Sully

by Captain Chesley B. Sullenberger, III

  After thinking about it for a little bit, I came up with what, in retrospect, was a pretty good answer. I said, “Integrity means doing the right thing even when it’s not convenient.”

  Integrity is the core of my profession. An airline pilot has to do the right thing every time, even if that means delaying or canceling a flight to address a maintenance or other issue, even if it means inconveniencing 183 people who want to get home, including the pilot. By delaying a flight, I am ensuring that they will get home.

  I am trained to be intolerant of anything less than the highest standards of my profession. I believe air travel is as safe as it is because tens of thousands of my fellow airline and aviation workers feel a shared sense of duty to make safety a reality every day. I call it a daily devotion to duty. It’s serving a cause greater than ourselves.

  And so I think often of that fortune, which sat for a good while in the cockpit of a water-filled Airbus A320, tilted sideways in the Hudson: “A delay is better than a disaster.”

  It’s nice to have that fortune back. It will definitely accompany me on future flights.

  A FEW days after receiving my belongings, I flew to Washington, D.C., where I met Jeff Skiles at the headquarters of the National Transportation Safety Board. We had been invited to listen to the cockpit voice recorder (CVR), and to offer our thoughts and memories.

  Previously, the only tape available had been from the FAA, and that contained the radio communications between us and Air Traffic Control. This NTSB visit would be our first opportunity to listen to the audio from the cockpit voice recorder. We’d hear exactly what we had said to each other in the cockpit during the flight. For four months until this May meeting, both of us had been relying on our memories of what we had said. Now, finally, we would know for sure.

  There were six of us in the room: Jeff Skiles, Jeff Diercksmeier, a U.S. Airline Pilots Association accident investigation committee member, three NTSB officials (two investigators and a specialist from the agency’s recordings section), and me. The investigators were happy to have Jeff and me there with them. After many airline accidents, when the recordings are reviewed, the flight crews are not on hand. Often, the pilots whose voices are on the recordings are dead, and so they can’t explain what they were thinking, why they made the decisions they did, or exactly what a particular word was.

  Listening to the tape was an intense experience for us. It brought us back together into the cockpit, as if we were reliving the incident in real time.

  We were in a small office with fluorescent lights, and we sat in chairs at a table, wearing headsets. Jeff and I didn’t look at each other much. For the most part, we were in our own heads, often with our eyes closed, trying to capture all the sounds and noises in the cockpit.

  The recording began while Flight 1549 was about to push back from the gate and continued until we first touched the Hudson. There were things I said on the tape that I didn’t recall saying. Just thirty-three seconds before the bird strike, I said to Jeff, “And what a view of the Hudson today!” He took a look and agreed: “Yeah!”

  The bird strikes were completely audible on the tape. There were the sounds of thumps and then unnatural noises as the birds went through the engines. You could hear the damage being inflicted on the engines, and how they protested with sickening sounds that an engine should never make. We clearly heard the wooooooh of engines spooling down and rolling back, followed by the sounds of vibrations as the engines tore themselves apart. Listening to the tape, I was reminded of how we felt in that moment. It was as if the bottom were falling out of our world. Even in the safety of that office at the NTSB, it was disturbing for us to hear again the rundown of the engines, and to know we had been in the cockpit of that aircraft when that was occurring.

  The biggest surprise for me, listening to the tape, was how fast everything happened. The entire flight was five minutes and eight seconds long. The first minute and forty seconds were uneventful. Then, from the moment I said, “Birds!” until we approached the water and I said, “We’re gonna brace!” just three minutes and twenty-eight seconds had passed. That’s less time than it takes me to brush my teeth and shave.

  The whole incident took a bit longer in my memory. Yes, I knew and felt all along that things happened fast. But in my recollections, it was as if I had a little more time to think, to decide, to act—even if it was abbreviated.

  Listening to the tape, however, I realized that everything really happened in 208 extraordinarily time-compressed seconds. Frankly, it was beyond belief. Beyond extreme. It was overwhelming. It took me right back to the moment. I didn’t tear up, but I know there were muscle changes in my face as I listened. It was surprising and emotional for Jeff, too.

