Suzanne Rice

Oct 22 2022

The Easter Offensive – Finger in the Dike – 1972

The enemy began their local assault throughout the province. The initial attack in my district was on the National Police headquarters which was within a click (kilometer) of the district headquarters. The Vietnamese Regional Force company in our compound was called in to help. As a Captain, serving as District Senior Advisor, I was the one to request US assets. I quickly got on the radio to our headquarters (HQs) Operations Advisor, who was an Australian major and asked him to rustle up some air support. As the reaction force formed up, I then had my radio telephone operator strap the PRC 77 radio (the PRC 77 is a model number, analogous to calling the issued rifle an M-16) on my back, went to our communication bunker and performed a radio check. I had saddled myself with a bandolier of ammunition, a few fragmentation grenades and a couple of star clusters, grabbed my interpreter and joined the departing relief force.

As an interesting side note, my interpreter was rather good with English, to include understanding colloquial phrases. As we worked together during my tour, he helped me acquire some fluency, to include Vietnamese colloquialisms and slang – which proved useful when dealing with village & hamlet chiefs. Along with all my gear and my M16 rifle, I sidled up to the Vietnamese officer in charge and we cautiously headed out the gate toward the police headquarters. We got halfway there, when the point team took heavy fire from an enemy machine gun. We scrambled off the road behind whatever cover we could find and attempted to assess the situation as the Vietnamese troops returned fire. The Vietnamese lieutenant was on his radio and I unhooked the handset from mine and advised HQs of our situation and asked how we were doing on air support. The major advised me that he had gotten lucky and a fire team of two AH1G Cobra gunships was enroute. No sooner did I say, “Roger, out” then I got a call from the lead gunship, Stormy 26.

I advised the pilot of our situation, identified our location on the ground and where I thought the enemy was. As the two Cobras flew overhead, the enemy machine gun stopped firing, presumably to avoid giving away the position. The pilot reported that he didn’t see any enemy and would make another pass. Unless the enemy fired though, he would have a hard time identifying their position. Without really thinking, I jumped up, started firing and ran a few yards across the road to another covered position hoping to get a better view of the enemy. Just before I reached the other side, the enemy opened up again. Fortunately, they missed, as I dove into a shallow ditch next to the road. Apparently, their fire was enough to alert the Cobras, who called to get clearance just before proceeding to make a coordinated gun run on their newly acquired target. I had conferred with the District Chief regarding US fire support earlier that month when we first started getting reports of possible enemy infiltration. This was a new protocol implemented because of the My Li incident which had occurred a little over three years previously. Basically, it required confirmation that the target was indeed an enemy, so that innocent civilians would not be engaged. Based on local intelligence sources, the Dat Do District Chief was confident that civilians had abandoned their homes and were no longer in a hostile situation. The American teams had to rely on their counterparts, since we had no way of verifying the status ourselves.

I gave the Cobras the go-ahead and they made several passes using their 7.62 mm miniguns to neutralize the target. Once they finished their runs, the point team cautiously began moving forward. Receiving no enemy response, the remainder of the element began moving toward the NPHQS. As we passed the apparent machine-gun position, identified by a significant spread of shell casings, we also noticed what appeared to be blood trails, confirming the success of the gun runs. Once we reached our objective, the troops cleared the building and surrounding area, collected up personnel and equipment and we returned to our compound.

Over the next several days, consistent enemy contact was reported in the three major districts of the province: Duk Thanh in the northern section, Xuyen Moc in the eastern section and my own Dat Do in the central part of the province.

During the afternoon of 24 May 1972, the Vietnamese district intelligence officer, who previously had been assigned to a Vietnamese Ranger unit, and who spoke English rather well came to me to announce that enemy forces were in the process of covertly moving into positions to surround the district compound with the intent of attacking after dark in an effort to overrun the compound and raise the Viet Cong flag. Additionally, other enemy forces were similarly positioned to do the same in Xuyen Moc and, Duc Thanh. There was a South Vietnamese resettlement center, Suối Nghệ, located inDuc Thanh that was a local centerpiece of the “success” of Vietnamization (President Nixon’s program to transition the war effort from Vietnam dependency on US support to self-sufficiency) and consequently a premier target. I got as many details from him as I could and quickly contacted higher headquarters, identified the problem and requested air support. I waited to hear back, while assisting the resident RF company leaders, through my interpreter, in shoring up our defenses. On a side note, prior to the drawdown, advisers would attend a short training program at Fort Bragg to learn the language and culture of the Vietnamese, so it was easier to work with them. By the time I was assigned, the program had been discontinued, so whatever Vietnamese I could pick up from my interpreter & translator would be useful.

