Flight 93 National Memorial

 

Flight 93 National Memorial (all photos by me unless noted otherwise).

My recent trip across Pennsylvania, from Philadelphia to Pittsburgh, included three days of leisurely driving across the state. Along the way, I stopped at the Flight 93 National Memorial outside Shanksville. I wondered whether the visit would be worthwhile, especially since the Visitor Center was closed due to the federal government shutdown. I left thankful I had made the stop, as the experience was quietly profound.
 
The memorial recalls one of the most tragic and heroic moments of September 11, 2001. That morning, forty passengers and crew aboard the hijacked United Flight 93 realized what was happening and acted together. Their stand prevented the al-Qaeda extremists from reaching their intended target, though at the cost of every life on board. The crash site became a place of national mourning and remembrance.
 
Congress authorized the memorial in 2002, and an international design competition followed two years later, drawing more than 1,000 submissions. In 2005, the jury—comprised of family members, design professionals, and community leaders—selected Crescent of Embrace by Paul Murdoch Architects. The design evolved into the circular form seen today, emphasizing the flight path and place of impact. Working with Nelson Byrd Woltz Landscape Architects, Paul Murdoch Architects transformed the site of a tragedy into a landscape of environmental and symbolic healing.(1)

Aerial plan view (source: Flight 93 National Memorial — Paul Murdoch Architects)

Entrance to the closed Visitor Center.

View back toward the Visitor Center from the overlook.
 

Minimalism has become the accepted language of contemporary memorials, and the Flight 93 Memorial follows suit. Tall concrete walls and a black granite walkway trace the flight path, directing visitors toward an overlook above the crash site. Below lies a field of wildflowers, designated by the National Park Service as the Sacred Ground. At the edge of the hemlock grove, a sandstone boulder marks the location of Flight 93’s impact, though visitors see it only from a distance. The simplicity of the materials and the clarity of the geometry allow the landscape itself to carry meaning.
 

Wall of Names. The Visitor Center commands the high ground in the distance.

The Wall of Names stands along the flight path. Forty panels of polished white granite rise in sequence, each inscribed with the name of a passenger or crew member. The wall is straightforward in its form, and its presence is unmistakable. Walking its length, one feels the accumulation of lives remembered, each distinct but joined. The wall ends at a gate that frames the view of the crash site, linking the names to the place in a solemn, direct way.
 
What struck me most was the quiet. The only sound was the wind across the fields and through the trees, and even that seemed to deepen the hush. Visitors moved in silence; even a busload of schoolchildren remained respectfully quiet. The atmosphere carried the weight of memory.
 

The Tower of Voices.

The Tower of Voices, a ninety-three-foot structure holding forty wind chimes—one for each of the passengers and crew—stands at the entrance. When I visited, the tower was silent. The wind was steady, but the chimes did not move. Whether locked or awaiting stronger gusts, their silence seemed fitting, reinforcing the quiet that defined the entire site. The tower, while striking, is one part of a composition whose scale is measured in miles and thousands of acres. The Wall of Names, the flight path walkway, the overlook, the restored wetlands and groves of trees—all work together to create a memorial landscape that is monumental yet restrained.
 
My high regard for the Flight 93 Memorial is personal, limited since I’ve visited only a handful of other contemporary memorials. Still, among those I have seen—including the 9/11 Memorial at the site of the former World Trade Center in New York, and the Vietnam Veterans Memorial in Washington, D.C.—this one stands out. It honors the heroism of the forty and transforms a scarred landscape into a place of healing. It is both vast and intimate, monumental and quiet. I left with a deep respect for what was accomplished here. 

(1)    I was not previously familiar with the work of Paul Murdoch Architects. This surprised me, given how impressive the firm’s portfolio is, which includes civic and cultural projects.