  Somehow, time must have slowed down in my head that day. It’s not as if everything was in slow motion. It’s just that, in my memory, it didn’t feel as incredibly fast as the tape made obvious that it was.

  There are different microphones in the cockpit, which can pick up voices, noises, warning chimes, and radio transmissions, including those from other planes. The NTSB was able to play back whatever was picked up by each microphone, one at a time, so we could isolate certain sounds and hear things that were at first masked by louder sounds. The investigators asked us to explain sounds or snippets of conversation that weren’t clear on the tape.

  I was very happy with how Jeff and I sounded on the tape, and how we handled ourselves individually and as a team. We did not sound confused and overwhelmed. We sounded busy. I’ve read many transcripts of accidents over the last thirty years, and this one sounded really good in terms of our competence.

  Jeff and I had met just three days before we flew Flight 1549. Yet during this dire emergency—with no time to verbalize every action and discuss our situation—we communicated extraordinarily well. Thanks to our training, and our immediate observations in the moment of crisis, each of us understood the situation, knew what needed to be done, and had already begun doing our parts in an urgent yet cooperative fashion.

  Departure control (3:28:31): “All right, Cactus fifteen forty-nine it’s gonna be left traffic for runway three one.”

  Sullenberger on radio (3:28:35): “Unable.”

  Traffic Collision Avoidance System in cockpit—synthetic voice oral warning (3:28:36): “Traffic! Traffic!”

  Departure control (3:28:36): “Okay, what do you need to land?”

  Predictive Windshear System synthetic voice (3:28:45): “Go around. Wind shear ahead.”

  Skiles (3:28:45): “FAC-1 [Flight Augmentation Computer 1] off, then on.”

  Skiles (3:29:00): “No relight after thirty seconds, engine master one and two confirm off.”

  Sullenberger (3:29:11): “This is the captain. Brace for impact!”

  Forty-four more seconds passed, with Jeff and me engaged in challenge-and-response as we went through the checklist while listening to both Patrick the controller and the repetitive chimes of the flight warning computer.

  Enhanced Ground Proximity Warning System synthetic voice (3:29:55): “Pull up. Pull up. Pull up. Pull up. Pull up. Pull up.”

  Skiles (3:30:01): “Got flaps out!”

  Skiles (3:30:03): “Two hundred fifty feet in the air.”

  As I listened to the recording, I saw clearly that Jeff was doing exactly the right things at exactly the right moments. He knew intuitively that because of our short time remaining before landing and our proximity to the surface, he needed to shift his priorities. Without me asking, he began to call out to me the altitude above the surface and the airspeed.

  Enhanced Ground Proximity Warning System synthetic voice (3:30:24): “Terrain terrain. Pull up. Pull up. Pull up. Pull up. Pull up. Pull up . . .”

  Sullenberger (3:30:38): “We’re gonna brace!”

  It was awful and beautiful at the same time.

  Jeff and I had found ourselves in a crucible, a cacophony of automated warnings, synthetic voices, repetitive chimes, radio calls, traffic alerts, and ground prox
imity warnings. Through it all, we had to maintain control of the airplane, analyze the situation, take step-by-step action, and make critical decisions without being distracted or panicking. It sounded as if our world was ending, and yet our crew coordination was beautiful. I was very proud of what we were able to accomplish.

  After Jeff and I heard the recording for the first time with the NTSB investigators, we excused ourselves to go to the men’s room. We would have to listen to the tape several more times on this day, but I think we both wanted a break before we did that.

  As we walked down the hallway of this old government office building, I turned to Jeff and asked, “What did you think?”

  Before he could answer, I felt a need to say something. “I’ll tell you what I think,” I told him. “I’m so proud of you. Within seconds of me calling for the checklist, you had it out, you found the right page, you had begun reading it. And you were right there with me, step-by-step, challenge-and-response, through all of those distractions. We did this together.”

  In the media, I’d gotten most of the credit for Flight 1549. “I don’t care what anybody says,” I told Jeff. “We were a team.”

