I thank the distinguished chairman for yielding and congratulate Congressman Ackerman on this resolution. Madam Speaker, I rise in support today on the anniversary of 9/11, 2001, and to pay tribute…
I thank the distinguished chairman for yielding and congratulate Congressman Ackerman on this resolution.
Madam Speaker, I rise in support today on the anniversary of 9/11, 2001, and to pay tribute to the over 3,000 Americans who lost their lives in New York, at the Pentagon, and in Pennsylvania.
Let me remember that day through the life of one man, a retired air traffic controller, Mr. John Werth, a constituent who was on duty that day at the Major Air Control Center located in Oberlin, Ohio, in our Ninth Congressional District of Ohio. His professionalism and attention to duty that terrible day saved hundreds, literally thousands of lives, though in the end he was not able to prevent the crash of United flight 93, which went down over Shanksville, Pennsylvania, and in which 40 of the lives lost that day remain forever in our memory.
In today's issue of USA Today, which I shall include in the Record, Mr. Werth's photo and story appear on the front page. It is appropriate that after all these years some of the heroic stories of that day become more fully available to the public. Mr. Werth's clearheaded efforts, under great pressure and amid great national confusion, diverted aircraft away from the highjacked plane, saving lives. As professional air traffic controllers in the employ of the Government of the United States, he and his colleagues worked hand in hand with our military to do the best they could under the most trying of circumstances. His three decades of experience served America well and cannot be overstated. He, and I know his colleagues across our Nation, acted with courage and dispatch. And we all respect them deeply. They carry with them in their memories of that day the transmissions from those cockpits. There is no question he and his colleagues literally saved thousands of lives by safely landing thousands of flights across this country. They avoided midair collisions and, for their grace under pressure, deserve every recognition and medal of honor the American people can bestow. They hold our admiration, they hold our gratitude, and they hold our respect for their patriotism and attention to duty. We are forever indebted to them.
I thank the gentleman very much.
On behalf of the American people and certainly the citizens of Ohio who remain extremely proud of John Werth and his colleagues and his air controller associates across our country, please let the record show we extend our abiding thanks on this historic day. We extend our deep remembrances to the families and communities still affected. And we ask God to bless America and help us lead the world to a more peaceful day.
[From USA Today, Sept. 11, 2008]
7 Years Later, the Terror Is Still Vivid
(By Alan Levin)
Oberlin, Ohio--He spent most of his life controlling
airplanes. But on this day seven years ago, United Flight 93
was beyond control.
Cleveland Center air-traffic controller John Werth had
never heard anything like it--the sounds of an animalistic
struggle crackling over his radio. He heard screaming,
hollering and two guttural groans coming from the cockpit.
The horror of one of the four 9/11 suicide hijackings was
playing out, Werth tells USA Today in his first public
recounting of the day that forever changed America.
``I lost 40 people that day,'' Werth says of the desperate
efforts he and his colleagues made to communicate with Flight
93 and keep other planes away from it until the jet crashed
in a rural Pennsylvania field.
Today, the story of that flight is well known--in books,
movies and tales of heroism about the passengers who tried to
retake the jet from four al-Qaeda terrorists, and probably
prevented an attack on the White House or U.S. Capitol. For
Werth, it's been a vivid--if largely private--reality. He was
there. He heard it all.
Werth's account provides new details about what happened as
the hijacking unfolded and how the chaos in the skies caused
alarm and confusion for controllers and national security
forces.
For seven years, Werth, 61, hasn't told his story publicly,
initially because he was not allowed to because of a
government subpoena related to the prosecution of al-Qaeda
operative Zacarias Moussaoui, and later because Werth didn't
want the attention. Now, Werth's ready to discuss it and set
the record straight.
It was Werth who heard the transmission from Flight 93 that
suggested a bomb was aboard. The transmission, in a thick
accent and broken English, likely was from hijacker pilot
Ziad Jarrah, the 9/11 Commission determined later.
The bomb was apparently a bluff, a threat the hijackers
used to try to control the passengers.
At the time, Werth says, it created a new level of alarm
among the controllers clearing other planes out of the
wayward path of Flight 93, which had departed from Newark,
N.J., that morning and flown into Ohio before making a U-turn
toward Washington.
What if, Werth wondered, the hijackers had a bomb--maybe
even a nuclear device? How far would Werth have to keep other
jets from a nuclear bomb's shock wave? Twenty miles? Thirty?
Every time Werth turned other planes away from Flight 93,
the hijacked jet seemed to surge toward them, he recalls,
raising questions about what the hijackers were trying to do.
At the time, he knew that some passenger jets were missing
and that one had hit a World Trade Center tower in New York.
``I'm saying, `What is he doing?' '' Werth recalls. `` `Is
this about a midair collision.' '' an attempt to ram another
passenger jet with Flight 93?
All the while, uncertainty gripped the nation--and
Cleveland Center, which oversees a wide swath of the nation's
skies between Chicago and New York.
``Something was really off''
That morning began routinely for Werth as he sat in front
of his radar screen and radio, surrounded by maps and
computers. Soon, the news began trickling down to him.
Two jets were ``lost'' over New York. Someone said a small
plane (actually a jet, it turned out) had hit the World Trade
Center in New York. A supervisor told him to try to contact
American Airlines Flight 77, which had gone missing over
Kentucky.