Then in late afternoon I received good news, in the form of a “radio check” request on our tactical frequency, from Sundog 77, an Air Force Forward Air Controller (FAC), who had been dispatched from Bien Hoa airbase. I apprised him of our situation and he responded by saying he would take a close look. After orbiting our area in his O2 Skymaster, he gave me the grim news.

There appeared to be a few hundred enemy located around the southern half of our perimeter. He advised me that he would call for air support but given the close proximity of the enemy to friendly troop locations, known as “danger close”, the Air Force solution would be somewhat limited. He also indicated that he would rely on me to help locate the enemy as best I could under the circumstances. I gave it some thought and realized that doing so from a ground fighting position would be nearly impossible without exposing myself to enemy fire. The solution to that problem came in the form of an observation tower that was affixed to the District Chief’s house and was approximately 20 feet off the ground. With the radio, my rifle, a set of binoculars and wearing a flack vest and helmet, I made my way up the tower and got into a somewhat fortified perch, consisting of 6 x 6 pressure-treated wooden posts, at the top. Fortunately, at that time the enemy apparently did not see me, as I drew no fire. The view was improved, and I was able to see into the jungle just beyond the cleared perimeter of our defensive position. I crouched down to minimize my exposure. The sound of the observation aircraft

flying around overhead was somewhat comforting – maintaining a link to US assets, not otherwise available. A short while later, Sundog notified me that he had an inbound aircraft that was outfitted with CBU 24 cluster bomblet units. These were unguided bombs that contained over 600 tennis ball sized BLU-26 sub munitions that could be pre-set for contact explosion or air bursts. Since the predominant threat was dismounted infantry, the Air Force ground crews pre-set the bombs for airburst detonation, maximizing the shrapnel effect on the enemy. The aircraft was an A37 Dragonfly, a straight wing lighter jet aircraft that was originally designated the T37 as a trainer.

**BLU26 Aircraft** (rogue adventurer.com)

As requirements for air support in Vietnam changed, the aircraft was adapted to carry ordinance and provide air support in constrained environments. As the Dragonfly was approaching, I called down to my RTO and told him to alert the Vietnamese to pop smoke just outside of the defensive wire labyrinth surrounding the compound. As the smoke grenades detonated, marking our perimeter, the enemy began firing what turned out to be an 82 mm mortar at the tower, to neutralize its observer (moi). Fortunately, for me

their aim was not very good and I remained unscathed, although some fragments did zoom by.

The aircraft released its payload and the explosions were deafening. The Forward Air Controller made one more pass over the target and was satisfied that it had been neutralized. As it was approaching darkness, the Vietnamese decided to wait until the morning to search the area. What they found was interesting…

Oct 22 2022

When Training For War is Over – 1970

On 22 August 1970, ten days after I had arrived in Vietnam, A Troop, 3^rd Squadron, 4^th Cavalry Regiment to which I was newly assigned left base camp for six weeks of combat operations. Our primary job was to conduct “search and destroy” operations to find and battle with the Viet Cong. In practice, we also performed other missions such as providing security for logistics convoys and serving as a quick reaction force for other units in the field. Each platoon had an area each day that they were responsible for searching for signs of enemy operations or encampments. Mostly, we conducted these operations riding in our M113 Armored Personnel Carriers and Sheridan Light Tanks, but occasionally when the terrain did not allow, we dismounted and conducted short patrols. Because the American role in war was coming to an end, the enlisted men often called these “search and avoid” operations. With some significant exceptions, most soldiers preferred to leave the enemy alone and return home free of battle scars. Officers and career noncommissioned officers, on the other hand, were expected to be aggressive in making contact with the enemy, and therefore were frequently at odds with those they led.

