Last Plane Landing-A Second Posting

Posted by M.I.T. at 7:56 AM 1 comments
Monday, September 7, 2009
I am posting this blog again to take me back in the direction of airplane flying stories. This is a true accounting of what happened on board Northwest Flight 28 on September 11, 2001. I was the Captain on that flight.

Last Plane Landing. Story of the last plane to land on American soil on 9/11/2001
If you have had a chance to read my profile, limited as it may be, you will see that I am a former Naval Aviator and Captain for a United States international airline. I mentioned in my initial posting that I would be writing about some of my life's adventures with a few flying experiences tossed in to keep things interesting. With 9/11/2009 approaching I felt it appropriate to write about what became the longest, most harrowing flight of my career. It is a career that spans nearly 35 years in aviation and nearly 25,000 hours of flight time. Let me begin with a little back round.
I entered the United States Navy in August of 1974 after graduating from a small Jesuit university in the great northwest. I commissioned in the Navy to be a pilot and officer with no experience in the flying of airplanes, a liberal arts education and just enough math to work a cash register. Upon the start of flight training I fumbled and tumbled my way through primary and advanced flight training and carrier qualifications. I was stationed in Sicily where I flew the C-2, landing on a number of different aircraft carriers in two and a half years. The next tour of duty was to fly the EC-130 and then to the reserves where I flew DC-9's.
I became and airline pilot in September of 1983 and rapidly moved through the ranks until, after 14 years or so, I became Captain on the Boeing 747-200. It is at this time that my story takes place.

Prelude to “The Last Plane Landing”. A Story of the Last Plane to Land in the United States on 9/11/2001.

“Bojinka” or The Big Bang. Simple enough words but I could not stop thinking of them as we crossed the Pacific Ocean on 9/11/2001. I was the Captain on a Northwest Airlines 747 crossing the Pacific when we learned of the attacks on the World Trade Center and Pentagon. My first thoughts were of "Bojinka". Bojinka was the name of the plot conceived and nearly carried out by Ramzi Yousef in 1995. It was a plot to blow up 11 American airliners killing 4000 people in one night as they flew across the Pacific. As international pilots we were briefed and security was heightened in the early days of 1995 when this plot was developing. The information provided in those briefings stayed with me in the years that followed. One person eventually died on a flight where the " Bojinka" terrorists succeeded in exploding a small device on board an aircraft but not in bringing it down. “Bojinka” was eventually foiled before any further damage could be done.
After learning a small part of the details of the attacks on the WTC and Pentagon and as Captain of Northwest Airlines flight #28 from Tokyo to San Francisco on 9/11 the word ”Bojinka” kept working it’s way into my thoughts, forcing me to wonder if, perhaps, this time they had succeeded.
We were late. A typhoon had struck the Tokyo area and flights were pushed back to accommodate delayed incoming flights. We eventually became airborne at 1802 local time (6:02pm), about two and a half hours late. It was a normal flight in all respects until approximately tw and a half hours after take off. It was then that we heard the first terrifying words crackling across the airliner's common radio frequency. All international airliners in flight are required to monitor a common radio frequency so that they may communicate with one another in flight. It is on that frequency that we first became aware of the disaster that was unfolding on the east coast of the United States.
The first words came from an American Airlines flight, . "Any of you getting what I am getting over company frequency?” “Ya, I am getting it”, another American flight responded. “Seems a light airplane hit the North Tower of the World Trade center”. A United Airlines flight entered the conversation. “I am getting that info as well but they are telling us it is an airliner”. American: “Now we are being told that another plane hit the South Tower of the World Trade center and we are getting reports that they were hijacked airliners”. An unidentified aircraft spoke up “Jesus, what is happening back there?”
American: “We are getting reports now that it is four hijacked airliners and one of them just hit the Pentagon. United, did you see names of the companies they came from?” United responded quietly, almost in a whisper, exposing his disbelief, “Two American, two United.” Another unidentified voice: “God help them.”
At this point I turned to the First Officer and told him I wanted him to pull the power back and conserve fuel. I had no complete details of what had happened but I knew that pulling the power back gave me two things: more time and more fuel. I would need both before the night was over.
