Because of the four-hour time difference, the cataclysmic events of Sept. 11, 2001, on the East Coast were well under way as most Alaskans awoke. But despite the horrific news, people in Anchorage went to work and school for another day of business as usual.
Because of the four-hour time difference, the cataclysmic events of Sept. 11, 2001, on the East Coast were well under way as most Alaskans awoke. But despite the horrific news, people in Anchorage went to work and school for another day of business as usual.
That changed at 9 a.m. A message-transmission company in Maryland picked up the letters "HJK" -- a code for hijacked -- from Korean Air Flight 85, a Boeing 747 with 215 people headed over the North Pacific Ocean and bound for a refueling stop in Anchorage.
Soon fighter jets scrambled from Elmendorf Air Force Base to intercept the plane. Air controllers sent coded messages intended to determine whether the jet was in danger. The crew set their radar transponder to 7500, the signal for a hijacking.
Gov. Tony Knowles recalled spending the rest of the day in the equivalent of a war cabinet meeting with the Alaska National Guard and communicating with Lt. Gen. Norton Schwartz, who was in charge of the Alaska Air Command at the time.
"There were some very tense moments as the plane was heading toward Alaska," Knowles said last week. "The military assumed it was either coming into Anchorage or, more probably Valdez. The thinking was that, as there had been an attack on America, the oil pipeline and terminal might be targets."
While officials pondered whether a fifth suicide plane was about to strike Alaska, the governor, in Juneau, was also concerned with a personal issue. "Our daughter, Devon, was working on 23rd Street in Manhattan. That's about 25 blocks away from the Twin Towers, but we couldn't get through to her and that certainly raised enormous concern."
Anchorage Police Chief Walt Monegan ordered the evacuation of large buildings downtown and sent police vehicles to divert traffic away from the area. BP Alaska cleared out its high-rise headquarters in Midtown, sending most employees home.
In Valdez, the trans-Alaska oil pipeline terminal was also emptied of workers and oil tankers were ordered out to sea.
The evacuations were quickly canceled as the fighter jets escorted Flight 85 to Canada. The 7500 signal was still transmitting when, low on fuel, it set down in Whitehorse. Mounties immediately detained the pilot, who wondered what all the fuss was about.
Ten years later, questions of why the hijack codes were sent and why the crew didn't realize the seriousness of the signals remain. Knowles calls it "an unfortunate mistake."
And it could easily have been fatal. "I believe they were prepared to fire upon that airliner," said Knowles.
That possibility was confirmed by Schwartz, who told the Daily News a few weeks after the incident that he was prepared to order the Korean plane shot from the sky before it could destroy an Alaska target. It was reported that he was one of five officials in the country with the authority to give that command.
When the 747 entered Canadian airspace, the decision to fire was in the hands of Prime Minister Jean Chretien. In an interview with CBC, he recalled telling the military, "Yes, if you think they are terrorists, you call me again but be ready to shoot them down."
It was frightening, he said. "But you prepare yourself for that. ... You know that you will have to make decisions at times that will (be) upsetting you for the rest of your life."
Hundreds of international air travelers were stranded in Alaska. A Fairbanks hotel that had closed for the season reopened to accommodate them
In Anchorage, Grace Community Church opened its doors to an estimated 230 strandees, mostly from China and Japan.
"Everybody in the entire city was in shock," recalled Pastor Dan Jarrell. "Everyone was looking for what they could do. Anything. What we did, as a church, was say, 'We have a gymnasium. We can put cots there. We have lots of bathrooms and a kitchen area. Let's put these people up."
Food, translators and a few rudimentary comforts were provided, but more was needed.
"Many of these people were transporting infants, serving as caretakers," said Jarrell. The caretakers had been hired to escort the children of Chinese living in New York back to family members in China.
When that became known, "We had diapers coming out of our ears," Jarrell said. A tour company offered to take the travelers on excursions to Denali and Portage. A store gave everyone disposable cameras to record their Alaska adventure. People brought food "and cartons of cigarettes. The feeling was that, with the stress of the moment, maybe now wasn't the best time to try to quit smoking."
Grace Community Church is now known as ChangePoint, located at the former fish processing plant on Raspberry Road.
"We didn't organize the thing," Jarrell said. "It's just that the opportunity came up. There was the sense that we were all helpless after the attacks -- and here was a way to do something."
Tracey Schafer and Tony Fischbach found themselves among hundreds of people jammed into Ted Stevens Anchorage International Airport trying to catch a plane. The pair had scheduled a big wedding in Wisconsin on Sept. 15. Family would be arriving in Madison from around the country. Their flight was canceled. Could they catch another?
"Different airlines would tell you different things," Tracey said. " 'It's policy' or 'we're waiting for tomorrow.' " No one would tell passengers that there were no planes in the air anywhere in America and wouldn't be until further notice.
"We tried all day and came back the next day, but it just wasn't happening," she said. "We ended up calling it off."
Their frustration was accompanied by embarrassment. A few days before, they had secretly married in a courthouse wedding in anticipation of the formal ceremony. They could postpone the big event, but they couldn't really keep their married status a secret for more than a few of days.
"No one in our families knew," said Tracy. "And how do you explain that?"
The relatives had their own explaining to do. Even before the Fischbachs called it off, they were phoning with news that they couldn't make the drive. People in the Lower 48 were hoarding fuel and there was no gas to be had on the route.
Alaska experienced no such fuel shortages.
The Fischbachs finally celebrated their formal wedding in Madison the following June. One aunt quipped, "You could have had a baby by now!"
This year their daughter Heike, 5, will start school. Son Ketch is 3. They regularly fly to the Lower 48 to visit relatives, Tracey said.
Alaskans lost a chance to see two National Hockey League teams play in Anchorage because of the attacks. The St. Louis Blues and San Jose Sharks were scheduled for an exhibition series at Sullivan Arena. But on Sept. 12, the NHL canceled all exhibition games previously planned for the following Saturday and, as the Sharks had not arrived in Anchorage, organizers decided to scratch the Sunday match as well.
"The logistics of getting a flight and the airspace to get to Alaska isn't going to be possible," said St. Louis general manager Larry Pleau.
But the Blues were already in town for preseason training. They held intrasquad scrimmages for local hockey fans.
The disruptions in air travel benefited one Alaskan athlete, however. Barney Griffith, a member of the Alaska Mountain Runners, was at the World Mountain Running Association meeting in Italy planning to run an open race. But when members of the U.S. team were unable to make the trip, the rest of the team nominated Griffith to fill one of the American slots in the prestigious 13-kilometer Trophy race.
Griffith was 43 years old. He finished 115th.
Three days after the attacks, Anchorage homes, businesses and cars were aflutter with Old Glory, and it was impossible to buy an American flag anywhere in town -- including at either of the two locations of Alaska Flag and Flagpole Distributors.
A pre-9/11 inventory of thousands of flags had been snatched up almost immediately, said owner Kurt Marsch. People waited in lines going out the door to order one that might take days or weeks to arrive.
Ten years later, one of the company's two stores is closed. On a visit this month to the other store, on the Old Seward Highway, it appeared that flags now make up a small percentage of the stock, with decals, pins and stickers taking a bigger share of display space. A reporter and the clerk were the only people there.
Reach Mike Dunham at mdunham@adn.com or 257-4332.
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