My first night in the field, the troop commander elected to have the entire troop encamped at one location. Maybe because I was the new lieutenant, he directed that I lead a dismounted ambush about three hundred meters east of our location along a creek bank. Following my Ranger training, I picked six platoon soldiers, gave them instructions for the operation, and inspected to make sure everyone had sufficient ammunition and grenades. I had ordered one soldier to bring a Claymore mine, an essential weapon for small ambushes during the Vietnam War. The Claymore mine when activated, sent dozens of steel balls flying at high-speed, disrupting the enemy formation, and killing or wounding everything in its path.

We left for our ambush site at sunset, arrived and began setting up our position. At that time, the soldier with the Claymore and I went forward to place it in position. It was then that I discovered that the carrying pouch for our Claymore did not include a trigger or activating device. This device is connected to the Claymore by a long electrical wire, and without it, the Claymore is useless. I had to decide whether to spend my first ambush without Claymore protection or go back to the troop night position and get the firing device. I chose the latter, and so one of the men and I hastened back in the near dark. I had called on the radio to alert those on guard at the troop night position that we were coming, but it was still a risky path to take. Any of the guards that had not gotten the word could have mistaken us for the enemy as we pushed our way through the neck high elephant grass. That would have quickly ended my first day in the field. As it turned out, we got the device, made it back to the ambush site, and spent a rainy and miserable night without any enemy contact. In hindsight, it was clearly a “green Lieutenant” decision to go back after that firing device. In the next 12 months, I would experience too many incidents in which American soldiers mistook their own as the enemy under similar situations, resulting in “friendly fire” casualties.

The following week we were conducting platoon operations when I heard a loud explosion in the distance. Voices suddenly begin crackling on the troop command radio net. “Alpha 26, this is Alpha 6. What was that explosion?” After a long pause, Steve, the second platoon leader, responded in an unintelligible, mumbling voice. As the troop commander asked him to “say again last transmission,” we heard shots fired in short bursts from what sounded like an US Army M16 rifle. After another long pause, Steve, breathing heavily, finally responded. “Alpha 6, this is Alpha 26, Three of my men and the scout dog went down a trail a few minutes ago. I heard a loud explosion. I don’t know what happened.” The troop commander immediately responded in a firm voice, “This is Alpha 6. Dismount and take a squad down that trail and report back to me on what you find”. Everyone on the command net waited anxiously for a response but it didn’t come. The troop commander called again, “Alpha 26, do you Roger?” Again, there was silence, and after a long pause, I heard the troop commander in an agitated voice calling the platoon sergeant who was second in command “Alpha 24, Take a squad and go down that trail yourself and do it NOW.” The platoon sergeant immediately responded, “Roger Alpha 6”. A short while later, the platoon sergeant reported that he had found the patrol. It appeared that the scout dog had hit a tripwire, detonating an enemy mine. The explosion had killed the dog and handler and one of our infantrymen. The third soldier who had been firing his M-16 to get our attention was mortally wounded. I expected that my fellow platoon leader would be relieved of his duties, but he wasn’t. Like me, he had only been in the field a few weeks, and this was his first exposure to combat. My very experienced troop commander apparently took this into consideration as he made no changes in the platoon leadership. It gave me some assurance that at least with my current boss, mistakes were allowed. I never learned what really happened that day as neither Steve nor my troop commander every spoke of it. Except for the loss of life, it was as if it had never happened.

On 4 September, only my second week in the field, I was leading a platoon reconnaissance operation with our M113 track vehicles. Mines were the primary danger in Vietnam by that time in the war. Consequently, our practice was to fill the bottom of our vehicles with boxes of ammunition and other gear in the hopes this extra material would provide additional protection against a large blast. This left little room inside the vehicle for all the crew, so most armored troop carriers had two or three soldiers riding on the top deck. In my unit, a canvas seat had been welded on the left rear of my command track for me to sit and control the platoon. Sitting next to me, I had a fire support coordinator, a sergeant, whose job was to call for artillery fire, when necessary.