Chuck, my First Officer and Zeek My Second Officer, or Flight Engineer (not real names) awaited instructions as I sat in the left seat of this mighty 747 kowing that I had never seen or heard of anything like this before. Firstly, I assigned the primary task of flying and navigation to Chuck. He is a skilled aviator and it is critical at this point that someone is watching everything related to the the plane tracking through the air properly. Next, I checked with Zeek to ensure that all systems were operating normally and that the fuel was being used up at an acceptable rate.
When I was satisfied that the aircraft was safely flying and we were in no danger of running out of gas I turned my attention to the Flight Attendants. We had a veteran crew on board but to this point none of them knew of the events as they were occurring on the east coast. I called for the Purser (Lead Flight Attendant) to come up to the cockpit. As I was preparing to talk with the Purser the radio continued to carry the news of a flight that had struck the ground in Pennsylvania. Whatever it was that was going on it appeared that we were heading right for it as we cut across the skies over the Pacific.
"Hay, Tim, what's up?" Jane, (not real name), our Purser had just arrived in the cockpit. I had her grab the jumps seat just behind me as I started to explain what I knew of the events unfolding in the U.S. Stunned is the only word that can describe the look on her face as she lowered her head to try to adsorb all that I had told her. We took the next few minutes to decide on a plan as to how to inform the rest of the crew and to watch for potential threats as they developed over the next few hours. What I said to the Flight Attendants would be extremely important so i wanted to get it as close to correct as possible before Jane took up her duties. An "All Call" was the most effective way to communicate to all of the flight attendants at once so Jane went back into the aft end of the aircraft to prepare the flight attendants for what I was about to say.
"1 left, 3 left, 4right, 2 left" the flight attendants checked in, each at their assigned station, ready to listen. I started talking "People, there is a disaster unfolding on the east coast of the United States. We have very little information but this is what we know". I could hear faint gasps as I went through the information knowing this must be scaring the hell out of them. I continued "I want each of you to stay calm, walk about the cabin as you normally would, look for unusual behavior. There is to be no gathering of flight attendants in the galleys unless you are working and, while you are in your jump seats please review your manual sections regarding hijacking procedures. This is a sad day for all of us but it is extremely important that all of you remain focused and remember the people on this aircraft are depending on us to get them to their destination safely and that is exactly what we intend to do." As they signed off I could not help to think how lucky I was to have this group of flight attendants with me.
I had little time to consider my next step when the message came across our inter company communications radio. "GO TO HIGH ALERT!" That was essentially the sum total of the message. What did that mean? There were three former military aviators on the flight deck and, although common sense dictated what "HIGH ALERT" meant, in the context of a 747 airliner crossing the Pacific we were a little puzzled. As we studied our manuals to find the definition of "HIGH ALERT" it come to me that we, Flight #28, Tokyo to San Francisco, was essentially on our own to decide how this flight was to be conducted and to figure out just how we were to land and where. The company's attentions were focused entirely on emptying the airways of any flights, getting them on the ground, a federally promulgated mandate. As we crossed the pacific, not at all clear where we were going to land or whether we would even be able to land in our own country, the situation became more complicated. "Tim, this is Jane, the Purser". Jane spoke to me over the inter phone. " I think we may have trouble. There is a gentleman who appears to be of middle eastern lineage and he is sweating profusely and holding on very tight to his briefcase. Repeated attempts to converse with him have been met with quiet, almost whispering responses. What would you like us to do?"
Four hours from San Francisco and I could see our situation getting a lot worse before it got any better.
"Jane, keep a close eye on this guy and look around him to see if there are any others that may be communicating with him through gestures, eye contact or notes. Let me know immediately if you see anything that furthers your suspicion". Less than two hours from the San Francisco airport. I figured if there was going to be a move by any hijackers it would be coming soon. It was time to contact Oakland Center, the first Air Traffic Control agency that airliners directly speak with after a Trans Pacific flight. "Oakland Center this is Flight #28, flight level 390" (thirty nine thousand feet above the water). "Flight 28, squawk 1622 (this is a number dialed into the transponder that helps ATC clearly identify who you are) and proceed direct to San Francisco".
Just as I was about to read back the directions provided by ATC they followed with a statement that, to this day, brings a cold shiver down my spine. "Are you declaring an EMERGENCY".
