CHAPTER 12
Crew Legacies
THERE HAVEN'T BEEN MANY RESEARCH STUDIES THAT HAVE TRACKED the emotional toll on ditching survivors because there haven't been many ditching survivors. By the time PTSD had become an accepted psychological disorder in 1980, prompting longitudinal academic studies, jets had by and large supplanted props and the Department of Transportation, National Transportation Safety Board, and Occupational Health and Safety Act were 13 years old. The combined effect was a dramatic decrease in aviation casualties. There have been a few illuminating studies, however, including of ditchings and other aircraft accidents, and certain findings rise to the top.
First, the "reactions [to disasters] vary dramatically." Some survivors seem never to tire of talking about their ordeals, while others never want to talk about it. Some can't recall a thing about a disaster minutes after the fact, while others recall things in vivid detail decades later. Some people find that fear presents quickly but dissipates, while others develop late-onset symptoms. Some fly more after an airplane accident in the belief that God has their back, while others suffer immobilizing panic attacks at the mere thought of setting foot on a plane again.
Second, most survivors say they suffer from guilt to some degree. The psychoanalyst and Holocaust survivor who coined the term "survivor guilt" said it's unavoidable. "The very fact of survival always causes severe guilt," said William Niederland, MD. "Always."
Third, the vast majority experience persistent, harrowing nightmares. The big difference seems to be that some don't suffer as much while awake, Carl Jung's "shadow" (that murky facet of our personality that at times protects us, at times harms us) mercifully sequestering the horror in the subconscious.
Fourth, many lives change for the better. Professors Richard Tedeschi and Lawrence Calhoun of UNC-Charlotte coined the term "post- traumatic growth" to mean a "positive change experienced as a result of the struggle with a major life crisis or a traumatic event." The benefits often manifest in "changes in self-perception, interpersonal relationships and philosophy of life."
Fifth, it's often the victims behind the victims who struggle the most. The survivors' loved ones can be heroes too. Their resilience is often the real story.
JOHN MURRAY
In his closing statement at the 1962 CAB hearing, before thanking his crew and blaming himself for expecting too much of them, he said, "I am not an articulate man." But he was. He just wasn't "much of a talker," says elder son, John Patrick.
More accurately, Murray appears to have been selective in whom he talked with, about what. He spoke at length with Swiss deckhand Pierre-André Reymond, who would later say: "We all know that it is a normal reaction after a PTSD not to talk about such an accident (please do not call that an incident). Time has no meaning for these persons: past, present and future is all the same one thing. The notion of time doesn't exist for them, they are inside the trauma and the trauma is in their mind."
Reymond wasn't alone. John Patrick recalls how "Dad talked about the ditching from time to time and was contemplating writing a book. He even taught himself to touch-type using a Sears electric typewriter and wanted to capture the right details."
Some details continued to trouble him. "Of course they did," says John Patrick. "Who wouldn't have thought about certain things? Dad always wondered if there was more he could have done. He didn't say so, but I could tell. I don't know if survivor's guilt is the correct term. I think it was more second-guessing guilt. 'Could I have done something different?'; things like that. He did everything he could but the loss of life bothered him."
The death of his friend and ally Captain Bechtold conflated his ruminations. "That really affected Dad. He said something to the effect of 'I'm sure glad I had Ed on my side. They really came after me during that hearing. I don't know what I would've done without him.'"
But he "never suffered from panic attacks. That kind of reaction was totally outside his personality. When Flying Tiger Line president and WWII Ace Robert Prescott asked: 'Well, you haven't lost your nerve, have you?' Dad smiled and said 'I never had any to begin with.' But he was a bit ruffled by the question." Although his father never boasted, "Dad knew he had done everything as well as it could have been done. He did his job well and, with all modesty, knew it."
His most prominent attitude was gratitude. That Bechtold—a highly decorated combat aviator and New York's top safety expert—died while attempting to land on a smooth runway in New York in late November underscored how fortunate Murray had been to "land" in the middle of 20-foot waves two months prior. Still, as the New Year rolled around, because Murray knew regulators were political animals, and there were forces at play beyond his pay grade, he knew there was a chance he could be faulted, however unjustly. He knew there was a chance the FAA could strip him of the licenses and certificates he needed to fly for a living.
