Like everybody else in the country, I’ve been captivated by yesterday’s news story about an airliner ditching in the Hudson River after hitting a flock of birds during its ascent phase. The amazing part of the story is, of course, that all 155 people aboard the plane survived with only minor injuries.
Now, whenever these sorts of events happen, the survivors, witnesses, and press inevitably start throwing around the word “miracle.” I know there are a lot of people out there who believe in genuine, literal miracles, i.e., times when God personally intervenes in order to save lives. I don’t. I’m an agnostic — I don’t deny the possibility of a God, but I have a very hard time believing He plays much of an active role in what goes on down here on this little rock. However, I acknowledge that many of my fellow Americans disagree with me on this idea, and when you come right down to it, describing positive outcomes as “miracles” is one of those things that’s not worth getting worked up over, even if I personally find it tiresome.
Still… I’ve got my limits.
This morning I was watching CBS’ Early Show, which usually seems to be a bit more journalistic than its gossipy competitors. Harry Smith was doing a live remote near the pier where the downed plane is tied up until it can be salvaged. So far, so good… he was providing solid, serious coverage of an incredible story, just what I was looking for. But then his colleague back in the studio, that twit game show host Julie Chen, said something that damn near caused me to throw my bowl of Frosted Mini Wheats across the room.
She said that, since US Airways Flight 1549 came down near the south end of Manhattan, maybe the spirits of those who died in the World Trade Center had had something to do with the plane’s perfect water landing. Yes, she actually suggested that the ghosts of 9/11 had sent out “positive energy” and that’s why everyone on 1549 lived.
Lady, give me a frackin’ break. It’s one thing to speak of highly improbable survival events in terms of the miraculous. Whether you believe in literal, God-driven miracles or simply use the word as a figure of speech, “miracle” does handily sum up the sheer awesomeness of people walking out of a plane crash. But to seriously suggest that ghosts saved everybody? If rationality has gone so far out of fashion, why stop there? Why not wonder if faeries were involved, too? Or Glinda, the Good Witch of the North? Maybe the plane didn’t really strike plain old ordinary birds, maybe it was actually sabotaged by gremlins. Was William Shatner or John Lithgow aboard 1549?
The reason those 155 people are alive is because they had a kick-ass pilot at the yoke. His name is Captain Chesley “Sully” Sullenberger III, and he had the skills, experience, and level head to do his job, which was to get the passengers in his charge down in one piece. Suggesting that some supernatural force did that job for him is, in my mind, doing him a grave disservice. It’s an insult, really. Human beings are capable of such great, wonderful, astonishing things. I’ve never understood why so many people feel the need to diminish human achievement by giving the credit to some outside force. If you want to believe that God granted us the potential to accomplish those great things, that’s your business. But I wish more people would accept that we are the ones who make that potential into reality.
The real hero of this story is not supernatural. He’s a very natural, very human 57-year-old man named Sully Sullenberger. Good job, Captain. You deserve every plaudit you may receive for this.
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Incidentally, am I the only one who was immediately reminded of Airport ’77 when this story broke? Maybe I really have seen too many movies…
Hear, hear, Jason! What an unbelievable moron. And shame on the news show that puts such sentimental idiocy on the air. This is why I don’t watch TV.
You, however, couldn’t have spoken better: If one wants to look for the spiritual dimension in this event, look no further than the talent and good will of the pilot and the rescuers who fished passengers and crew out of the river. Thank God–take that as literally or as idiomatically as you like–for the heroism of ordinary folk.
Hear, hear, indeed…
First of all, the plane landed just south of the U.S.S. Intrepid museum, which is roughly 60th street, and then floated/skidded/whatever to around 28th street, where it was finally surrounded by ferry boats and the like. The WTC site is about 35 blocks south of there.
Not to suggest, of course, that had it happened 35 blocks south, Chen’s suggestion would be any more plausible, but come on, woman – you’re broadcasting from New York! If you’re going to be a crackpot, at least pretend you know the geography of your own city.
I mean, heck – it happened only a few hundred miles from Gettysburg, PA. Maybe the confederate soldiers that died there were exacting revenge? Or maybe the Union soldiers were attacking the people from Charlotte? Or maybe one or both groups were saving their own? Yeah, you’re right – too confusing. Stick with the 9/11 thing, Julie…
Wow, I didn’t realize the plane had landed so far north. I was thinking it came down somewhere around the Battery, for some reason. Yeah, that makes Chen’s superstitious nonsense even dumber.