AIR FORCE DIARIES
By Marquita R. Barr
October 7, 2001
It has
been less than a month since I accepted an assignment from the
United States Air Force to work as the Director of the Tax Assistance
Center. After 25 years as a Tax Specialist with the
IRS (and Tax Auditor), I guess I was the natural choice for the
job. I was given 14 days to report for duty on September 24, 2001
. The day after I confirmed by acceptance, the United
States was attacked by terrorists who destroyed the World Trade Center
in the city of New York, killing over 5,000 American
citizens. The military headquarters Washington, DC (the
Pentagon) was also partially destroyed, and there was an attempt
to destroy Camp David, the Presidential sabbatical headquarters .
Terrorists had hijacked commandeered a commercial passenger airplanes,
crashed them into their targets via suicidal attacks, taking the
passengers with them. However, by the time the plane heading for
Camp David had gotten off the
ground, the passengers of that plane had become aware of the
terrorists’ plots, via cellularphone contact with family and news
reports. They bravely, in the face of death, thwarted the
final act. May God reward those angels for their last act of
courage, and bless the souls of all those taken by this terrorist
disaster.
As I write
these words, I am listening to news reports of the United States
attacks on the areas of Afghanistan that house the rebels and their
leader, Osama Ba Laden. Click here for full story
The Air
Force Base, as you may have guessed, was under strict lockdown, so I
was advised a few days before reporting that I would not be allowed on
the Base until 1000 hours 2001Sept24. I gave notice to my then
employers, and headed to Chicago, Illinois to see my new grandson Duane
Randall Meighan, born September 16, 2001 at 6:33pm--- 6lbs 13oz, 20
inches, strong, healthy, wide awake, and ready to rule the world.
The 22 hour, 1200 mile road trip to Chicago was filled with wonderful
scenic displays, back played with reports of the terrorist tragedy.
The utter
joy of seeing my first grandchild, my daughters, and my healthy aging
mother, brightly overshadowed the nations tragedy. After a few
days of grandmother-bliss. I drove toward Washington, DC Bolling
Air Force Base, armed with a good supply of Harold Chicken Shack’s
meals of catfish, chicken gizzards, and chicken wings---and Dunkin
Donut coffee. Due to bad traffic delays in the windy city, my
weariness, and confusion on DC directions, a 12 hour drive turned
into 20 hours. I arrived 3 hours after my scheduled reporting
time. The Air Force Base was locked down tight. As I
approached the front gate for instructions, I was met with a
loudspeaker order/threat “Ma’am, turn your vehicle around and go back”
( a la Robocop). I yelled, “I just want to know where
the visitor’s gate is located” as I drove closer. The airmen
yelled his order again, and after I noticed guns pointing my way, I
backed up and decided to use my cellphone to call the personnel office
for directions.
I finally
got to the visitor entrance and met with Judy McCallom, who processed
me in, and then graciously excused me to retire for the day. The
guest quarters were more than adequate, but I had only 6 days to find
my own personal lodgings, which I did. I am boarding now with a
friend of a friend of a friend. However, without official
military identification, getting on base each day (with a letter of
introduction) has been an adventure.
I ventured off of the base one night to satisfy my urge for Chinese food.
When I returned, the airmen
who checked by letter told me he could not let me on base because I
could not show him cause for coming to the base at 8:00pm. “But I live
on base.” “You live on base?” The only civilians living on
base are dependents of military personnel. Are you…?”
“No, but…” Suddenly, visions of me sleeping in my car until morning
flashed through my mind---Even worse, the thought of calling Col.
Eugene Whitaker, my department Chief, to come to the Base at night,
knowing he probably had a 4:00 am revelry (this would have been a very
short-lived job, indeed), was even less appealing. Showing
my lodging keycard was the only thing that saved me. Two days
ago, I finally got my official identification (the identification
center had ran out of film before). The picture at the heading is
from my ID card. Since I am residing off-base, I do not go on
base except to work.
There are no elevators,
escalators, or ease ramps on a military base, thus, I have been getting
plenty of exercise conquering stairs and long distances between
buildings, as well as Washington DC’s hilly terrain.
Of all my
lifestyle change inconveniences, I missed my computer the most.
After using the base Public Library to update my personal webpages,
LADYLEGEND PLACE and MATHIS MAGIC PLACE
, I decided to start this diary of my new assignment
experiences. For security reason, I will not be able to
give lot of Base detail, but I am sure Washington DC itself has a lot
of interesting stories to be revealed.