The fact that they asked this very unusual question spoke volumes to me about how serious they were taking our arrival. We were a large aircraft coming into the US with a full compliment of passengers and crew and a fair amount of fuel on board. This last fact was due to the fuel conservation measured I had put in place hours before. I looked at the other two aviators with a a look that said "What in the hell does this mean? We don't have an emergency." Chuck glance over at me from the flight controls, said nothing then returned to the job of flying the aircraft. I knew he thought as I did. What next!
Zeek spoke up, "Tim, is there a chance we have been intercepted by US military fighters? Given the situation, I would expect there to be at least two of them trailing us right now." That's when it dawned on me that our situation had just become considerably more dangerous and a wrong word or an errant turn of the aircraft could surely mean that we would be shot down. "by our own damn guys!" I thought.
As I considered what I was going to tell Air Traffic control regarding the emergency, Jane called to the cockpit. "Tim, this guy has settled down a little. Everyone is awake and we are preparing for descent. The lights are up in the cabin and all flight attendants are focused and prepared for anything that may occur. Unless you have further instructions I will to continue my walk through the cabin in preparation for landing. I will call you immediately if there is anything further to report". I responded to her comments with "Thank you, Jane". As I did this I took a moment to thank God that I had this competent, focused Purser on this flight. I had little time for reflection, though, as ATC, again, asked if we had an EMERGENCY. they were becoming more insistent each time they asked the question. This were fully aware that I was closing in on San Francisco and our descent would begin soon. I said "No sir, we do not have an EMERGENCY". It took only seconds for them to reply. "You will not be permitted to land on American soil if you do not declare an EMERGENCY". Things just got worse.
I was now between a rock and a hard place and the lives of everyone on board were riding on my next response to ATC. I worked to collect my thoughts and consider the possibilities. First and foremost, we did not have an EMERGENCY. We had fuel and there was no adverse activity in the passenger compartment of the aircraft. But ATC did not know that nor did they trust that we were telling them the truth. I am certain that they were considering the prospect that a hijacker had already taken control of the aircraft and was speaking to them in perfect English, well versed in aviation vernacular. Another point kept coming to the forefront as I considered what I would say to Oakland Center. Had we been intercepted by US military jet fighters and how are they to interpret the situation if I declare an emergency? My reasoning: Military aviators see a declaration of an "EMERGENCY" as far more dire than commercial airline pilots. Military pilots use the declaration of an emergency as a last resort usually done just prior to bailing out or ejecting. Commercial pilots declare an emergency, in a many cases, to inform Air Traffic Control so that ATC may space aircraft to help the problematic aircraft land sooner. In many commercial airline emergency cases declaring an EMERGENCY is a precautionary measure. This is not always the case, by any means. It must be said that neither military or civilian aviators take the declaring of an EMERGENCY lightly but military aviators generally view an EMERGENCY situation as far more serious with less time to react than their civilian counterparts. I knew that I did not have an EMERGENCY. ATC wanted me to declare an EMERGENCY and, if we were intercepted by fighters, (I was certain we had been) declaring an EMERGENCY may just be the incentive that the fighter pilots needed to make the fateful decision to shoot down my aircraft. I was being forced to up the ante in this situation having to declare an EMERGENCY that simply did not exist. Jeezus, what a fix.
I quietly said a prayer, lifted up the microphone and said "Fight #28 is declaring and EMERGENCY".
"Roger, Flight #28, you are cleared to descend and maintain flight level 210". It was time. The Chuck slowly pulled the 4 power levers back, lowered the nose of the huge airplane and began our descent. I knew that if anything was going to happen it would happen in the next 45 minutes. I suddenly felt very tired. I had been awake for almost 30 hours and I began to feel the effects of the fatigue that invariably plagues all international pilots after long flights across many time zones. I sat up in the seat, took a last sip of a cold cup of coffee and focused all of my attention on getting this 747 on the ground.
I some how felt that this was overstating the obvious but I turned to Chuck, who was doing a magnificent job of flying the aircraft, and said "If you are ever going to be exactly on altitude and heading, today is the day. The slightest deviation could set these fighter guys off!" He nodded and returned his attention to the aircraft instruments.
The possibility of a hijacking still loomed large as I concentrated on the clearances given to me by ATC. "Flight #28 heading 090 degrees, descend and maintain 6,000 feet" was their next command. The altitude made sense but the heading seemed strange. We should be headed for the airport, not away. I could not tell at this point if I was justified in my concern or if I was becoming over sensitive to the nuances of each ATC clearance. All I could do at this point was trust that ATC wanted us on the ground as much as we wanted to be there and follow their instructions to the letter.
