Near Pentagon, Makeshift Memorial Grows

     The words were painstakingly printed by someone still practicing her letters.
    ``To Dad from Faith,'' the note began. ``I love you, Daddy. I miss you, Daddy.''
    Faith's farewell to her father is among thousands of tributes accumulating at a makeshift memorial on an Arlington hillside overlooking the charred gap where a jetliner hijacked by terrorists crashed into the Pentagon, killing 189 people.
    People started coming here on the night of Sept. 11, when smoke still rose from the rubble and an acrid odor drifted over from where rescue workers searched frantically for survivors. The hillside, just outside the wrought iron fences of Arlington National Cemetery and a few blocks off Army-Navy Boulevard, provides a view of the tragedy for everyday folks without security clearances or the hardhats of recovery workers.
    For more than three weeks now, they have come here. They look. They cry. They swear. They leave things.
    Allison, who described herself as a ``true American girl,'' left a letter confessing that she is haunted by thoughts of the passengers on the doomed planes. She still asks herself, ``What did it feel like to look death straight in the eye?''
    ``I would be scared to know that my life of 12 years would be ending shortly and only so few of my dreams and thoughts come true,'' she wrote.
    There are hundreds of American flags and thousands of flowers. Faded bouquets. Wreaths. Plastic blossoms that bloom defiantly through the sunshine and rain, days and nights. Someone left a stuffed fireman doll. Someone else put up a windmill adorned with an angel. There is a stuffed and spotted Dalmatian - the traditional fire station dog - wearing an Uncle Sam hat and holding Old Glory in his tail. There is a pumpkin left for the children who won't carve jack o' lanterns this Halloween. There is a 40-yard-long chain made of red, white and blue construction paper with a handwritten message on every link.
    Marlene Bare came to this impromptu peoples memorial on that first sad night and was back again last week.
    Her boyfriend, an Army lieutenant colonel, was working in the Pentagon on Sept. 11. She talked to him at 9:21 a.m., then he left his office for a meeting down the hall. His boss, a general, and 20 people in his office were killed when the jetliner hit, she said. But her boyfriend survived with a slightly injured leg.
    ``There's a pile of charcoal where his office was,'' Bare said. ``People were already bringing things here that first night. Since then, it has grown and grown. People come in droves over the weekend.''
    The only formal structure is a bulletin board. The front and back are filled with messages and people have written their thoughts even on the 2-by-4 planks that brace the structure.
    ``Our prayers are with you,'' wrote Becky Kossler from Montana State University.
    ``We won't forget you,'' promised the Petkunas family of Pittsburgh.
    ``This pain will make us stronger, a stronger family of Americans,'' declared Chandal Hartley of Cumberland, Md.
    ``Ashley, Your Dad is in our thoughts,'' Sarah wrote.
    On an October afternoon, Kay Kenzie struggled to control her emotions as she read the messages on the board.
    ``I can't talk about it, but I don't want us to forget about it either,'' she said. ``And I'm afraid we will.''
    The leavings testify to the tragedy of shattered lives.
    There is a funeral notice for Ronald James Vauk. Born Jan. 25, 1964. Died Sept. 11, 2001. The narrative recalls how Ron and Jennifer were married at the U.S. Naval Academy and how their 4-year-old son, Liam, was the joy of their lives. It says Jennifer is expecting their second child in November.
    There are pictures of newlyweds Robert and Cooper Ploger. American Airlines Flight 77, which crashed into the Pentagon, was supposed to be the first leg of their honeymoon trip to Hawaii.
    Friends and former shipmates of Navy Capt. Bob Dolan memorialized him with messages on a T-shirt. ``We'll watch out for Lisa and the kids,'' they vowed.
    A friend left a tribute to Renee May, a flight attendant on Flight 77. Small stuffed airplanes. Little bags of nuts given out by airlines. An angel. A wreath with an American Airlines insignia.
    ``Renee,'' the friend wrote, ``I've thought of you and your engagement and upcoming wedding . . . .''
    There is a steady stream of visitors to the hillside. Taking care to disturb nothing, they silently stoop to examine the items on the ground. Talk is scarce and muted.
    ``I just keep thinking of the hymn, `Comfort Me O Lord,' '' said Mary Patteton, who came from Bowie, Md.
    ``I can't really say why we wanted to come here, but I thought it was important to do it,'' said Ellen Hamblet, the pregnant wife of a Navy officer who brought their daughters Emily, 7, and Melissa, 3.
    Their father was in the Pentagon when the jetliner hit but was not injured, the mother said. Since then, the girls have complained about the long hours and night shifts he has been working during the recovery.
    ``We sat them down'' for a gentle talk, she said, to explain about the little girls whose fathers were no longer there to go to work.
    The tributes are assorted.
    There is a tree bedecked with American flags and model aircraft and plastic leis and paper flowers. At the base is a picture of President Bush and a note from a 13-year-old boy from Dale City, who says, ``I am MAD and SAD and hurt deep inside.''
    There is a white scrapbook with ``God Bless America'' and ``Our Thoughts are with you in Maple Valley, Washington'' on the cover. Inside are letters and drawings from children in the town, and attached is a baseball signed by well-wishers.
    Luanne, Lydia, Phillip and Gabriella Provost of Knoxville, Tenn., left a note saying, ``Comfort and Courage to the families who are grieving.'' Floating in the breeze is a foil ``Proud to Be an American'' balloon signed by people from Brooklyn, N.Y. There is an Ebeneezer African Methodist Episcopal Church funeral notice for Maj. Dewaye Williams. Born March 16, 1961. Died Sept. 11, 2001. There are condolences from the varsity field hockey team from Washington-Lee High School in Arlington.
    Someone left a poem titled ``The Sadness of Silence.'' Someone else left the lyrics of a Billy Ray Cyrus song: ``All gave some. But some gave all. All stood true to the red, white and blue. But some had to fall.''
    Eyyup Davaz, who lives nearby, said he comes over at 3 a.m. each day to straighten all the American flags that have fallen or been knocked over. He said his daughters have sold lemonade and candy to raise money for the American Red Cross.
    With a daughter tugging at her hand, Ellen Hamblet gazed across the makeshift memorial.
    ``It touches so many lives,'' she said.
    On Thursday, U.S. Rep. James P. Moran, D-8th District, introduced a bill on Capitol Hill that would reserve a portion of land at the Navy Annex as a permanent memorial to those who died in the attack. Among those cosponsoring the legislation are Reps. Frank R. Wolf, R-10th District, and Thomas M. Davis III, R-11th District.

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