  He looked at me, and I saw tears in his eyes. “Thank you,” he said. I was a bit choked up myself. We hugged, then stood together for a moment in that hallway, not saying anything. We were two men who’d been through something extraordinary together and couldn’t find the words to fully capture it.

  Eventually, we made our way back to the CVR lab, where we joined the investigators and listened to the cockpit recording again and again.

  WHEN KELLY was very young, she once asked me, “What’s the best job in the world?”

  My answer to her was this: “It’s the job you would do even if you didn’t have to.” It’s so important for people to find jobs suited to their strengths and their passions. People who love their jobs work more diligently at them. They become more adept at the intricacies of their duties. They serve the world well.

  On January 14, 2009, my life had been a series of thoughtful opportunities to be the best pilot, leader, and teammate I could be. I was an anonymous, regular guy—a husband, a father, a US Airways pilot. On January 15, circumstances changed everything, a reminder that none of us ever knows what tomorrow will bring.

  I flew thousands of flights in the last forty-two years, but my entire career is now being judged by how I performed on one of them. This has been a reminder to me: We need to try to do the right thing every time, to perform at our best, because we never know which moment in our lives we’ll be judged on.

  I’ve told Kate and Kelly that each of us has the responsibility to prepare ourselves well. I want them to invest in themselves, to never stop learning, either professionally or personally. At the end of their lives, like all of us, I expect they might ask themselves a simple question: Did I make a difference? My wish for them is that the answer to that question will be yes.

  As for myself, I look back at everything and continue to feel lucky. I found my passion very early. At five years old, I knew I would spend my life flying. At sixteen, I was already in the sky alone, practicing and practicing, circling happily above Mr. Cook’s grass strip.

  In the years that followed, my romance with flying helped sustain me. At twenty-four, I was a fighter pilot, learning that I had to pay the closest attention to everything, because life and death could be separated by seconds and by feet. By fifty-seven, I was a gray-haired man with my hands on the controls of an Airbus A320 over Manhattan, using a lifetime of knowledge to find a way to safety.

  Through it all, my love of flying has never wavered. I’m still that eleven-year-old boy with his face pressed against the window of the Convair 440, ready to take my first ride out of Dallas on an airplane. I’m still that earnest teen who flew low over our house on Hanna Drive, waving to my mom and sister on the ground. I’m still the serious young Air Force cadet, in awe of all the fighter pilots who came before me and showed me the way.

  Just as I completely love Lorrie, Kate, and Kelly, I will never shake my love of flying. Never.

  At the moment, I’m not sure exactly what my next steps in life might be. Where will flying take me next? What tests are ahead? What opportunities? I do know that I will continue to be an airline pilot. It’s part of what gives me purpose. It’s a big part of who I am.

  I’m sure there will be passengers on future US Airways flights who will look toward the closed cockpit doors and wonder: Who is flying this plane today? Most likely, the captain will be one of my colleagues, an aviator who is well disciplined and well trained, with the highest sense of duty and a great love of flight.

  Then again, the guy behind that door may be me. Once we’re in the air, I’ll say a few words about the cruising altitude, the flying time, and the weather. I’ll remind passengers to keep their seat belts fastened, because turbulence often comes unexpectedly. And then I’ll switch off the public address system, and I’ll do my job.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I COULD NOT have written this book without the support of my family. Kelly, Kate, and Lorrie have always been there for me with their thoughtfulness, love, and kindness. I know that every moment I spent writing was a moment I could not spend with them, which made this project all the more difficult. I am grateful for your understanding in granting me the time I needed to write this book.

  The best preparation for this event was to have the right partner in my life. I wish everyone could find someone as smart, caring, supportive, independent, well-spoken, and strong as Lorraine Sullenberger. Lorrie, I couldn’t have made it through the aftermath of January 15 without you at my side and in my heart.

  My mother and father taught me about hard work, integrity, and lifelong education. I am grateful to them for instilling in me a set of values which have been constant guideposts throughout my life. I also thank my sister, Mary, for her love and support.

