Paris Attack Anniversary: Eyewitness Jerome Pugmire Remembers Attack On The National Stadium
Paris Attack Anniversary: Eyewitness Jerome Pugmire Remembers the Night of Fear and Courage at the National Stadium
The night of November 13, 2015, remains etched in France’s collective memory. It was supposed to be a celebration of sport, friendship, and national pride — a friendly match between France and Germany at the Stade de France, the beating heart of French football. Instead, it became one of the darkest nights in modern French history. On the Paris attacks anniversary, journalist Jerome Pugmire revisits that night, sharing an eyewitness account that captures both the confusion and the quiet courage of those present inside the stadium.
A Night That Began Like Any Other
For Jerome Pugmire, an experienced sports reporter, that November evening began just like countless others. He arrived early at the Stade de France, ready to cover an international match that promised to be entertaining. The stadium buzzed with anticipation; French flags waved, the national anthems rang out, and the air was full of lighthearted chatter.
He took his place in the press box, pen in hand, laptop ready, eyes focused on the pitch. France was playing Germany — a symbolic matchup between two nations that had grown closer through sport and shared history. The atmosphere was festive, the mood relaxed. Nobody had any reason to suspect that just outside the stadium walls, something unthinkable was about to unfold.
The First Bang: A Sound Dismissed
About twenty minutes into the game, Pugmire heard a loud bang. It echoed through the cold Paris night, cutting briefly through the chants of supporters. At first, he didn’t think much of it. Stadiums often host fireworks, flares, or even loud mechanical noises. To a journalist used to the rhythm and chaos of live sports, such sounds were part of the background.
But then came the second explosion — clearer, sharper, and unmistakably louder.
On the field, France defender Patrice Evra (whom Pugmire recalls as “Patrick Se”) stopped in his tracks, his head turning toward the sound. The expression on the player’s face said what many were beginning to feel — confusion mixed with unease. Something was wrong. Something was happening.
At that moment, Pugmire realized that this was no ordinary match noise. Still, nobody could have imagined the scale of what was taking place.
The Stadium’s Calm Amid Uncertainty
As the match continued, whispers spread through the crowd and press box. People looked at their phones, brows furrowed. A sense of uneasy calm settled over the 80,000 spectators. The game went on because, at that time, authorities and organizers decided not to create panic. The explosions had occurred outside the stadium gates, and information was scarce.
At halftime, murmurs grew louder. People began to ask questions. What was that noise? Was it an accident? A gas explosion? The word “attack” was whispered, but nobody dared say it out loud with certainty.
Pugmire recalls how surreal it felt — watching a football match while knowing, deep down, that something tragic was happening nearby. Yet, inside the stadium, there was no panic, no stampede. People remained calm, united in uncertainty.
The Announcement and the Wait
After full time, the public address system made an announcement: there had been an incident outside the stadium, but the situation was “under control.” Spectators were asked to leave in an orderly manner or stay put until further notice. It was a moment of collective restraint — tens of thousands of people choosing to trust the voice over the speakers rather than their own fear.
Pugmire stayed behind, like many journalists, to continue his work. He watched as families gathered on the pitch, comforting one another, children clinging to parents, strangers exchanging reassuring looks. The field that had hosted competition just an hour earlier became a sanctuary of safety and solidarity.
He remembers the quiet dignity of that scene — no screams, no chaos, just confusion and compassion. It was as if everyone inside understood that calmness was their greatest act of resistance against fear.
A Helicopter That Wouldn’t Move
From his seat in the press area, Pugmire noticed something strange. A helicopter hovered motionless above the stadium. It didn’t circle. It didn’t leave. It just hung there, unmoving, against the dark Paris sky.
He speculated that it might be part of a security operation. After all, French President François Hollande and German Chancellor Angela Merkel were in attendance that night. Perhaps the helicopter was providing cover — maybe even carrying a sniper — in case of further threats. He didn’t know for sure, but the thought added to the tension that already filled the air.
As the minutes passed, bits of information started to filter through. Messages from colleagues, updates on social media, news alerts — all pointing to something horrific unfolding across Paris.
Realization: A City Under Attack
By the time the match ended and the press began to pack up, the magnitude of the tragedy was becoming clear. Reports were flooding in from the Bataclan theatre, cafés, and restaurant terraces. Coordinated attacks were happening across the city. Paris — the city of light, love, and culture — was under siege.
Inside the stadium, those still present began to comprehend that what they had heard were suicide bombings just outside the gates. Three attackers had tried to enter the stadium but failed, detonating their explosives nearby. The death toll across Paris was rising with every new report.
