by Steve Vogel
On June 15, 2006—another brilliant, sunny day at the Pentagon—some 300 families members, joined by the Joint Chiefs of Staff, cabinet members, and other dignitaries, gathered at the memorial site. Ground was being broken at long last. Crews were already removing utilities from the site, and the new goal was to dedicate the monument in the fall of 2008.
It had been a long haul to get to this day—longer than expected, nearly five years since the attack. Yet Lisa Dolan, whose husband, Navy Captain Bob Dolan, died in the attack, was at peace with the time it had taken, as were other family members at the ceremony. “The families have always felt it didn’t matter how long it took, as long as it was done right,” she said.
Rumsfeld came striding from the building, accompanied by the official party. The secretary had been determined to see this day before he left office. The days of September 11—when Rumsfeld had captured the nation’s imagination with his heroic rush to the crash site and his bravura performances in the Pentagon press briefing room as American forces overthrew the Taliban in Afghanistan—seemed a distant memory. The Iraq war had been a long and difficult slog. Many failures had been laid at Rumsfeld’s door. The secretary and his top aides were accused of ignoring warnings and not preparing for the long Iraqi insurgency that followed the invasion. More than 2,400 American soldiers had died in Iraq, and no exit seemed apparent. Rumsfeld’s tenure had seen the torture of Iraqi prisoners at Abu Ghraib prison and similar incidents that marked the erosion of long-held standards of American conduct in war. The secretary of defense with whom he was most often compared was the only one who, as of that date, had had more time in office than Rumsfeld—Robert McNamara. Calls for Rumsfeld’s resignation were routine, and he would be ousted before the year was over amid deteriorating public support for the war. Rumsfeld had dismissed the criticism, an attitude that further infuriated his critics and fostered regular accusations that he was coldly insensitive to the costs of the war.
Yet when Rumsfeld spoke on this day about those lost on September 11 and all that had followed, his voice seemed to catch, and he spoke with real emotion. “He still feels it in his heart,” thought Kris Fisher, whose husband, Gerald, an Army employee, died in the attack.
Rumsfeld and a family member pulled off a black cloth unveiling a piece of limestone—one of the original pieces of the Pentagon, salvaged after September 11—that would serve as a memorial marker. The secretary read aloud the words carved on it: “We claim this ground in remembrance of the events of September 11, 2001.” Afterward, Rumsfeld stayed for over an hour at the dusty site, talking to dozens of family members, anyone who wanted a word with him.
Nearby, Abraham Scott lingered too, standing not far from the spot where a bench would one day bear the name of his wife, Janice, an Army budget analyst. He was proud of the families for driving the memorial forward, and he felt sure his wife would have been too. It was hard to be back on this ground. They had worked together at the Pentagon for many happy years, and though he could no longer bring himself to walk into the building where Janice had died, he knew this spot was the right place for the memorial. It was little more than windswept ground with gravel and withered grass. But he could see it, a place where they would be at peace.
For the ages
On January 23, 2003, Army Corps of Engineers blast expert Paul Mlakar appeared at the Pentagon to release the American Society of Civil Engineers’ study on how the building had performed on September 11, 2001. The six-man investigation team, including specialists in structural, fire, and forensic engineering, had finished their work in April 2002, but the Pentagon Force Protection Agency, responsible for the building’s security, balked at releasing the report out of fear that it might provide a blueprint to terrorists seeking to strike again. Engineers argued that the report held important lessons on how to construct safer buildings. After months of debate, the security agency finally agreed to release it.
The report affirmed that the blast-resistant windows added by the Pentagon renovation had saved lives on September 11, and that the new steel framework had strengthened the exterior walls. But the real credit for why the Pentagon performed as well as it did—and why so many escaped—belonged to its builders. “There was a lot about the way the building was originally constructed that contributed to its resilience,” Mlakar later said.