We were moving in a wedge formation along high ground marked by a path used by Vietnamese farmers to get from the rice paddies back to their village. I had my command track straddling the path to stay in the middle of the formation. I noticed a small tree about 8 feet high along the trail. My driver, not wanting to run over the tree, steered right to go around it. When he did, the left rear of the vehicle where I was sitting moved over the path, and there was a massive explosion. My next memory was lying on the ground on my back, unable to sit up because of the pain. Concerned that we were being ambushed, I reached around trying to find my rifle when several of my men ran up to give me aid. As I lay there, I saw that the entire left rear of my command track was missing. I would later learn that we had run over a large mine and that my artillery coordinator had been blown in the air and had landed on top of the armored vehicle, breaking his arm. I had apparently been catapulted into the air and had landed several feet from the vehicle on my back. A medical helicopter evacuated me to a field hospital, where an x-ray showed that my pelvis was slightly dislocated. My medical records recorded it as a compression fracture of my lower spine. That was just one of my painful injuries, as every part of my body hurt. The energy from the explosion that had severely damaged the vehicle had also passed through my body, with the concussion bruising every muscle.

**One of Several of My Platoon M113’s**, **Destroyed by a Mine**

The doctor decided I would not require hospitalization as I had no broken bones or open wounds. Instead, I would remain in the field hospital until I could walk. To this day, I remember him directing two orderlies to put my arms over their shoulders and carry me to a patient bunker. As I got off that X-ray table, the pain was tremendous, and I screamed at the top of my lungs for them to “go easy.” They assisted me to a heavily sandbagged bunker. It was a field hospital and there were no nurses or medical beds, only medics to care for the few patients there

The only pain medication the Army had at the time was Darvon, which was not much more potent than extra strength aspirin today. It was excruciatingly painful for me to go to the bathroom or sit up or even eat my meals. I lay in bed for three days before I could walk. I was flown by helicopter back to our base camp at Cu Chi, where I recovered for another two days before catching a resupply helicopter back to the field. As I limped slowly from the aircraft toward the encampment, one of the senior Troop NCOs stared at me, not saying a word. His expression said it all; “Welcome to the Vietnam War Lieutenant.” My pelvis was so sore that for the next few weeks, I could not sit down. Instead, I stood- in the cargo hatch of my vehicle as we maneuvered across the rough terrain, causing more bruises to my ribs. The artillery sergeant and I would receive Purple Hearts in November, but we both would have preferred to have been spared this award.

The same week I was wounded, my classmate and fellow Armor Officer Hank Schroeder, who I had just served with at Fort Riley, would suffer devastating wounds from multiple mines while trying to aid his injured tank crewmen. He would be awarded the Silver Star and spend two painful years in Walter Reed Hospital. Hank and I would serve together again at Fort Knox, and despite his significant physical handicaps resulting from his wounds, he would complete an eighteen-year Army career before being medically retired. Four years after retirement, exactly twenty-one years to the month after he was wounded in Vietnam, those wounds would finally take his life.

Sep 11 2022

Something Out of Nothing: My Days as an Inventor – 1976

My days as an inventor started early, probably around age seven or eight, with my tying springs on my shoes to make running easier. Then, about a year later, I repurposed a paper shopping bag as a parachute. One summer, when my family was visiting the family farm in central Kansas, a childhood friend and I climbed up to the hayloft in the barn. Staring at the ground, about 9.5 feet down from the loft floor, I calmly slipped the shopping bag’s handles around my arm and jumped. Surprisingly, in now thinking about it, I landed safely in a crouch (I hadn’t yet learned about parachute landing falls). My only problem was that the eggs in my pocket, the ones we had just found in the hayloft before my jump, were now scrambled in a way that was definitely not going to have them make it to tomorrow’s breakfast table!

