had his share of perks—he got to throw out the first pitch at the Milwaukee Brewers’ home opener—and he carried himself incredibly well in interviews. People also got to see that our three flight attendants were highly experienced and well trained; they helped save lives on January 15. Their story reminded everyone that flight attendants aren’t just on board to serve coffee and peanuts. They’re on the front lines with passengers, ensuring their safety, while we pilots are locked behind closed doors. Despite their initial reticence, Doreen, Sheila, and Donna came to feel an obligation to their peers to be as effective as they could as spokeswomen for their profession. They were class acts all the way. I was very proud of them.
There was a lovely welcome-home ceremony in my hometown of Danville, attended by two thousand residents. Later, I was invited to speak at graduation ceremonies back at my alma mater in Texas, Denison High School. I was beyond thrilled to see ninety-one-year-old Evelyn Cook, the widow of L. T. Cook Jr., who had taught me to fly from his grass strip. What a great honor it was to publicly recognize Mr. Cook’s influence in my life, and to do so before such a large hometown crowd. It was also fun to be able to say, in front of the governor of Texas, former classmates, and the town’s dignitaries: “How come you weren’t this nice to me back in high school?”
Had even one person died on Flight 1549, I don’t think I would have accepted any of these invitations. The whole incident would have had a much more somber feel to it. But the fact that all of us on the plane had lived made people want to celebrate, and I saw that participating in these events was meaningful to people—and to me.
It also became possible to laugh about the flight. Comic Steve Martin went on
I was amused when businesses began taking advantage of the hoopla over the flight. Several entrepreneurs printed up “Sully Is My Flyboy” baseball caps and “Sully Is My Copilot” T-shirts, and one explained that he did so “because the flight was a sign that good things still happen in the world.” The T-shirts were a bit embarrassing for me, but I was OK with them. And in any case, my actual copilot, Lorrie, was always there to keep things from going to my head.
One day in Los Angeles, we got into an elevator where people recognized me. When we got off, a young woman pulled out her cell phone and could be heard telling a friend: “It’s so cool! I just ran into Sully the pilot!”
As she talked excitedly on the phone about meeting me, Lorrie was just ahead of her and couldn’t help turning around at the mention of my name.
The young woman thought Lorrie had been just another random person on the elevator. “Wasn’t that the coolest thing, bumping into Sully like that?” she said.
Lorrie answered, “Well, I’m his wife.”
The young woman was a bit embarrassed. “Oh, I’m sorry. It’s just that Sully’s story makes everyone feel so good. What he did on that flight was so impressive!”
Lorrie smiled, and reassured her that I’m a regular guy—and not always so impressive. “Listen,” she said, “I saw him walking around the hotel room this morning in his underwear.”
The woman walked off, talking into her cell phone. I’m guessing she told her friend all about Lorrie’s report from our hotel room.
IN THE weeks after Flight 1549, I finally got to read some of the newspaper stories and see a bit of the TV coverage. For the most part, the media did a pretty good job.
There was an incorrect description of me in one newspaper story that ended up getting repeated around the world. A “police source” was quoted as saying: “After the crash, Mr. Sullenberger was sitting in the ferry terminal wearing his hat, sipping his coffee and acting like nothing happened.” A rescuer was quoted as saying: “He looked absolutely immaculate. He looked like David Niven in a pilot’s uniform—he looked unruffled. His uniform was sharp.”
Yes, I was in uniform, but wearing a hat is now optional for pilots at my airline. It hasn’t been required for years, and I’m not big on wearing the hat. In fact, on January 15, my hat was at home in my bedroom closet in California. I also would argue with the dapper David Niven reference. I was actually feeling wet, rumpled, and a bit shell-shocked. (I did appreciate the comparison to David Niven, however, especially given his World War II service during the invasion of Normandy.)
Because of the great interest from journalists—the week after the flight, we were getting 350 media requests a day—I eventually agreed to do a few interviews. I wasn’t especially comfortable on TV. I’m still not. It doesn’t feel natural to me. But I feel I’ve gotten the hang of it now.
As things turned out, despite my initial unease before the cameras, I’ve done OK. There are a great many things I don’t know, but there are things I’m pretty sure about, including a lot of issues related to aviation. Most of what the media have asked me about are things I know, so I didn’t feel constantly stumped.
I also decided early on that I shouldn’t obsess or worry about the media, because they’re asking me about me, and of course, I know more about me than anyone else. I was rarely asked questions that were especially technical, and I made a point not to use too much jargon.
Many publications asked to conduct the first print interview with me, and rather than choose between, say, the
I also liked the idea of appearing in a newspaper that Kate actually reads. If I showed up in the
WHILE IN New York for some interviews, Lorrie, the girls, and I took a break and went to see
She was most moved because she sensed that they weren’t just standing for me and for the crew. As she saw it, they rose for that ovation because the success of Flight 1549 had given them a positive sense of life’s possibilities, especially in tough times.
People had been losing their jobs in large numbers. Home foreclosures were up. Life savings had been decimated. A lot of people felt like they had been hit by a double bird strike in their own lives. But Flight 1549 had shown people that there are always further actions you can take. There are ways out of the tightest spots. We as individuals, and as a society, can find them.
So at that performance of
I waved at the crowd while Lorrie dabbed at her eyes. Then I hugged her and waved again.
NOT LONG after the Hudson landing, Jeff, Doreen, Donna, Sheila, and I met with dozens of Flight 1549 passengers and their families at a reunion in Charlotte. It was, as you can imagine, a day filled with great emotion for all who were there—the crew, the passengers, and the family members who accompanied them. “Thank you for not making me a widow,” one woman told me. Another said: “Thank you for allowing my three-year-old son to have a father.” And a young woman who had been on the plane came up to me and said, “Now I get to have children.”
Some passengers took the time to introduce me to everyone they had brought with them. “This is my mother, this is my father, this is my brother, my sister…”
It went on like that for close to two hours.
In the abstract, 155 is just a number. But looking into the faces of all of those passengers—and then the faces of all their loved ones—it brought home to me how profoundly wonderful it was that we had such a good outcome on Flight 1549.