We were within 10 minutes of landing in an airport where time had literally stood still. Not a plane was moving or a word being spoken over the radio frequencies, frequencies that are usually crowded with chatter from incoming and outgoing aircraft as well as controller located on the ground. Surreal is the only word that can describe the scene as we descended for a landing at San Francisco International Airport.
With the flight attendants watching closely in the passenger compartment and my First Officer ably handling this 650,000 aircraft, I had a moment to consider whether or not I had made all the right moves, done all that I could to fulfill my obligation to the passengers and crew on this aircraft. "Gear down, flaps full, landing checklist". Chuck barked out the command to prepare the ship for its final descent and landing. It was a clear day, maximum visibility with little or no wind. On any other occasion I would have been looking forward to a wonderful layover in the "City by the Bay". Today, though, I felt as though I had been in shadowboxing with the Devil, never quite knowing what I was singing at but swinging hard nonetheless. And I was not finished.
It was time to prepare for the final phase of flight, landing the ship. I took a deep breath, said another small prayer and glanced over at Chuck and Zeek. "OK, gentleman, here we go", I said. "Gear down, flaps full, landing checklist" I repeated Chucks' command and went through all the needed moves to accomplish the required tasks. The plane rumbled and gasped as the gear and flaps slid noisily into place. The landing checklist was done. All that was left was to land the plane. I could not help thinking about whether or not a hijacker may strike or a missile may down us even at this late stage in the game.
A slight rotation of the nose of the plane, a remarkably smooth touchdown and Chuck pulled all four reverse levers back, using the engines to assist the brakes in stopping the aircraft. "80 knots, OK, Chuck, I've got the aircraft" I said as we slowed to a safe taxi speed. As I taxied to the gate I looked around the airport noticing that not a single plane, truck or car was moving. "Unbelievable", I thought.
Pulling into the gate, setting the brakes and shutting down the engines, Chuck, Zeek and I finished with our post flight checklists as we watched the passengers disembark into a changed world. A world where fear would rule the day, wars would begin and personal safety would become more important than just about anything else. From the air traffic control system to the way we talked on the phone, change had come. Arguably, not all of it good.
I thanked Chuck and Zeek for a their superb work and got out of the seat to go to the cabin to talk with the flight attendants. The plane was empty of passengers by now as I thanked the Purser for her extraordinary efforts. Without her there is no telling how this would have all turned out. I told all of the flight attendants, many of whom were crying, that they had truly made a difference on this night and to drive safely as they left to go home to their families.
As I left the aircraft my thoughts went to all that was and all that might have been. Form the first words uttered over the common frequency almost nine hours to the sweaty pasenger hanging on to his briefcase to the interception by American jet fighters, this had been a long, long night. I was exhausted. I sat in my hotel room, wishing that I was home with my children. I put my head in my hands and I cried. I cried for the airman, the fireman, the police and the folks that were in the Twin Towers that fateful day. My tears made the day complete. A fitting end to the longest, most dangerous, most exhausting flight of my life.
9/11/2001 and the happenings of that day will remain with us for the rest of our lives. Much like the assassination of JFK we will recall where we were and what we were doing at the moment of the attacks on the WTC and the Pentagon. As for me, I was doing what I have been doing for 27 years. I was flying an airliner. Pure coincidence or divine intervention, Who knows? I can say that we were the lucky ones that day. We lived to tell the story of the last plane landing.
ps Just a note: It is a matter of record, kept in the National Archives, that Northwest Airlines Flight 28 from Tokyo Narita International Airport to San Francisco was, in fact, the last plane to land on American soil on September 11, 2001.

A Talk with my Dad

It has been awhile since I had a talk with my Dad. He passed away about 10 years ago. I used to talk with him frequently before I would head out on another of the many trips I have taken over the years. "Hi Dad, howz it goin?" I would ask,calling from the telephone in the operations office. "Hi son, where are you heading today?" He always wanted to know where I was going the trips I flew as if each time I explained it to him he would take the opportunity to briefly revisit his days in the Navy during WWII. He loved that I would go to Saipan or fly over Tinian or land in Hong Kong. "The usual places, Dad" I would reply. We would talk a bit more and I would be on my way. I loved this connection with him.