On to my time in the Army. While with the Military Equipment Team in Cambodia (operating from the U.S. Embassy Compound in Phnom Penh), we discovered that the paper encryption sheets we shared with the Cambodian National Armed Forces were very likely compromised. What to do, especially when perhaps the most critical of our own communications was just between two U.S. contractors out in the boonies coordinating food, ammunition, and energy shipments? One solution was to set up two similar but separate encryption systems: one for the Cambodians and one for all the Americans (limited by the Cooper-Church Amendment to only 50 in-country military advisors at one time). Such a solution would be not only expensive (cost of paper and distribution) but difficult to administer (which system was being used; would it also be compromised?). Enter my recollection of numerical codes (which I later discovered to be similar to George Washington’s Culper Code Book). Every month we would have the two contractors meet and establish a new form they would fill out and use daily. For example: First Number: Rice shipped (tons): x. Second Number: 105 mm shipped (rounds): y. … Twenty-sixth Number: Gasoline shipped (gallons): z, and so on. These numbers would then be encoded in the currently used encryption system. Bottom-line, the U.S. Army Security Agency quickly blessed our scheme, and the perplexingly critical communications security problem was solved.

Getting out of the Army after my five years, I went on to graduate school in business. Within a month and with dramatically decreased earning power, I confronted the high cost of haircuts, somewhere between five and ten dollars for long hair, not the previous fifty cents for a military buzz-cut.

**The Inventor** (University Daily Kansan, 15 Nov 1976)

A quick calculation revealed that the net present value of paying for monthly civilian haircuts over a lifetime was the equivalent cost of a new Cadillac. So just exactly what did these new 1970s hairstylists do that propelled their prices into the stratosphere? The most popular style, the layered cut, meant that the stylist cut the hair the same length all over the head. Simplistically (in terms of vectors and basic physics I learned at West Point), that meant paying for the talent of holding the scissors at a fixed length from the head. With necessity being the mother of invention, my first attempt at doing this for myself in the mirror resulted in an uneven cut. It wasn’t a bad job, but nowhere close to perfect, especially given that I tried only to take off a little bit. My next move was to put a paper cup as a spacer between my head and the scissors. Well, hey, that kind of worked. My final move was to concoct a device that comprised: a scissors with the pin removed and replaced with a bolt that had a threaded hole in it; a threaded rod about a foot long; and a concave drawer pull that would rest on my head, the pull connected to the threaded rod, which ran through the scissors. The overall effect was similar to a piano’s swivel chair. You’d swivel the scissors up and down the rod to the cutting length you desired. Voila, the “SWISSORS” (swiveled scissors) was born!

Over a couple of years, I sold many thousands of them through mail order and international sales, garnering all sorts of free press, including Newsweek and Playgirl. As well, I managed to take sales data I collected and turn it into several academic articles.

**Ad for Swissors in Playgirl Magazine**

Then came an enticing offer. The scissors company customizing the scissors for me noticed the volume and began discussing taking over the design and paying me royalties. Their biggest customer was Kmart, so I knew the potential was large. Then our communications strangely and suddenly went dark. After a little while, I enquired. Unfortunately, my champion, the company’s president, had died, and his son was taking over. Furthermore, as I discovered, the son’s aim was to sell the business or shut it down. Well, it shut down, and so did my SWISSORS sales. By that time, I had already taken a “real job” with Rockwell International and had no time to devote to running a business on the side.

I should say that during this early period, I also invented an air control device, which I dubbed “Airball” for its basketball implementation in a table-soccer-like game. Bally was interested in it, as was a highly successful invention think tank. Regrettably (as I later discovered), the think tank, after seeing my concept demonstrated, secretly filed for its own patent. I suppose this was all moot, as soon afterward Atari introduced its Pac-Man game, blowing away most anything that might compete with it.

My “fame,” if you could call it that, during this early period also attracted some attention in the way of suggestions for other patents (for a small percentage, of course)! In my “great wisdom,” most of these I quickly discarded. One was from a friend who said that adding a vacuum to the scissors would both pull up the hair to the desired length, cut it, and suck away the messy hair strands. Who would want that? Apparently, lots of folks (“The Flowbee”). Another friend (from the Air Force Academy) suggested adding Velcro to sneakers for easy tying. Who would want that? Apparently, everybody for the next twenty years. He also suggested a method to use a person’s own body weight as the basis for a home gym. Who would want that? Apparently, lots of folks, even to this day!

