The Day the World Came to Town: 9/11 in Gander, Newfoundland Read Online Free PDF

source for information anyway. The pilots had access to commercial radio stations, while the controllers were working the screens.
    Dwayne Puddister, a controller for ten years, was working “high altitude,” meaning planes above 28,000 feet. By the time they came into his territory, most planes were already committed to landing in Canada, so Puddister didn’t offer them a lot of options.
    “There is a crisis in the United States and airspace is closed,” he’d say. “You can land in either St. John’s or Gander. You have thirty seconds to decide. After that, I’ll decide for you.”
    Less than a minute later Puddister would come back to them.
    “Have you made up your mind?”
    If the pilot tried to stall, Puddister would make the decision.
    “You’re instructed to land…” And then he’d fill in the blank. The word “instruct” carries a lot of weight in the vernacular of pilots and air-traffic controllers. As a matter of civility, pilots and controllers normally use the word “request.” When a controller uses the word “instruct,” it’s the same as an order. A pilots who refuses to comply can lose his license.
    One pilot of a private jet, after being given a choice between Gander and St. John’s, started arguing with Puddister, telling the controller he wanted to press ahead to his original destination in the United States. The pilot was flying a Gulfstream V, one of the most expensive and luxurious corporate jets ever made. It was clear to Puddister that the pilot wasn’t aware of the attacks in New York and Washington.
    “You will not be going to the United States today,” Puddister said. “You are instructed to land in St. John’s.”
    “You have no idea,” the pilot argued. “We have well-to-do people on board.”
    “ You have no idea,” Puddister shot back. “I don’t care who you have on board. You’re going to be landing in St. John’s. Now I have no time to deal with your foolishness.”
    Fellow controller Reg Batson was even more blunt with the pilots.
    “Anyone trying to enter U.S. airspace,” he warned, “will be shot down.”
    Batson was juggling ten times the number of aircraft on his screen that he’d have under normal conditions. As a result, he urged the pilots to stay alert. Broadcasting on a channel for all of the pilots entering his airspace, Batson confided his concern and made an unusually frank request.
    “There’s a lot happening,” he told the pilots, “and it’s going to be hard to keep track of all of you. Pay attention to your proximity alarms,” he continued, “and keep looking out your windows for other aircraft.”
    Pilots were on their own as to what they would tell their passengers. They could lie and announce they were landing in Canada because of minor mechanical problems; they could say one of the passengers was ill and they needed to land at the nearest airport for medical reasons; or they could tell the truth.
    Whatever they told their passengers, nearly all of the pilots decided to wait until just before they were ready to land to announce that they would be landing in Canada. No sense provoking a possible terrorist on board into action, they all reasoned.
     
     
    T hirty minutes after asking for guidance from Lufthansa’s base in Frankfurt, Captain Knoth still hadn’t heard back from anyone. While he continued to wait, Knoth summoned the plane’s chief purser into the cockpit to brief him about the attacks in New York and Washington. He told the purser not to discuss what was happening with any of the other flight attendants, and to certainly keep the news from the passengers. They were still almost two hours from Canada and Knoth didn’t want to spark a panic, or worse, provoke any terrorists who might have been on board. He ordered the purser to barricade the spiral staircase leading to the cockpit and the first-class section of the plane. He told him to use the food-and-beverage carts to block the access to the stairwell and lock