Dear Scully, "Fame and tranquility are two things that can't live under the same roof." Michel de Montaigne This quote doesn't apply to you because of how you became famous. Not for acting. dancing, hitting homeruns, winning the lottery, etc. You helped save 155 people's lives and showed humility about it. We don't see a lot of bravery and even less humility on TV. Professor Barry Schwartz spoke this month at the TED (Technology, Entertainment, Design) Conference at Long Beach about morality and doing the right thing in 2009. He suggested that people look for, and point to, what he called , Moral Exemplars; he said we should celebrate them. You are certainly one for teachers to use in class for what a real man should be; they would see your bravery , but need a teacher to point out your humility.
Thank you captain for helping make the world a better place. "We can never have too many heroes." N. Wylie Jones
p.s. Write a book about Flight1549 for middle and high school students to inspire them to love and respect life; kids want to be heroes (I was a teacher for as long as you've been flying; I would have liked to have had such a book to use. I just wrote a series of books I would have liked to have had in my class. www.knowords.com.
All I Wanted Was to Talk to My Family, and Get Some Dry Socks
One month ago, I landed Flight 1549 safely in the Hudson River. In some ways, that was the easy part.
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The night of the accident, after we'd safely accounted for all 155 people on the airplane, left the hospital, finally reached the hotel—the pilots' union and the NYPD whisking us away—I remember thinking that my needs were very simple. I'd lost all my belongings; I'd had the most harrowing three minutes of my life. All I really wanted was to talk to my family, and get some dry socks.
It's been a month since the airplane I piloted, US Airways Flight 1549, made an emergency landing in the Hudson River.
Since then, the attention given to me and my crew—I'm trying to resist, somewhat unsuccessfully, everyone's attempt to make this about fewer than five people—has obviously been immense. But I still don't think of myself as a celebrity. It's been a difficult adjustment, initially because of the "hero" mantle that was pushed in my direction. I felt for a long time that that wasn't an appropriate word. As my wife, Lorrie, pointed out on "60 Minutes," a hero is someone who decides to run into a burning building. This was different—this was a situation that was thrust upon us. I didn't choose to do what I did. That was why initially I decided that if someone offered me the gift of their thankfulness, I should accept it gratefully—but then not take it on as my own.
As time went by, though, I was better able to put everything in perspective and realize how this event had touched people's lives, how ready they were for good news, how much they wanted to feel hopeful again. Partly it's because this occurred as the U.S. presidency was changing hands. We've had a worldwide economic downturn, and people were confused, fearful and just so ready for good news. They wanted to feel reassured, I think, that all the things we value, all our ideals, still exist—that they're still there, even if they're not always evident.
When I was very young, my father impressed upon me that a commander is responsible for the welfare of everyone in his care. Any commander who got someone hurt because of lack of foresight or poor judgment had committed an unforgivable sin. My father was a dentist in the Navy, serving in Hawaii and San Diego from 1941 to 1945. He never saw combat, but he knew many who did. In the military, you get drilled into you the idea that you are responsible for every aspect of everyone's welfare.
During every minute of the flight, I was confident I could solve the next problem. My first officer, Jeff Skiles, and I did what airline pilots do: we followed our training, and our philosophy of life. We valued every life on that airplane and knew it was our responsibility to try to save each one, in spite of the sudden and complete failure of our aircraft. We never gave up. Having a plan enabled us to keep our hope alive. Perhaps in a similar fashion, people who are in their own personal crises—a pink slip, a foreclosure—can be reminded that no matter how dire the circumstance, or how little time you have to deal with it, further action is always possible. There's always a way out of even the tightest spot. You can survive.
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