Well, during my subsequent corporate years working with various teams, I did manage to contribute to some noteworthy product successes, probably the best of which was Rockwell’s Third Generation of Modems. While I was Product Planning Manager at Rockwell Semiconductor’s Telecom Group, our new products took our group from $17M per year to $100M/year, subsequently going to a $1B/year for over a decade before the division was sold off. Another success, this time at Harris Semiconductor, was my noticing that our $1M/year royalty payment for using another company’s patent was now unwarranted, as our new design was markedly different. Voila, we just saved $1M/year (where a penny saved equaled a penny earned equaled having to sell ten pennies worth of product to earn that one penny)!

Moving to my own manufacturers’ representative firm also helped produce some “world-beater” products, most of which came about by listening to customers aching to have a problem solved and then finding a manufacturer who could introduce the right product. Again, find a need and fill it!

During my work downtime over the years, I’ve also been known to come up with some time-saving ideas. For example, on the way to getting my Extra Class Amateur Radio License, I invented a mnemonic scheme to “learn” Morse Code in an Hour (or even 10 minutes; it’s now free; you can search for it online). Depending upon the person, learning Morse Code can take many, many hours. In any case, my technique enabled thousands to quickly get their ham radio licenses.

(Note: Learning Morse Code is no longer needed to get an amateur radio license, but, as I’ve noticed in a number of movies, it’s a valuable skill that can definitely help folks save the world from alien invasions!) I’ve also discovered some concepts that were later taken to the bank by others independently conceiving them as well. The most notable example is the Atkins Diet.

A concept that I’ve recently discovered and am calling the “Bahr Stretch” has dramatically enabled me to mostly overcome a repeat-use injury (hip tendinosis) that’s been bothering me for ten years, despite only limited improvement from previously having seen a dozen professionals. My approach appears to have also worked for a crick in my neck from having too many times tried to start a power washer, as well as for pains elsewhere on my body from holding prolonged pretzel positions while working elsewhere on my house. Whereas before, I could only spend 15 minutes in a chair before I’d have to get up and move around due to the aforementioned hip problem, I attribute the “Stretch” to helping me to overcome it and complete a new book I’ve been working on for years (Strategic Advantage: How to Win in War, Business, and Life).

In parting, let me say that I like to record and systemize what I do in the way of inventing, so I’ve come up with “Instant Productivity: 101+ Ways to Create,” which I included in the back of one of my earlier books (Strategy Pure and Simple). Of course, and again, what I try to do is something I learned in our physics courses at West Point: think in terms of basic needs (not a drill but a hole) and forces (vectors). And, of course, with good timing and luck to solve new problems, maybe a Force will be with you…and me…sometimes coming out of seemingly nothing!

Aug 22 2022

9-11 in Georgia – 2001

by Suzanne Rice

Like every American who was alive on September 11, 2001, when the anniversary comes around each year, I remember the horrors of that day felt even from far away in the state of Georgia. It was like any other day when it began. Early, Bill was off to work at Third U.S. Army at Ft. McPherson. Our elder daughter was working at the Archdiocese of Atlanta Office of Refugees and Migration in downtown Atlanta. She rode each day to work with Bill since there was a MARTA stop right at Ft. McPherson; it was easy for her to hop on the train and get to her office each morning from there. Our second daughter was in Irving, Texas, just beginning her Senior year at the University of Dallas (UD). I had gotten our eighth-grade son on the bus for school and the house was quiet. I spent some time answering emails in our office. When I completed that task, I walked into the bedroom, flipped on the television just as the second plane flew into the World Trade Center and heard Jon Scott on FoxNews say, “This must have been deliberate.” It was hard to believe even when I watched it with my own eyes. Even as I listened to the commentary, I was stunned and wondered what to do.

Within seconds, the phone rang. It was our daughter in Texas. She had turned her radio on and the program that she expected had been preempted. She had tuned in just after 9 (8 a.m. at UD), so she had come at the end of the emergency announcement. “Mom, what is happening? Do you know?” Of course, I was as confused and perplexed as she was. I tried to reassure her, and then, we ended our conversation because she needed to finish getting ready for class.