The building had held up so strongly in the face of extreme forces that the engineering team recommended that “the features of the Pentagon’s design that contributed to its resiliency in the crash—that is, continuity, redundancy, and energy-absorbing capacity—be incorporated in the future into the designs of buildings and other structures in which resistance to progressive collapse is deemed important.” These features were fairly typical of reinforced-concrete construction in the 1940s but are not as common today, having been jettisoned in favor of streamlined construction methods that meet safety codes but do not provide the extra protection given the Pentagon.
The building’s structural redundancy came from the robust beam-and-girder system that held up its floors. Floor slabs were supported by beams that in turn were supported by girders, in a crisscross pattern interlocking with the columns. “That two-dimensional network was very forgiving, in that if you removed a column, the load could go in two different directions without collapsing,” Mlakar later said.
Reinforcement bars in the beams and girders extended into adjoining sections, providing continuity that further strengthened the floor. The structure acted as a whole, rather than as individual pieces. Thus—even though about thirty columns were destroyed by the plane’s impact, another twenty were significantly damaged, and dozens more were weakened by the fire—the building bridged the gaps. The built-in redundancy and continuity enabled the structure to transfer the load to stronger columns and remain standing.
Moreover, the Pentagon had an unusual measure of strength thanks to a curious, almost forgotten oddity: Franklin D. Roosevelt’s quixotic hope to turn it into an archive after the war. FDR had insisted that Somervell build the floors strong enough to hold heavy file cabinets; the general ordered them designed to support 150 pounds per square foot, twice the norm. Sixty years later, Roosevelt’s tinkering paid off. The extra steel and concrete and the close spacing of the columns—generally ten, fifteen, or twenty feet apart—gave the building reserve strength that helped it withstand the blow. The plane disintegrated against the “forest of columns” on the first floor, the report noted.
The Pentagon’s columns were particularly strong because the builders used spiral rebar—circular coils of reinforcement steel that wound through the columns like a rib cage. Spiral rebar tends to be used more often in seismic zones, because of the added strength it provides when an earthquake shakes a building. Most modern buildings are constructed with straight reinforcement rods, which require less labor. Spiral rebar was more common in the 1940s, and it is not surprising that architect Edwin Bergstrom and his design team, coming from earthquake-prone California, would favor it.
“It makes a strong column—strong as the dickens,” recalled Donald Walker, the steel rodman who put rebar into the Pentagon’s beams and columns. On September 11, the spiral-reinforced columns acted like shock absorbers against the tremendous lateral forces created when the aircraft slammed into the Pentagon. The plane’s impact and subsequent explosion scoured the cover off about thirty columns, but the core of concrete within the spirals stayed whole. Columns were twisted with dramatic curves—some bent like a bow shooting an arrow—but they remained standing, still bearing their loads.
Two columns in particular made a difference. They stood next to each other along the D Ring, labeled 9 and 11 F, and were directly in the path taken by the plane. They had been hit by the avalanche of aircraft and building debris and were subjected to terrific heat. The two columns were bowed and burned yet continued to support the building at its most critical point, bordering the expansion joint where the collapse broke off. “The spiral reinforcement in those two columns mus
t have been a key factor in preventing a widespread collapse,” the report concluded.
Six decades earlier, Ides van der Gracht might have paced the aisle beside the sweating draftsmen who drew the plans for those columns. Joe Allan and his fellow carpenters could have put the wood forms for the columns together, hammering to the rhythm of the pile drivers. Perhaps Donald Walker’s steel crew rushed to put up the spiral rebar. The concrete for the columns may have been poured under the watchful gaze of the ever-present job supervisor, Paul Hauck, or perhaps the indomitable John McShain himself. Captain Clarence Renshaw and Lieutenant Bob Furman might have roamed the dusty site as the columns went up, looking for any problem before their great taskmaster, Colonel Dick Groves, discovered it. The two columns were built right, and they held, and they made a difference.