Pugmire describes staying until around 2:30 a.m., still working, still processing, before finally leaving to find a taxi back into the city. The roads were eerily quiet. The Paris he knew — full of noise, lights, and laughter — was silent that night.
Between Duty and Emotion
For journalists like Jerome Pugmire, the night was a conflict between professional duty and human emotion. His job required him to report facts, to remain calm, to write. But he was also a human being witnessing his city in pain.
He recalls looking around at his fellow reporters — faces pale from the glow of computer screens and the weight of what they were discovering. Each was typing updates that would be read by millions around the world, trying to make sense of the senseless.
In those moments, journalism became more than just storytelling. It became a way to bear witness — to ensure that the victims’ voices, even in silence, would be heard.
The Calm After the Chaos
When dawn broke over Paris, the scale of the tragedy was known: 130 people killed, hundreds injured, families shattered. The attacks at the Bataclan, the cafés, and the Stade de France had changed the country forever. Yet in that grief, France found a strange kind of unity.
For Pugmire, returning to the stadium in the following days was surreal. The same place that had echoed with cheers now carried a heavy silence. Flowers, candles, and messages of love began to appear at the gates. People came not to watch football, but to mourn — and to remember.
The stadium became both a symbol of tragedy and resilience. It reminded the world that even when terror strikes at the heart of joy, humanity can still choose peace over panic.
The Memory That Never Fades
Years later, when Jerome Pugmire speaks of that night, his words are calm but heavy with remembrance. He doesn’t dramatize; he simply describes what he saw, what he felt. His testimony is a window into how ordinary moments can turn extraordinary — how sound, silence, and uncertainty can mark a life forever.
He remembers the confusion, the waiting, the helicopter, the quiet crowds, the stillness of the night. He remembers wondering what was happening outside while trying to remain composed inside. He remembers leaving the stadium not just as a journalist but as a witness to history.
Every year, on the Paris attacks anniversary, those memories resurface. For survivors, journalists, and citizens alike, November 13th is not just a date. It is a reminder of the fragility of peace and the strength found in unity.
Paris Stands Together
In the days that followed, France grieved — but it also stood tall. The phrase “Fluctuat nec mergitur”, the Latin motto of Paris meaning “She is tossed by the waves but does not sink,” appeared everywhere. It was painted on walls, projected on buildings, shared on social media. The city refused to be defined by terror.
Football, too, became a symbol of resilience. When France played again at the Stade de France, the stands were filled with emotion. The singing of “La Marseillaise” had never sounded louder or prouder. For many, including Jerome Pugmire, it was more than a match — it was a collective act of healing.
Reflection: What the Night Taught Us
Looking back, the story of that night is not just about violence. It is about the people who remained calm, the security staff who guided spectators, the journalists who stayed to report, and the thousands who refused to give in to panic. It is about human dignity in the face of chaos.
Pugmire’s account reminds us that even in moments of fear, humanity shines through — in the way people help one another, comfort strangers, and choose patience over hysteria. The Stade de France, on that terrible night, became a microcosm of resilience.
The Weight of Remembering
Every anniversary of the Paris attacks brings mixed emotions. There is sorrow for the lives lost, admiration for the bravery shown, and gratitude for those who protected others. For eyewitnesses like Jerome Pugmire, remembrance is both a duty and a personal journey.
To remember is to honor. To tell the story again is to keep it from fading into history books. It is a way to remind new generations that freedom, peace, and normalcy are precious — and that even ordinary nights can become extraordinary lessons in courage.
The Stadium, the City, the Spirit
Today, the Stade de France continues to host games, concerts, and celebrations. Children laugh in the stands again, flags wave, music fills the air. But beneath that energy lies a quiet reverence — an understanding that this ground has witnessed both joy and tragedy.
The city of Paris, too, has moved forward, though never forgetting. Cafés have reopened, streets bustle with life, and the lights of the Eiffel Tower once again shine as a beacon of hope. Yet, for those who were there, the echoes of that night never completely fade.
Pugmire’s memory of the helicopter hovering still lingers — a symbol of vigilance, protection, and uncertainty. It reminds us that even when danger looms, humanity endures.
Closing Thoughts: A Witness to Courage
On the anniversary of the 2015 Paris attacks, Jerome Pugmire’s story stands as a testament to memory, resilience, and the power of calm amidst chaos. His words bridge the space between history and humanity — between the sound of explosions and the silence of reflection.
What began as a night of sport became a night of survival. And though fear briefly darkened the city, the light of unity soon returned. Paris, the city that refuses to sink, carries on — with candles, with football, with love.
As the years pass, we continue to remember. Not just the terror, but the strength. Not just the loss, but the courage.
Because remembering is not about reliving pain — it’s about ensuring that hope always outshines fear.