When I recovered my sanity, I thought to call Bill to see if he was aware of the situation. Yes, they had put the news on the televisions there and were trying to figure out what was going on and what to do there at the Headquarters of Third U.S. Army, and the Headquarters of Forces Command. He said he would be needed there for the time being. (He had retired from the Army in 1996 but was serving as a contractor there creating the first Mobile Command Post for the Army – https://thedaysforward.com/inventing-the-mobile-command-post-1995-2002/

After the impact of Flight 77 into the Pentagon at 9:37 a.m. and soon after that the crash in Shanksville, Bill called me and told me that they were getting intelligence about what else might be happening, what other sites might be next. He said he wanted our daughter to get out of downtown Atlanta; it would be evacuated soon. There was speculation that Ft. McPherson, Hartsfield Airport and even the CDC might be other targets. He told me to call our daughter and drive to the Ft. McPherson MARTA station to pick her up and get her out of there. We would not be allowed into Ft. McPherson, where in normal times we went weekly to the Commissary and PX. Security at Ft. McPherson became immediately stringent and would remain at a heightened level for months into the future. Not knowing a thing about the attacks, she was stunned when I contacted her, but grabbed her purse, walked to the MARTA station and got on the train. It was as I drove to get her that I heard the radio announcer say that the North Tower had collapsed – it was 10:38 a.m. We got out of there immediately and drove right back

home, driving mostly in silence as we listened to the radio commentary and tried to come to terms with what was happening.

Like every other American citizen, I was reeling with the events of the morning. When we got home, I began to wonder about our son. Of course, he was in no danger at the Middle School only blocks away from home, but I wondered what they were going to tell the students. If it was shocking to adults around the nation and world, how would the youngsters react? What should I say to him when he came home at the end of the day? Would Bill be home to explain further? I kept tuned in to the news all day trying to make sense of the horrors of the day. It all seemed impossible. When our son got home, he said that his science teacher, in the last class of the day, had let them watch the television news so he was pretty well-informed by the time he got on the bus for home.

We three spent the rest of the day glued to the news and wondering when Bill could come home. He wasn’t integral to any official Army planning, but he had spent five years as the Third U.S. Army Chief of Plans and then, G-3, so he was there as an extra mind to help evaluate information that was coming in. It was late that night, when there had been no other attacks that day, that he arrived back home again. It was a harrowing day for all Americans even as far away as Georgia. We Will Never Forget.

**Reaction from the Atlanta Journal Constitution** (ajc.com)

Epilogue: Having been stationed in the Middle East several times working with military members from Saudi Arabia and Kuwait and having been the Third Army G-3 with their area of operation located from the Horn of Africa throughout the Middle East (except Israel), Bill thought we needed to understand better what had happened to the U.S. He was well aware of the significance of the date of September 11 to Islamists and how connections to particular dates were important to them. What else should we know? Within a day or two, Bill made a list of books for the Rice family to read. We could each choose one of the books to read so that we could talk about what we learned. Here are some of the books he chose for us: Judith Miller’s God Has 99 Names, Bernard Lewis’s Islam and the West, Thomas Friedman’s From Beirut to Jerusalem, Benjamin Barber’s Jihad vs McWorld.

Aug 22 2022

The Good Life…until 9-11-2001

by Pat Wance

A job change had us returning to northern Virginia from New Jersey in the early 90s and by the late 90s, we started to think about where we would like to retire…New England—no, too much snow, OK/Texas—only one of us would be going and it wouldn’t be me, PA—one of those stone homes near a lake or my fav…south to a coastal retreat.

We traveled to many of those places however, through an A-2 connection, found a great place, a 3-bedroom, rear unit condo with a lap pool (shared with the front unit neighbor), in Virginia Beach one block from the ocean (yay me). We purchased it in

**A Spectacular Day at the Beach, Not Unlike 9-11**

October of 2000. Still unsure if we would actually move there, we decided to put some sweat equity into it, visiting at least one weekend a month to steam off wallpaper, scrape popcorn ceilings and find contractors to make necessary changes.

As the winter ended, the spring weather made the VA Beach property more attractive and by summer, we decided to put our house in Vienna on the market and make the move permanent.