The Pentagon had been conceived over a long weekend. Its design had been one step ahead—and sometimes one behind—its construction. The pentagonal shape, like so many aspects of the building, was essentially an accident, born of the speed in which the project was pursued. The construction had been slapdash; columns were missing, concrete pours uneven, drawings wrong or missing altogether. Yet somehow the Pentagon was designed wisely and constructed well. Somervell’s building had proven itself one for the ages.
In trying to reconstruct the creation of the Pentagon from a distance of sixty years, I was fortunate to be able to rely on the groundwork laid by many Army historians. In particular, thanks are owed to Lenore Fine and Jesse Remington, authors of the Army’s official history of construction by the Corps of Engineers in the United States during World War II. While the Pentagon occupies only a small portion of their 1972 book, their research over more than two decades was of enormous value to this book. The interviews they conducted with figures large and small and the documents they left with the Corps of Engineers’ history office are a treasure trove of records on the Pentagon’s construction.
Alfred Goldberg, the Defense Department’s chief historian, first laid eyes on the Pentagon in 1943. His pictorial history of the Pentagon, published in 1992 to mark the building’s first fifty years, is an invaluable resource and served as a road map for many avenues of research I pursued. He and his staff were unfailingly supportive of this endeavor and gave me access to the history office’s many important records. Stuart Rochester, the department’s deputy historian, was a great source of encouragement and assistance. Goldberg and Rochester graciously read early chapters and made helpful suggestions. Their colleague Ed Drea pointed me to important papers gathered by the late Army historian Paul Scheips on the 1967 march on the Pentagon, and he offered much valued comments on portions of the manuscript.
Retired Brigadier General John S. Brown, chief of military history, opened doors for me at the U.S. Army Center of Military History and other superb Army history facilities. Thanks also to CMH archivist Frank Shirer for his assistance. Richard Sommers graciously led me to valuable papers and oral histories at the U.S. Army Military History Institute. At the Corps of Engineers’ history office, archivist Mike Brodhead good-naturedly helped me track down numerous documents and interviews, and Paul Walker and Bill Baldwin also were helpful.
Tim Nenninger was a friendly and exceptionally knowledgeable guide through the modern military records collection at the National Archives; he and his staff, including Ken Schlessinger and Wil Mahoney, pointed me toward many avenues of pursuit. Thanks also to the staff, in particular Robert Parks, at the Franklin D. Roosevelt Library. I also appreciate the assistance of researcher Doris Kinney. At the United States Military Academy, archivist Alan Aimone was very helpful.
I am indebted to Linda Castle for her hospitality and assistance during my research at the George C. Marshall Library, where archivist Joanne Hartog was also of great help. I am grateful to Nancy Hadley at the American Institute of Architects, Andria Fields at the Architect of the Capitol, and Lynn Catanese and the staff at the Hagley Library and Museum for their assistance. Thanks to Adwoa Bart-Plange, who conducted research on my behalf in the John J. McCloy papers at Amherst College.
At the Pentagon itself, I am grateful for much help over the years from Glenn Flood and Bryan Whitman. Brett Eaton with Washington Headquarter Services and Bill Hopper at the Pentagon Renovation Program set up many tours and interviews, and Bill also assisted in finding photographs. Lee Evey graciously allowed me to review his personal papers from the Pentagon renovation, a collection that included many important documents from the aftermath of the 9/11 attack. I am grateful to the staff at the Pentagon Library, a tremendous source of military histories. Special thanks to the many Pentagon denizens—a hardy and good-humored bunch—who told me tales and accompanied me on tours. John Ware took me on a trek to visit the Pentagon’s legendary purple water fountain, now in the mezzanine; alas, the age-old mystery behind its color remains unsolved.
It is impossible to individually thank all the people I interviewed for the book, but I am especially grateful to Bob Furman, a wonderful man who was witness to much history. Alan Renshaw, Ernest Graves, Jr., Richard Groves, Connie Somervell Matter, and Sister Polly McShain graciously shared many stories about their fathers. Thanks also to my friends Lee and Amy Trainer, who put me in touch with Sister Polly and then put up with me during my research through the McShain papers at the Hagley Museum.
