(Publisher’s note: On the 25th anniversary of the terrorist attacks on Sept. 11, 2001, we honor the memory of those who lost their lives when hijacked planes crashed into the World Trade Centers Twin Towers, the Pentagon and a field in Shanksville, Pennsylvania.)
Sept. 11, 2001, started off as just another Tuesday.
Steve Latour had parked his car in Lot 610 in Stafford, Virginia, 45 miles from the Pentagon in Arlington, before slugging his way to his office that sunny morning.
During an early morning smoke break, he listened to Justine, an Army corporal, gripe about having to switch offices to fill in yet again for someone who’d called in sick. She barely got a bathroom break when she was in that office, so she was smoking as many cigarettes as she could in anticipation of a long day.
Then it was off to closed-door meetings in the office at 3D631 with his boss. While a lot may have taken place inside that session, it was what happened outside that gained the attention of the world.
Co-workers didn’t interrupt, but as soon as Latour came out for a break, the staff began telling him about what was happening in New York City; two planes crashing into the World Trade Center’s Twin Towers.
He was talking to a staff sergeant when the room began to shake at 9:37 a.m. as American Airlines flight 77, which left Washington Dulles International Airport for Los Angeles, hit the west side of the Pentagon.
“He was actually talking to me when the plane hit. He was so shook that he spilled a little bit of his coffee on me and hightailed it out the door,” said Latour, the Deputy for Force Management at Army Cyber at Fort Gordon.
In 2001, he was in the midst of transitioning from a decade of active duty to the civilian workforce. His office was “right around the corner from the face where the plane came in,” he said. The plane struck the third and fourth corridors.
No alarms or sirens went off in their offices; the plane crash had knocked out those systems
At that point in time, I did not feel like I was in danger. We were not hearing the sirens, not hearing any news. It felt like a short earthquake and sounded like somebody had landed a plane on the roof, not like somebody flew a plane through the walls of the same floor I was on,” he said.
They busied themselves going through the protocols of shutting down computers and locking file cabinets while ensuring that Paula, a coworker with a physical disability. made it out safely.
Once outside, Latour saw a bigger picture – pieces of aircraft on the highway nearby and a massive plume of black smoke filling the air. At times, the wind would shift the smoke, and a silhouette of a plane would appear.
Emergency vehicles began to flood the scene as thousands of Pentagon employees stood outside in parking lots and on the grass near the River entrance.
Getting Paula to safety was still a concern, so they flagged down a police officer. She typically rode a bus to work so he took her to the bus station.
Then, Latour had to find a way to get back to his vehicle. He took a sheet of paper out of his bag and wrote “610” on it and hitched a ride. Roads were blocked and Latour later heard that people sat on I-95 south for eight or nine hours.
The driver of the car who picked Latour and a couple of other Pentagon employees took back roads to make it to safety. There was only one cell phone in the bunch and lines were jammed with people trying to make calls.
Latour’s wife, Cathy, had spent three hours wondering if she was a widow. Steve Latour’s office was in the Pentagon, but he didn’t spend all his time there. His job required him to travel around the D.C. area. And she certainly had no idea where his office in the Pentagon was based on a photograph shown by news outlets.
“She was out of her mind and then the calls started coming in. ‘Is Steve ok? We heard about the Pentagon.’ She was hoping against all hope it was going to be me,” he said. “My brother called. My brother sounds a lot like me. When she heard his voice, she thought it was me calling her. It shattered her mind.”
He finally got a call through to her. Because he had no idea if he’d be able to get another signal, he asked her to call family members of those he was riding with.
Once he made it back home, he and Cathy picked their children up from school.
Getting through Sept. 11 was only part of Latour’s story.
Many times over the past 25 years, he’s been aware of how close he came to losing his life that day. He also doesn’t forget those he knew who died.
“I lost 22 people that I knew. That is hard. It’s even harder knowing how I lost them, knowing how I found out I lost them,” he said.
One hundred eighty-four people including 58 on the American flight died at the Pentagon on Sept. 11. As the names of the dead were released, he recognized many immediately. With others such as Retired Master Sgt. Max Beilke and Retired Sgt. First Class John Chada, he recognized them from their photographs. They were two of the men he talked with on smoke breaks. And as for Justine, that last minute move to fill in for another administrative assistant saved her life. The officer and noncommissioned officer she would usually sit next to died that day.
Latour threw himself into his work after 9/11. He started later that day, accounting for people who worked there, and he was at work in a different building on Sept. 12.
“It took almost 10 years before I’d really open up about it,” he said.
It was about 10 years before he could go to the Pentagon memorial and visit each of the 22 benches commemorating the men and women he knew.
On each anniversary, he and Cathy hug each other and thank God they are still here. Family often reach out to them. They watch coverage of 9/11 observances.
“And we just renew our pride in America. A lot of what I wanted to talk about was the positive, the fact that we are very resilient and we’ve moved on, both my family and the country as a whole,” he said. “One thing I would have to be a little dismayed about is how quickly we seemed to have lost what we gained that day. You couldn’t go anywhere after 9/11 without huge displays of patriotism everywhere. Flags were waving. (People said) God bless America, America’s strong, America’s resilient. Most everybody seemed to be on that bandwagon of American pride. It was a huge renaissance for a short while of pride in America. To see where we are now as a country just hurts. In my mind, I still have that pride. So much of me is rooted in my service and in that day, but I can’t lose that pride.”
Although the events of Sept. 11, 2001, remain fresh in Latour’s mind, he realizes that for many it’s a date from their history books.
“I have people that I work around that were not even alive during that time or perhaps they were toddlers,” he said.
Charmain Z. Brackett, the publisher of Augusta Good News and Inspiring: Women of Augusta, has covered Augusta’s news for more than 35 years. She’s won multiple Georgia Press Association awards, is the recipient of the 2018 Greater Augusta Arts Council’s media award and was named best local writer by readers of Augusta Magazine in 2024 and 2025. Reach her at charmain@augustagoodnews.com. Sign up for the newsletter here
