9/11 in the Sandhills and Cowboys in Full Shock
By Shad Sullivan
I am angry. I am angry that we sent our heroes to far away places to die in vane. I am angry that our elected officials have lost sight of liberty. I am angry about evil and vile corruption in our country. I am angry that we have lost respect around the world. I am angry at our peers for their lack in demanding excellence, morality and justice. I am angry that we have handed over our freedom. But…. I vow to always love my country, my state and my community. I vow to never forget those who perished defending my freedom. I vow to stand for all that is good and right. I vow to fight for my child’s future. And I vow to stand in liberty and the constitution of the USA……so help me God.
I will never forget…….I hope you don’t either. Now is the time to stand and save this country. . The following story is my account of 9/11.
The following was written Sept. 11 2013
Twelve years ago this morning, I saddled my horse at 3am and was headed west in a long trot by four. I was managing a ranch for my dad on the southern edge of the Nebraska Sandhills in Garden county just west of the little burg of Arthur. As I remember, it was a very crisp morning and the layered scent of moisture combined with the aroma of dying sunflowers made for a clean feeling. It's a smell that I believe only a native to the Sandhills can probably savvy. My good friend and neighbor had sold his yearlings and we were to deliver them to the scales by eight or nine. To get to the west side was an 8 mile trot and as fresh as my horse was, that far in the deep sand was a good thing. By the time the sun started up I was about half way across and by the time she showered her rays there was a pretty good frost covering the upper part of all forage. There really is an unexplainable feeling of cleanness on mornings like these in Garden county. And it's a fun time of year. When all the neighbors agree to help each other "gather their harvest." It's a generational tradition, a proud tradition, a tradition in which every facet of help, no matter the age or ability, joins together to get the job done.
The gather began on the far west side and those salty fat steers were scattered up, down, around and in every hole contained in those hills. It took us a bit to get them gathered into one unit and that was when the matriarch of this generations old family ranch informed every rider that we would "just ease 'em to the scales." When Margaret spoke, cowboys listened. Before we knew it we had the steers across the scales and ready to load with no major problems. As usual the job was uneventful and highly successful. That however, was about to change, at least-kinda. The bull haulers, as we like to call them, were all parked a mile or so down the road so as not to get in the way of the weigh up. This was normal so when we were ready for the trucks we sent a man down the road to retrieve them and start loading. I noticed as the first truck turned and headed up the drive that he was heading in at an unusually quick pace but I went about my job and didn't take another look. I trotted my horse down the alley to throw a load of steers into the shipping pen and await the truckers instructions on numbers and orders and such, when I noticed the clammer of a large group of people just standing around the loading chute. I thought it unusual that a trucker was talking to so many men in such an animated way. Even more unusual was the owner, buyers, bull haulers, hired men and cowboys all huddled together visiting so intently with each other. Rarely do you see a mix in the chain of command as I did that day. Hmmm, strange I thought.
There were about six of us cowboys waiting and wondering what the hubbub was all about at the chute. Several cowboys, to include myself, had mentioned several times at the slow pace of things but we went on joking and ribbing each other as cowboys do. Even the lone Australian female helping us out got in on the action. Finally, while the first truck bumped the chute, the owner of the cattle and another trucker came back and simply, but very much in a panic, stated that "America is under attack." Stares of shock and total silence retreated straight back to him. After what seemed like eternity I spoke up and said, "what?" As if they were joking. However, I knew instantly this was no joke. Not at all.
There was no panic by the men amongst me. And only the Australian showed a measure of unraveling. And even though she was about to be married to one of our compadres, she made it clear that she was ready to go home.....to Australia. Her husband to be, very firmly told her to pipe down so we could hear the happenings. At that moment, we learned that the World Trade Center had been hit, the pentagon attacked and the word was that several airliners were in the air high jacked. That was all we had. Nothing less, nothing more. Understandably, there were questions as to what we were going to do with the cattle and if the banking system had gone into immediate failure. So, quickly it was decided that we would treat the shipping day as normal, even though there was absolutely nothing normal from that point forward. We were a posse of cowboys in full shock, the joking had stopped, the ribbing had stopped and the visiting had stopped. Everyone of us had the same thing on our minds, yet we continued to load truck after truck as if we were robots. Never had I ever heard such silence on a shipping day. Looking back the only thing I still hear is the sound of cloven hooves stepping up into an hollow aluminum trailer floor. I heard no cattle bawling, no men hollering, no visiting taking place. It seemed as though the whole world had just shut down completely, much like in the full chaos of war when the shocked soldier hears nothing. As I watched the last truck head down the dusty dirt road, I was in that moment, in a world of thought all alone. I was not a native to these hills and I wondered if I was where God really wanted me to be.
