Highest Duty_ My Search for What Really Matters - Chesley B. Sullenberger [39]
It seemed almost as if the goal was to prepare each cadet to be chief of staff for the Air Force. Only one of my classmates, Norton Schwartz, actually made it; he was appointed to the highest-ranking Air Force job in August 2008. But many of the rest of us did OK, too, in our own way, graduating into the world beyond the academy with a full set of skills and a high sense of duty.
Fast, neat, average, friendly, good, good.
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LONG-TERM OPTIMIST, SHORT-TERM REALIST
LIKE MY FATHER, I was a military officer who never saw combat. When each of us joined the service, we knew that we might find our lives threatened in war. We soberly accepted that commitment to duty, but neither of us had any visions of martial glory. My father felt honored to serve his country as a naval officer. I saw my years of peacetime Air Force service as a high calling, because every day of training and practice better prepared me to defend my country if called upon.
After spending years readying for tasks they never had to carry out for real, many military men are left to wonder how they would have fared in combat. I understand that, yet I don’t feel incomplete because I never saw wartime service. The fighters that I flew were designed to destroy those who would do us harm. I’m glad that I never had to inflict grievous damage on someone else, or to have it inflicted on me.
But I’ll never fully know how I would have performed under the pressures of battle. Yes, I faced certain risks on almost every flight I flew as a fighter pilot; it’s a dangerous job, even during training missions. Still, over the years, like many who serve in times of peace, I have asked myself questions: If ever faced with the ultimate challenge, a life-or-death moment in battle, would I have been able to measure up? Would I have been strong enough, brave enough, and smart enough to endure the demands of such a test? Would I be able to preserve the safety of those under my command?
My sense is, I would have performed as I was trained. I don’t think I’d have panicked or made a grave mistake. But I have accepted the fact that I will never know for sure.
I expected that my commercial airline career would follow a similar pattern. I would take off and land again and again without incident. Yes, airline pilots are trained for emergencies—we practice in flight simulators—and we know the risks, low as they are. The good news is that commercial aviation has made such great strides and is so reliable that it is now possible for an airline pilot to go his entire career without ever experiencing a failure of even a single engine. But one of the challenges of the airline piloting profession is to avoid complacency, to always be prepared for whatever may come while never knowing when or even if you’ll face an ultimate challenge.
Because a commercial career can feel routine, I truly didn’t think I’d face a situation as dire as Flight 1549. On reflection, however, I realize this: Though I never saw battle, I spent years training hard, paying close attention, demanding a great deal of myself, and maintaining a constant readiness. I survived my own close calls and carefully observed the fatal mistakes made by other pilots. That preparation did not go to waste. At age fifty-seven, I was able to call upon these earlier lessons, and in doing so, answer the questions I’d had about myself.
I GRADUATED from the Air Force Academy on June 6, 1973, and within a few weeks, I enrolled in the summer term at Purdue University in West Lafayette, Indiana, getting my master-of-science degree in industrial psychology (human factors). It’s a discipline focused on designing machines that take into account human abilities as well as human limitations. How do humans act and react? What can humans do and what can’t they do? How should machines be designed so people can use them more effectively?
It was a cooperative master’s program designed to fast-track academy graduates, allowing us to get a graduate degree