color. Patty’s daughter, Marie, had just graduated from the daycare center at the Pentagon one week before September 11, 2001. On September 10, 2001 Patty had gone to her daughter’s new school for parent night. Excited to tell her big sister all about it, Patty and Kathy met in the courtyard the morning of September 11, 2001. Patty was wearing a red dress and looked beautiful, as Kathy remembered. It was a gorgeous morning, but both of them had heard the news about the World Trade Center. Feeling uneasy, the last thing Kathy said to her sister is, “…Remember to keep your purse with you today. You never know where you’ll be if they ask us to leave the building.”

Kathy returned to her office in Corridors 5 & 6 and Patty returned to her office in Corridors 3 & 4. Minutes later, Corridors 3 & 4 were hit by American Airlines Flight 77. Kathy had just left her desk to deliver a form when she was knocked to the ground by the impact. Debris was flying in her face. When she got up, she attempted to get her purse, which she had forgotten at her desk. However, she was halted and directed out of the building. She started looking for her sister.

Kathy was looking for that red dress and asking others to look for it as well, and tell her sister that she had gotten out ok. Eight days later, Kathy got word that Patty had been identified as one of the victims.

Our tour continued with a walk down a hall of quilts, past the Pentagon Memorial model and the Crystal Pentagon Sculpture etched with all of the victims’ names (Patty’s was right in the center), and into the Chapel built at the impact point following 9.11.01. As we entered, Kathy said that although she visits the Chapel quite frequently to say her prayers and be with her sister, there was a time she didn’t want to go in because of the bad memories. Now, she proudly points out her piece of the stained glass window that she placed for her organization. “The survivors were permitted to help place the individual pieces in the stained glass windows designed in honor of those who passed. There is a window for each DoD organization affected, even American Airlines as they became the adopted members of the family. It was quite generous of them to let us be involved in that way and it meant a great deal to all of us,” stated Kathy.

We then entered the room of the America’s Heroes Memorial, which will open for public tours for the first time Saturday, September 10, 2005. In the center lies a book, and on every page the picture and story of those lost. Kathy turned to her sister’s page and said, “I don’t know what happened that day… why I got out and she didn’t. But I know that God has a reason – just have to figure it out.”

In addition to the Butterfly Garden and the other memorials to Patty and other victims, students at Garfield High School – where Patty, Kathy and their brother John attended – planted a tree and placed a plaque in Patty’s honor. Patty was a wonderful daughter, sister, aunt, wife and especially mother. She had a smile that lit up the room. She was the soccer mom. She sold Girl Scout cookies. She was the type of person to make lifelong friends with strangers on the Metro. She spent her lunchtime at the daycare center to be with her daughter. She hosted all family dinners at her house and spent a great deal of time with her elderly parents. The people who died at the Pentagon and on Flight 77 that day were men and women planning their retirement parties, sending their children off to college, husbands and wives going off to work together, men and women working for their country. Patty was among them, sending her daughter off to school for the first time, leaving behind her husband, two sisters, brother and parents.

It was especially hard for Kathy to return to work, but as she recalls, the first year she was so busy trying to rebuild and restore what was lost she had little time to focus on healing. Eventually she found herself attending a Pentagon Memorial Fund meeting and finally found a way to channel her desire to honor Patty and all of her coworkers. “All of the family members, members of the design team, builders, committee members, etc. are dedicated to honor this group of innocent people and make sure the memories and legacies of our loved ones are not forgotten. “I will be at Arlington Cemetery with family on September 11, 2005, so when you attend the events in observance of 9.11.01, tell them that you met Patty Mickley’s sister. Tell them how much we loved Patty and the impact she had on so many people,” she asked me to promise in closing.

Kathy has organized two fundraisers in honor of Patty, collectively raising $11,000 for the Fund. She reminds us that one person can make a difference and every little bit counts. “Live every day in honor of our loved ones, 9.11.01.”

Remembering Joe Ferguson

“My memories of Joe are memories of laughter and fun. He had a sharp wit that was punctuated with colloquialisms from his southern heritage. In a word, he was sassy.”

I met Joe Ferguson when we were both students at Ohio University (ca 1985). Joe lived in the same residence hall and on the same floor as I did.

My memories of Joe are memories of laughter and fun. He had a sharp wit that was punctuated with colloquialisms from his southern heritage. In a word, he was sassy. His humor filled the room and permeated the group, wherever he was.

I also remember that Joe loved to dance. He was usually one of the first persons out on the dance floor whenever we had a dance in the residence hall. Madonna had several hits at that time, and her music was a favorite of his.