To this very minute, the feeling I had when James told us the news puts chills up my spine. Like a flash of lightning it hit me hard and dramatically and then it was gone. Instantly I knew we all must keep it together. Terrorism was something that happened worlds away. It didn't affect me and the word "Islam" was nary a thought in my life, that is until September 11, 2001. After the trucks were gone everyone hurriedly loaded up their horses and belongings and packed into whatever ride they could latch on to. We all headed up to the house across the road. Normally, we would be excited and happy that our feast of a lunch was just minutes away, but today that was that last thing on our minds. Of course, the lady of the house had lunch prepared but she also had every form of communication on that she could find. Now in the Sandhills, life at that time anyway, was a little behind so our only form of information was an am/fm radio and a television with rabbit ears. You can bet though, that lunch was barely touched and every eye and ear was at the height of their senses. Even us cowboys knew life had changed that day, changed forever.
The mass of confusion and news reports had me pretty well On edge. I was one of the fellas who had seen a lot in the west, but the east didn't mean a thing to me. To be honest I didn't even know what the World Trade Center was, much less had I ever saw it. I decided to leave the men I had shared this experience with and head on home. It had been a long day on my horse and I still had to ride about a mile home as I didn't have my rig that morning. At least alone in my own home I could make some sense of this, right? So as I quickly unsaddled my horse and turned him out to roll in the sand, for one second i wondered if animals somehow sensed things like this. Probably not, then I went in and glued my eyes to the television.
It was a barrage of information and I was on overload. The only thing I really understood was that we were at war with an evil enemy and that I was one mad cattleman. A little neighbor lady pulled into the yard and I knew she didn't have a tv so I invited her in to watch mine and neither of us would be alone. She had heard about the attacks through the mailman I believe. And she stayed for hours, deep into the night. I remember taking a break from the news and going out to sit on my porch. I remember being overwhelmed, I remember the grandeur of the Sandhills and as I sat on the porch I remember a very large 4x4 pickup with the FBI emblem on the front door panel drive by heading north. I recognized immediately that this pickup was unusually fortified, and though I thought I was crazy myself I knew it was exactly what I saw. I later learned that there were only two airplanes in the air above the United States, Air Force One and my neighbors up the road who were still checking tanks in their old puddle jumper. They knew nothing of the attacks but the radar knew every move they made. Apparently, they met the big dawgs that evening. I remember the word was that people had actually jumped out of buildings, I remember that the President was under protection and had landed in central Nebraska. I remember praying for our leaders, for our country and for our soldiers who, on that very day, knew they had fresh marching orders. We, of course, were at war.
I also remember my best friend in Texas calling me and asking me if I was ready to fight for our country. Wholey I remember telling him , "hell yes," and that being the end of conversation. I remember my dad calling late into the evening to check on me and see if I knew what was happening. I told him yes, we visited about the day and considered our own options if the financial system were to fail. Luckily, we had our financial hold in place, but even that wouldn't protect us from a total system collapse. My dad was a man of worry, a man of panic you might say, but on that day I remember my dad being rock solid, calm and extremely collected. I remember a feeling of confidence when I hung up the phone with him. Unusual, to say the very least. To be honest as the hours turned into days, other than a few stories of inspiration, despair and heroics i really dont remember much more, however, I do remember my President. That week, he became my hero.
As I recall watching my President sit in a classroom full of school children in Florida while being told his country was under attack, I remember his control but I also remember the position of his mouth and the look in his eye. After seeing this footage on television it became easy to understand how his life changed that day, but it was even easier to understand that we had put a true leader into office and it was clear to me that God had who He wanted, where He wanted. I remember in his address to this nation his declaration of crusade. I remember the heat he took for using the word "crusade" as it meant a holy war against Muslims in the Islamic culture. I vividly remember saying, "hell yes" and "your damn right" this is a crusade. Any man with sense knew then that's what it was and knows now that's what it is. The greatest memory that owns the largest part of me during that time, however, is when my President took to that mountain of rubble. At that moment, he was not only the leader of the free world, he was also you and me. He was a common man, with a great sense of responsibility. He was a man with fear and hurt, anger and regret. He was a man with fortitude, perseverance, promise and love. I found it ironic that those mountains of rubble, once incapable of ruination, was the place where my President stood tallest. A mountain where he promised a Nation, torn with raw emotion, hurt and indescribable anger that he understood us, that he loved America and that he would lead us to victory. As my President stood on that rubble I remember sobbing. I sobbed for a critically hurt nation, I sobbed for spiritually broke families, I sobbed for loss of life that was and was to come. I sobbed for those who saw things no man should see and I sobbed for a President who had the weight of the greatest nation in the world bearing down on his shoulders. But, I also sobbed for joy, for conviction, for pride and for the love of a country that I call my home. I literally sobbed because never had I been so proud to be an American. Something about my President standing on a mountain of twisted steel, cement, debris and even bodies of common man gave me a hope and a love for this nation that I had never known before.
May we never forget the very worst attack on American soil. May we never forget those who perished. May we never forget the families of the fallen, the volunteers and heroes in the midst. May we never forget the soldiers for their service, the soldiers for their sacrifice and the soldiers for their lives. May we never forget the man who stood on the rubble. May we never forget our founding fathers and their vision. May we never forget America and her grandeur, that she stands for freedom and for all things good. Most of all may we never forget God, the God above all. He giveth and he taketh away.........May God Bless America!