I am deeply grateful to the survivors, rescuers, and family members who shared painful recollections of the 9/11 attack.
Like many reporters before me, I am fortunate to work at The Washington Post, where chairman of the board Donald Graham is well-known for his generous support of book projects. Former Metro editor Jo-Ann Armao was very supportive, as was Steve Coll, the former managing editor, who offered invaluable tips on how to organize my material and writing. I appreciate the patience of my editor, Phyllis Jordan. Many colleagues offered encouraging words and good counsel along the way, and I am especially indebted to Rick Atkinson in this regard. As reflected in the bibliography and notes, I also benefited from the fine reporting of dozens of Post journalists over sixty years, covering the birth of the “Dream Building” in 1941 through the 1967 march on the Pentagon to 9/11 and its aftermath.
Post colleagues Brenna Maloney and Laris Karklis gamely agreed to put together the maps in the front of the book, and I deeply appreciate their fine work. I am also grateful to Mike Keegan for preparing Post graphics for use. Thanks also to Mike Jenkins, a longtime friend and talented cartoonist, who enlisted the aid of his brother Pete and their friend Brad Goodwin to create the map of the 1967 march.
Margaret Roth, a longtime colleague, graciously volunteered to give me transcribed interviews she made with firefighters and police officers who responded to the 9/11 attack. Peggy compounded her kindness by going through the manuscript line by line to make innumerable fixes. I owe special thanks to the indefatigable Bobbye Pratt, a now-retired Post researcher, who enthusiastically tracked down people and articles. Eddy Palanzo was also helpful in locating photographs. Thanks also to Russell James for his help.
Rafe Sagalyn, my agent, was enthusiastic about the idea from the start, helping to define the scope of the book and guiding me through every step of the process. I am also grateful to Eben Gilfenbaum for his careful reading and suggestions. Will Murphy, my editor at Random House, shared my vision for the book and was unfailingly upbeat. His assistant, Matt Kellogg, was a voice of calm, while Lea Beresford and Jennifer Rodriguez cheerily kept things moving. Thanks also to Richard Elman, Marc Romano, London King, Carol Russo, and Beck Stvan.
Many friends took turns reading parts or all of the manuscript. Sean Callahan had many thoughtful observations. Ferdinand Protzman gave it a rigorous reading and offered many improvements. Gina DiNicolo saved me from many mistakes, small and large. Jim Auchter offered important perspective. Special thanks to Benjamin Pepper and Becky Sinkler for their encouraging support.
Thanks also to brothers Peter and Stuart Vogel and sister Jennifer Davisson for helping their technologically challenged sibling t
hrough various conundrums. My mother, Joan Vogel, was a great inspiration, as was my late father, Donald Vogel.
More than anyone, I am grateful to my wife and life partner, Tiffany Ayers, who walked every step of this journey with me. Every night, she put her editing skills to work on the pages I wrote that day, greatly improving that first draft and every subsequent one. Beyond that, she was the rock of support for this project, picking up the slack left at home while I worked on the book. My love and thanks also go to my young children, Donald and Charlotte, who offered cheer, encouragement, and company during long hours in our attic office. For a long time, they knew me as the guy who lived in the attic. The happiest part of this project for me was being there to watch them grow.
Steve Vogel
Washington, D.C.
December 2006
To save space, references for one or more paragraphs are often grouped together in a single note. The order of the citations in each note generally corresponds to the information or quotation being referenced. The following abbreviations are used in the endnotes and bibliography:
AAR—After Action Report
ACL—Arlington Central Library, Virginia Room
AIA—American Institute of Architects
ACOHP—Arlington County Oral History Project
AOC—Architect of the Capitol
AP—Associated Press
CEHO—U.S. Army Corps of Engineers Office of History, Fort Belvoir, Va.
CFA—Commission of Fine Arts
CMH—U.S. Army Center of Military History, Fort McNair, Washington, D.C.
CU—Columbia University Oral History Research Office
DoD—Department of Defense
