Highest Duty_ My Search for What Really Matters - Chesley B. Sullenberger [13]
At LaGuardia, the gate agents started loading the new passengers onto the plane. I got the flight plan for the next leg—Flight 1549 from New York back to Charlotte—and then ran to find something to eat. I bought a tuna sandwich for eight dollars and change, and expected I’d get to eat it once we were at cruising altitude on our return to Charlotte.
Back at the gate, passengers had begun boarding, and I didn’t get a chance to say anything to any of them. Some would later remark that I looked older with my gray hair, and they felt reassured that I was a veteran pilot. I just nodded and smiled at a few of them as I made my way back into the cockpit with my sandwich.
While the plane was being serviced, I checked the fuel load and the weather, and then went over the flight plan. As first officer, Jeff’s job was to take a walk around the exterior of the plane, making an inspection. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary to either of us.
It was a full flight, 150 passengers, plus the crew—me, Jeff, Sheila, Donna, and Doreen. Just before we pushed back from the gate, Jeff and I remarked to each other that we had enjoyed flying together. This would be the final leg of our trip. I was planning to leave Charlotte at 5:50 P.M., flying home to San Francisco as a passenger, and Jeff was going to head back that evening to Wisconsin.
We pushed back from the gate at 3:03 P.M. Eastern standard time, and we joined the queue of airplanes waiting for our turn to take off.
In our ears, Jeff and I heard the constant chatter on the party line of the LaGuardia Tower Air Traffic Control frequency. We were listening in and watching as airplanes took off and landed on the two intersecting runways at one of the nation’s busiest airports. As happens every day, it was a carefully choreographed ballet where everyone knew their parts exceedingly well.
At 3:20 P.M. and thirty-six seconds, the tower controller spoke to us: “Cactus fifteen forty-nine, LaGuardia, runway four position and hold, traffic will land three one.” The tower controller was instructing us to taxi onto the active runway and hold in position to await clearance for takeoff. He was also advising us that we would see traffic landing on the intersecting runway 31. (“Cactus” is the radio call sign for US Airways flights. The airline chose it after we combined with the former America West Airlines. Though it was adopted to preserve the heritage of America West, some pilots and controllers would prefer that we had kept our old call sign, “USAir,” to avoid confusion. Having a name that doesn’t match the name painted on the side of an airplane can be confusing, particularly at foreign airports.)
At 3:20:40, as I was taxiing, Jeff responded to the controller: “Position and hold runway four for Cactus fifteen forty-nine.”
We then sat on the runway for four minutes and fourteen seconds, listening to controllers and pilots trading concise esoteric exchanges such as “American three seventy-eight cleared to land three one, wind zero three zero, one zero, traffic will hold on four.” This was the tower controller clearing American Flight 378 to land on runway 31, telling him the wind was from the northeast at ten knots, and advising him that Jeff and I were holding in position on runway 4.
At 3:24:54, from controller to me and Jeff: “Cactus fifteen forty-nine runway four, cleared for takeoff.”
At 3:24:56, from me to controller: “Cactus fifteen forty-nine cleared for takeoff.”
On the runway, shortly after we started rolling, I said, “Eighty,” and Jeff answered, “Checked.” That was the airspeed check. Our language was exactly by the book.
Then I said, “V1,” an indication that I was monitoring the velocity of the airplane and that we had passed the point where we could abort our takeoff and still stop on the remaining portion of the runway. We were now obligated to continue the takeoff. A few seconds