``That's when I knew something was really off,'' he says.
He was also told to keep an eye on Delta Air Lines Flight
1989, which had taken off from Boston. Amid the confusion,
controllers in Boston worried it was connected to the jets
missing in New York. Those jets, American Airlines Flight 11
and United 175, also had departed from Boston.
Finally came word that a second plane, a large jet, had hit
New York's twin towers.
The pilots of Flight 93, headed west to San Francisco from
Newark, arrived at 9:24 a.m. in Werth's control sector, a
roughly 100-by-100-mile patch in the Cleveland area that
handles only high-altitude traffic. The Boeing 757 carried
seven crewmembers and 37 passengers, including the four
hijackers. Within four minutes of arriving in Werth's sector,
according to the 9/11 Commission Report and other government
documents, the hijackers had launched a violent takeover of
the jet.
During the struggle, one of the pilots tried to make a
distress call or inadvertently switched on the radio's
microphone, allowing Werth and other planes in the area to
overhear what was happening aboard Flight 93.
Werth says most of the sounds of the struggle were
unintelligible. There were screams and groans. Werth recalls
turning to another controller. ``I looked at him and said,
`Dave, did that sound the same to you as it did to me?' He
just kind of looked at me wide-eyed and nodded.''
He knew another flight was probably under attach, but which
one? ``Somebody call Cleveland?'' he radioed. No one replied.
Thirty-three seconds later came a second broadcast from the
cockpit. It also had the sounds of a struggle, but this time
Werth made out a few words: ``Get out of here. Get out of
here.''
About that time, Flight 93 descended about 700 feet. By
then, Werth was pretty sure the flight had been hijacked.
What were the hijackers up to? Why do they want to be over
Cleveland? Why are they this far west? I thought at first,
well, you've got the Sears Tower (in Chicago) straight
west,'' he says.
There were no procedures or training exercises for such an
emergency, Werth says, so he made it up as he went along. He
asked other crews whether they had heard the scuffle over the
radio. When they replied, he knew they were still OK.
The hijacked jet became erratic. It sped up and started
gaining on another United flight. Werth commanded the second
jet to turn right. Seconds later, Fight 93 turned to the
right, too.
Minutes later, as Flight 93 climbed from 35,000 to 41,000
feet, Werth told Delta Fight 1989 to turn right to clear it
away from the hijacked jet. Then Flight 93 made a 180-degree
turn back toward the east, forcing Werth to move the Delta
flight back out of the way. ``Delta 89, we're gonna go the
other way,'' he radioed.
As Flight 93 passed over Akron, headed by that time in the
direction of Washington, Werth heard a supervisor call out
that a jet had just struck the Pentagon.
``It's the Delta!''
Before United 93 had even checked in with Werth, a
supervisor had asked him to watch Delta 1989, a westbound
flight from Boston to Los Angeles. It was 60 miles east of
his sector, flying behind the United jet.
Werth has never been sure who called the facility to warn
about the flight or why, and other accounts have been murky.
The flight was a Boeing 767 like two other hijacked flights
out of Boston. It would have been logical to suspect that it,
too, might have been a target.
As Werth struggled to keep other jets away from United 93,
he had to turn the Delta flight several times. The pilots
responded normally. He couldn't be sure of anything that day,
but it seemed a safe bet that the Delta flight hadn't been
hijacked.
However, someone in the military seemed to have mixed up
the Delta flight with the hijacked jet. A supervisor rushed
up to Werth and said, ``It's the Delta, it's the Delta!''
Werth recalls. She told him that a military liaison on the
phone had confirmed that the Delta jet was hijacked.
Werth told her he was pretty sure United 93 had been
hijacked, not the Delta one. A few moments later, she came
back.
``He's fine--at least for now,'' Werth told her.
After consulting again on the phone, she returned again.
``They said it's a confirmed hijack and a bomb threat,'' she
told him. It was United 93 that had made the bomb threats,
Werth thought. That convinced him they had to be confusing
the two flights.
``Tell them they're full of it!'' Werth says he replied.
``I thought, `God, don't (have military jets that were being
scrambled) go after the wrong plane.' ''
At 9:44 a.m., the Delta pilots requested a change of course
from Werth. The same concerns about their safety had been
passed on to the company, and dispatchers had ordered it to
land as soon as possible in Cleveland.
As it turned out, the military was in no position to shoot
down Delta 1989, but Werth didn't know that. He followed the
flight on radar until it landed safely.
Fight 93 didn't make another radio transmission after 9:39
a.m.Werth watched on radar as the jet crashed near
Shanksville, Pa., at 10:03.
A bond with Flight 93
Werth retired in 2003 without ever having made an air-
traffic error during his 32-year tenure, according to the
Federal Aviation Administration, a remarkable record in an
era when computers automatically track when planes get too
close together.
He says he has focused his life on his wife, Mary Kay, and
his passion, golf. He says he has watched with occasional
outrage as he has been portrayed in movies and books about 9/
11 by people who had never spoken to him.
Today, he will attend a memorial service in Shanksville for
the crew and passengers of Flight 93.He's not sentimental or
emotional about that day, but he feels a bond with the
victims.
``It's hard, when you're a controller, to lose an
aircraft,'' he says. ``When there is absolutely nothing you
can do and you're not in control, it's doubly hard.''