My Dad didn't talk much about those days in the Navy until he reached his 60's and 70's. When we were growing up it seemed the furthest thing from his mind. But as he aged he seemed to come to an appreciation of what he had done as a young man and the things that he had seen. When he finally talked about his days on board the USS Ringness he spoke as if he were there, on the ship, carrying out the duties of a young sailor. You could see in his eyes that these were days that he loved to remember. It was a joy to talk with him about all his yothful adventures.
The most important talk we ever had was one that began with my efforts to blame him for all that had gone wrong in my life.
I was in the middle of a divorce. The problems that brought me to that point were of my own making and I struggled almost minute by minute with thoughts of how I could possibly have come to this point in my life. I was angry and completely unable to come to grips with the concept that I was, indeed, responsible for the mess I was living. So I looked to him. Not for an answer. I looked to him to blame, knowing that he and my mother had made mistakes in our upbringing that were easily identifiable. I could blame the drinking, the fights between my parents among the many reasons why I was in the situation that I was in.
One day, completely frustrated with myself, I decided this was the time to lay it off on the "Old Man" and inform him that he was responsible for everything bad that was happening with me. I drove to his place ready to say it all. When I arrived he sitting with my mother by his side not knowing that my whole focus at that moment was to blame him for all that had gone bad.
I sat down and he and my mother could tell something was wrong. "Dad, I have to ask you some questions about things that went on while we were young. Why did you and Mom drink so much and why did you fight so often?" I asked, almost ready to explode. I continued, "Why did we move so often and never have any money and why did you make my oldest brother go to the Catholic Seminary when he was 14?" I had a boat load of questions, so many that I could hardly get them out in coherent fashion. After my Dad and Mom listened and I was spent, tears welling up in my eyes, he spoke.
"Son, your Mother and I did the best we could while raising you kids. No we didn't get it right all the time but we were in a different time and place than you are now. When we did the things you ask about we always did them with the notion that it would be an improvement to our lives. As far as the drinking was concerned we did let that get out of control from time to time. About your brother going to the Seminary. It will be hard for you to remember but we scraped and saved and borrowed against our home to send him to a place that he wanted to go more than anything else in the world. All of the other kids sacrificed to send him to the seminary, you just didn't know it. Your Grandmother was a big factor in sending him off at such a young age and we allowed ourselves to go along with her desires to have a priest in the family."
My father was not getting mad as he spoke of our lives and answered my questions. He was calm and talked with love and understanding as he continued to tell me about what had actually occurred as I grew up. I was beginning to see that I had talked myself into a number of misconceptions.
He continued "Don't you remember all the time you and I spent together when you were little. I would always take you, just you, with me on Saturdays to do our construction jobs. I would wake you very early on Saturday morning and we would head out for a days work pouring cement or hanging doors. Try to recall all the time we spent alone, just you and I, while you helped me by lining up all the parts that I needed, often before I needed them. Why, you knew what I needed before I knew what I needed. I loved having you with me and, if you remember, you were the only one that I picked to do that with".
It was beginning to become apparent to me that I had been mistaken in many ways about putting the blame for my life on my Dad. He continued. "Son, we did the best we could raising all of you kids. If your life is a mess it is not my fault". My Dad wasn't angry when he said this to me, He said it with love and concern that I was having a very tough time right then.
And then it hit me like a bolt of lightning. It was not his fault. Nor my Mother's. It was my fault that my life had somehow spun out of control. Now the tears came as I realized how much I loved this man and how simple he had just made things for me. "If your life is a mess right now it is not my fault".
Somehow the conversation came to a close and I headed on my way with much to consider. "It was not my fault". The words kept racing through my mind. He was absolutely correct. It was not his fault. My life has been mine to control and to mold as for many years. I was a grown man and the direction I took was to be defined by the choices I made. Not the choices of my parents.
That was a remarkable day in my life. I had confronted my Dad and Mother with a blast furnace of issues bent on having them explain how they could have screwed things up so badly for me. They met the onslaught with a calm and empathy that surprised me and allowed me to consider the world in more simple terms. Terms that made perfect sense. We are what we choose. And when we choose we take responsibility for those choices. We should not blame our parents for the lives we have made for ourselves. We look upon the tools that they gave us, some good some not so good, and we build upon them.
And, if we are lucky, very, very lucky, we will have the opportunity to enhance our life by exploring the past as I did, in a loving, life changing talk with my Dad.