There were 2 boxes that had to be checked;

Services for our mentally-challenged daughter and as it turned out, once in the system we found success equal to what was available in Fairfax County.
Denny was not ready to retire and after a brief job search was offered the position of executive director in a Norfolk law firm.

We all know what it is like moving into a new place, and Denny spent many of his off hours getting us settled. The contractors completed their work. I was able to finalize Kelly’s transportation to her job at Eggleston Services, a non-profit that hires adults with disabilities. I knew that employment would be out there for an RN, but more sweat equity had to be put into our home and some of

that fell on me. I spent my days painting every door, window frame and baseboard in the house. The doors alone took 3 coats. I didn’t complain because I was so happy to be living the dream of a beach house.

The morning of 9-11, I was doing the usual morning routines (breakfast, seeing Kelly off to her waiting van, tidying the kitchen, laundry, etc.) and finally I could gather the newspaper from the previous day, a damp rag and retrieved my clean, beveled edge paint brush, great for “cutting.”

The telephone rang and Denny was on the line asking me if the TV was on. I had turned off one of the morning shows a half hour before. “What’s going on?” All he would say was turn on the TV. I saw one tower smoking and a few moments later the second plane slammed into the other tower. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. I could hear people around him reacting to what they were watching, and some were upset—the Norfolk building they work in is credentialed as and also called the World Trade Center. It’s not a tower but still very distinctive to that part of the city bordering the Elizabeth River.

**The Other World Trade Center – Norfolk, VA** (downtownnorfolk.org)

Suddenly, my euphoria of owning a place near the Atlantic Ocean came crashing down. Fear and panic were setting in rapidly. I felt exactly like I did when I heard, as a teenager leaving a high school class, that President Kennedy had been shot. What was happening? Are we at war but with whom? Who would do this to us, the USA? The World Trade towers were filled with businesses. Why would they be attacked?

Then more news came in about the Pentagon and the sudden crash in Shanksville, PA with a similar plane.

Like everyone else, I couldn’t separate myself from the TV. When the towers started collapsing, we all knew that sadness was next to follow. Even in the best of circumstances, the thousands of people in those offices could not escape in time. Perhaps, a few made it out. What about the first responders? Are they safe?

So, my thoughts of painting a few more doors and maybe sneaking some moments on the beach later in the afternoon seemed unreasonable and inappropriate. On such a beautiful day both here and in NYC, how could this happen? Denny said many of the staff were upset and requested leaving the office which was understandable. We spoke to our son who was in his office building several stories above Fairfax, Virginia and he could see what he assumed was many people leaving their places of work. Usually, the traffic died down after 9:30 but now showed busy streets and highways.

That was my experience on that fateful day and every detail remains clear. I still feel blessed that we could live where we do surrounded by great friends and neighbors. Walking near the surf usually brings a feeling of peace and serenity. That wasn’t happening for a long time. Those pictures of the falling towers, the damaged Pentagon and the scarred earth in PA are etched in our brains but time passes, and we still have to deal with the present.

When I read about the days after Pearl Harbor and during WWII, the one thing that I admire was how the country pulled together as a whole. The American people were united on so many levels and I envied that sense of togetherness in a common cause. The days and months after 9-11 brought that same feeling of camaraderie. Flags were everywhere, people bowed their heads and prayed for lives lost and the safety of the first responders.

**Flags Everywhere to Remember the Lost**

The NY firefighters and rescue teams were joined by teams from other parts of the country. All of them had the support of the American people. It is evident that some good did come out of that tragic time and lasted for a while.

My experience on that day was not dramatic and maybe not worthy of being shared but it is what I remember. We did not lose anyone close to us from that day, thank God. And, in fact, know of a fellow who once worked with Denny and was coming to work late at the WTC because of a dentist appointment. He happened to see the first plane hit a tower, turned and left the area as fast as he could.

We still live on this great street, take our Lab Abbie to the beach so she can retrieve her baton in the ocean and occasionally enjoy sitting with our feet in the sand, usually with friends. Abbie is getting older but so are we and I feel blessed for our lives here. I’m certain none of us, who were aware of what was happening on 9-11 will ever forget it.