He had a gift for bringing people together. We were all so happy for him when he got the job at National Geographic. Joe invited a group of us to spend the weekend at his apartment after he was settled there. One of my lasting memories of him is that weekend when he gave us the grand tour of DC.

I remember 9/11/01 as we checked in with family members (cousins) who were living in New York City and Maryland (my brother and his family) to make sure all were out of harm’s way. I remember the local news stories about Flight 93 that crashed in Shanksville, PA–on the top of the mountain near where I live. And then I remember a few days later, getting the phone call from another OU classmate, telling me that Joe had been on the flight that crashed into the Pentagon.

Joe, our group of friends, and I were at OU for two years, all studying in different master’s programs. Each of those two years, our group of friends would pick out a spot on campus and take a photo. In each photo, Joe is right there in the center of it all–as he always was.

Stephanie Dunn DeSimone Shares Her Story

My story is one of complete devastation and attempting to rebuild after my loss. CDR Patrick Dunn and I met in Bugsy’s, a sports bar in Old Town, Alexandria, September 12, 1997. I was amazed by his spark of life and his ability to talk to anyone. I had never met someone who could talk more than me, until then. He was a delight, and someone I wanted to get to know better. We dated for 18 months before he asked me to marry him, and I said yes.

We were wed in October 1999 in a beautiful wedding ceremony in Washington, DC. We were surrounded by all of our family and friends and were very excited about our future together. Two weeks later, we were off to Italy for his tour as the Executive Officer of the USS LASALLE.

Italy was a blast. Lots of fun with the officers, crew of the ship, and their families was had. We learned to accept the fact that we could celebrate anything anytime, since the ship was gone for 191 days of our fourteen-month tour. It was a great time, and one I will always remember fondly.

In December 2000, we returned to the States and Pat began his tour in the Pentagon. We had chosen this tour because we wanted to start a family and Pat felt he could give our family the devotion he needed to give if he had a duty station such as the Pentagon. It meant no time at sea. Needless to say, start our family we did. In August of 2001, we found out we were pregnant and were due in March of 2002. We were absolutely delighted!

Morning sickness was never an issue with me, but complete exhaustion was. It seemed for the first 11 weeks of the pregnancy I went to bed at seven every night, while Pat played around in the house and worked on his “Love Me” room, a room full of his plaques and memoirs of his years in the Navy. On September 10, 2001, I had a burst of energy and told Pat I wanted to stay up and watch “Everybody Loves Raymond” with him. I recall thinking to myself that I had never heard Pat laugh so hard at a television show. He was extremely happy and delighted to be sitting with me and our soon-to-be child. One happy family – that was us.

The next morning, as Pat prepared to leave for work, he made his coffee as usual – adding one ice cube so not to burn his lips while driving – and then he was off. Before walking out the door, he kissed me, kissed our cat and then for the first time, bent down, kissed my stomach and said goodbye to our baby. Off he went in his beat up old Cherokee that he loved so much. That was the last time I saw him.

An hour or so later, Pat called my office and told me to turn on the television because a plane had just flown into the World Trade Center. I remember telling him that he had to have been joking, but I soon found out that he wasn’t at all. My co-workers and I watched in silence as the news reports gave the gruesome details. All of a sudden, a second plane hit the second tower, and for some reason, we knew this was not an accident. All of us went to work canceling the event for the following day. In the middle of making calls, I arose from my desk to go check out the news reports. That’s when I saw it, the Pentagon was ablaze. I screamed, and in my heart, I knew my Patrick was gone.

I stayed at work, as Pat always promised to come and get me if anything should happen. “Stay where you are and I will be there,” he would say. But he never came. So, at 3:00 pm, I left work knowing my life would never be the same.

I waited and waited by the phone. Family poured in from all over the East Coast, as we all knew Pat was among the Angels and we were just waiting for the official word. At 3:00 am, September 12, 2001, the Navy sent a Casualty Assistance Officer, a Command Representative and a Chaplain to my home to give me the news that Pat was missing. All we could do was wait. Four days later, my husband was declared dead, as his remains had been found and recovered. He was gone.

For the next six months, I did everything I could to keep myself happy, as I was afraid the baby would be affected by the events. The doctors and nurses at National Naval Medical Center in Bethesda, MD were the best they could be, making sure both the little one and I were in good health.

On March 15, 2002, I delivered our daughter into this world. She had red hair just like her father and was just perfect. Now each night before we go to bed, we say our prayers and ask God to bless Daddy in Heaven. And I know He does.