One of My Friends
Danny Pummill Former lieutenant colonel, United States Army
IT STARTED LIKE AN Y OTHER MORNING. I’d recently come to Washington after leading a battalion command in Fort Riley, Kansas. I was at a Pentagon meeting with Gen. Timothy Maude and we were three copies short of the briefing. Sgt. Maj. Larry Strickland said, “Sir, I’ll run and get a few more copies.” The general said, “No, we’ve got a brand-new lieutenant colonel! Pop over and make some copies. You’re not in battalion command anymore.” Everybody laughed. It was a bit of a hazing.
I went to my desk to get the papers together—and that’s when the roof came down on my head. The walls collapsed. I had no idea what was happening. They’d been doing construction and I figured one of the tanks had exploded. All I knew was that there was black smoke and fire coming out of the hallway and everyone down there was trapped.
I raced down the hall and found a couple of soldiers and a Marine officer. There was a Booz Allen Hamilton computer guy with us, too. We went office to office, telling people to get out. Then the Marine and I tried to get into the burned-out area. The
plane had severed the water lines, so we grabbed fire extinguishers. We could hear people, but we just couldn’t get in.
They all died, everyone who’d been in the conference room with me. General Maude, Sgt. Maj. Strickland, Sgt. Maj. Lacey Ivory, Maj. Ron Milam, Lt. Col. Kip Taylor. Kip’s dad was my mentor, the guy who’d talked me into joining the Army. Lt. Col. Neil Hyland also died at the Pentagon that day. He was one of my very best friends.
Of the 125 people we lost in the building on 9/11, 70 were civilians. There were two ladies who had been there for decades. A colonel grabbed them and broke through walls and rescued them, dropping them into the courtyard. It saved lives having military people there. Most didn’t panic. Everyone knew first aid. Maj. Patty Horoho, who became surgeon general of the Army, rounded up everyone who had medical training. It was impressive.
I was coming around a corner when I ran into a man in a suit. The Marine snapped to attention but I was in a bit of shock. The man said, “Do you know who I am?” I said, “Nope.” He said, “Well, I outrank you and I want you to leave the building.” I refused and we got into a big argument. He finally said, “I’m Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld. An airplane hit the building and these fumes are dangerous. You’ll die if you go into that area.” Later on, after the Marine and I were given the Soldier’s Medal, someone took a photo of me with Secretary Rumsfeld. He’s laughing and pointing at me, saying, “You’re the only guy who ever swore at me like that!”
After the attack, I helped set up aid and services. We went to Congress to change the law so the families could get retirement benefits. I’d planned to leave the Army in 2006, but I stayed until 2010. Then I became acting undersecretary for benefits at the Department of Veterans Affairs. When I left in 2016, I started my own private company, Le’Fant, which helps solve problems at the VA and other government agencies. I’m especially committed to hiring veterans and military spouses. I wouldn’t have done any of that if it hadn’t been for 9/11. I had to help the people who were left.
I have seven grandchildren now and none of them were alive when 9/11 happened. To them, it’s ancient history. But for those of us who were there, it’s something we still think about every night when we go to bed. Even Pearl Harbor seems different to me now. It rips your heart out when you realize all those people in Hawaii were just coming out of their houses that morning and saw airplanes overhead dropping bombs. They weren’t at war. They were just husbands and wives and clerks, all doing their jobs, all supporting one other.
It saved lives having military people there. Most didn’t panic. Everyone knew first aid.