  On January 15, 2009, First Officer Jeff Skiles and I found ourselves in a crucible where we were fighting for our lives and the lives of all our passengers and crew. We worked together closely from start to finish, and our effective teamwork was essential in achieving a successful outcome. Jeff, you have my eternal gratitude for your skill and bravery.

  Jeff and I were joined on Flight 1549 by flight attendants Donna Dent, Doreen Welsh, and Sheila Dail, whose instinctive and immediate collaboration in a time of crisis kept the passengers calm and helped us overcome the challenges we faced. I continue to be impressed with your strength and steadfastness since that day.

  I thank the people of Denison, Texas, who helped shape me as a youth, and the people of Danville, California, whom I am proud to count as neighbors and friends. I also want to thank the people of New York and New Jersey, especially NY Waterway, the New York Police Department, the United States Coast Guard, the Fire Department of New York, the Federal Bureau of Investigation, the Port Authority of New York and New Jersey, and the New York City Office of Emergency Management. I owe a debt of gratitude to all those who played a role in saving our lives on January 15.

  Thank you to Lorrie’s friends Tamara Wheeler, Margaret Combs, Bunny Martin, Kathy Giger, and Heather Hildebrand. In the hours following the Hudson landing, when I was attending to my duties in New York and could not be with my wife and girls, these women helped my family through the sudden and overwhelming media attention.

  While I’ve read my fair share of books over the years, I never thought that I’d find myself writing one, and Jeff Zaslow has been a remarkable partner throughout this endeavor. I am thankful for his assistance, his investigative skills, his instincts as a veteran reporter, and his unfailingly sage advice.

  The team at HarperCollins did a great job of guiding this first-time writer through the process. I’d like to thank David Highfill, Seale Ballinger, Sharyn Rosenblum, and the entire HarperCollins team that helped me get this project off the ground and onto the bookshelf.

  My literary agent, Jan Miller, and her associate Shannon Marven have also of
fered tremendous advice and counsel. They and their colleagues at Dupree/Miller helped me find my way to HarperCollins and deftly guided me through the process of taking a book from idea to completion.

  Since the day after the event, Alex Clemens, Libby Smiley, and their colleagues at Barbary Coast Consulting have been by my family’s side, guiding us through this unfamiliar territory with their wise counsel and tireless efforts.

  Thanks also to Gary Morris, Captain James Hayhurst, Alex King, Captain Al Haynes, Helen Ott, Bracha Nechama Bomze, Herman Bomze, Patrick Harten, Eric Stevenson, Conrad Mueller, Paul Kellen, Karen Kaiser Clark, Bart Simon, Theresa Hunsicker, Captain William Roberson, and David Sontag.

  My union colleagues were an incredible source of support on January 15, 2009, and throughout the aftermath. Thank you especially to Captain Larry Rooney and Captain Dan Sicchio, who have spent countless hours assisting me with everything from my NTSB testimony to this book. Thanks also to First Officer Gary Bauhan, Captain Ken Blitchington, Captain Steve Bradford, Captain Dan Britt, Captain John Carey, Captain Carl Clarke, Captain Mike Cleary, First Officer Jeff Diercksmeier, Captain Peter Dolf, Captain David Douglas, Captain Arnie Gentile, First Officer Bob Georges, Captain Michael Greenlee, Captain Pete Griffith, Captain Jonathan Hobbs, Captain Mark King, Captain Tim Kirby, Captain Tom Kubik, Dr. Pete Lambrou, Captain Jan Randle, Captain James Ray, Captain John Sabel, Lee Seham, First Officer Carol Stone, Captain Gary Van Hartogh, Captain Valerie Wells, and Captain Lucy Young. Each of you was there for me at a time when I very much needed your help. I am indebted to you, and to all my brothers and sisters in the U.S. Airline Pilots Association.

  I’d like to thank all the people who work at US Airways. You have consistently confronted the challenges facing our profession with grace and excellence, and I am proud to call you my colleagues. All airline employees have an important job to do, and despite changes in the industry, they do it well. Readers, I hope that the next time you fly, you take a moment to thank your flight attendants for continually preparing for your safety, and your pilots for the dedication and care with which they conduct each and every flight.