Highest Duty_ My Search for What Really Matters - Chesley B. Sullenberger [103]
I was invited to throw out the first pitch at the second game held at the new Yankee Stadium. I made sure I was prepared—I didn’t want to embarrass myself in front of fifty-two thousand Yankee fans—so I practiced for the pitch a few days a week for more than a month at a baseball diamond near my house. One of my neighbors, Paul Zuvella, a former major-league infielder who played with four teams, including the Yankees, was kind enough to coach me. I thought I was doing OK, but when it came time for my big pitch, it was a little outside. At least it didn’t bounce. On the West Coast, I was also asked to throw first pitches at a San Francisco Giants game and an Oakland A’s game.
Though I got the most attention, being the captain of the flight, I was pleased when Jeff, Donna, Sheila, and Doreen were recognized for everything they did. They were at first reluctant to enter the media spotlight, but then they realized that they could help give insights to the world about what it takes to work in the airline industry. Jeff 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 The Late Show with David Letterman and claimed to have been on board with us. Letterman then showed alleged footage of Steve Martin walking on the wings, pushing other passengers into the Hudson, so he could get to the VIP rescue boat. His little performance was very funny, even for those of us who had lived through it.
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