Some good news finally arrived in March 1963, in the form of the Coast Guard's "Search and Rescue Study." The unequivocally supportive 279-page analysis by seasoned pilots and first responders put some wind at his back.
No one can recall when Murray read the CAB's "Aircraft Accident Report" on Tiger 923, but he probably read it the day of or soon after its release on September 13, 1963. As to where he read it, his good friend and fellow Tiger pilot Larry LeFever guesses it was in the Newark Airport parking lot, in his car, where he could read it in peace.
He likely took note of its brevity: at 19 pages, just 7 percent as long as the Coast Guard's study; and its sloppy beginning, in the form of a "Synposis [sic]." But the first paragraph was nonetheless heartening: "The Board determines that the probable cause of this accident was the failure of two of the aircraft's four engines, and the improper action of the flight engineer, which disabled a third engine, thereby necessitating a ditching at sea."
Some of what followed the synopsis comported with the 31 hours of the Commerce Department's hearing testimony and the Treasury Department's study. But there were also disagreements. The CAB said that "preparations for the ditching were not completed," Murray "did not recite . . . the checklist . . . as required by the company manual," and he was "not aware" or was "unable to recall" certain items in the Tiger manual and/or the proper sequence of events. The CAB took special exception to Murray's ditching maneuver. "The procedure he used is, as a matter of fact, warned against in the manual. Based on witness testimony concerning the absence of the left wing . . . it is apparent that considerable impact force was encountered in the ditching. Failure of the left wing deprived survivors of the life rafts stowed therein."
But the conclusion was unequivocally laudatory. "Under the circumstances of darkness, weather, and high seas, which prevailed in the North Atlantic at the time of this ditching, the Board believes that the survival of 48 occupants of the aircraft was miraculous, however, had lights been provided on the lifejackets, even more would have survived."
While Murray was relieved that even the remote risk of losing his license was gone, he wasn't looking for vindication. John Patrick recalls: "Despite criticism of the procedure he used, Dad did not think the CAB had skewered him and saw more positives in the report than negatives. He never, never doubted the wisdom of his approach to the ditching, thoroughly convinced that it was exactly the correct thing to do. The fact that the aircraft survived a ditching intact in such rough seas, at night, on one engine is phenomenal and testimony that he got it right, critics notwithstanding."
The CAB also made some recommendations, most of them obvious. "Consideration should be given to improving the basic design of [the life] jackets," requiring that they all have lights, and storing all the rafts internally, to protect them better, given none of the four main rafts was where it should have been. The report closed by saying that all U.S. airlines needed to train their crews better in emergency procedures in general, and in the event of ditching, particularly.
Murray's reaction was more equable than that of others, like Super Connie–rated Tiger pilot Larry LeFever, who feels the CAB took some cheap shots. He agrees with the RAF and Canadian Navy pilots cited in the Coast Guard study: "Given the winds and seas, it's a miracle anyone lived. Remember: everyone got off 923 alive. That was no swimming pool John landed in." LeFever also notes that the CAB's saying the evacuees were "deprived" of the four main rafts is false, as all of the rafts were retrieved, and two of them had been occupied.
Layman-survivor Art Gilbreth says, "I got a copy of the report. What I remember is he did a hell of a job with the turning controls locking up, landing between those big swells, with it raining like mad, not clipping the waves with the broad wings. It was obvious to see, at least to anyone on-board, what an incredible job he did."
Murray didn't stew in the negativity. He knew he was lucky to be alive. He could live with a few ignorant assessments or unreasonable opinions. What he couldn't live with, however, was wasting his last chance. He knew it wasn't a second. He was up to his ninth chance, at least, maybe nineteenth, after eluding death over the skies of Tel Aviv, in the deserts of Yemen, during the winters of Detroit, and along 3,000 potholed, pre-Interstate miles on his Indian Junior Scout, his aviator goggles often covered in bug guts, when such trips weren't for the faint of heart.
The pilot used his chance to be a better father and husband. According to John Patrick, the trained chemical engineer
encouraged me when I experienced great difficulty in General Chemistry my first semester at Georgetown, suggested I consider rowing crew (which I did, and we won the Dad Vail regatta in Philly in '68), talked to me about his adventures flying guns into Palestine while helping me build a fence at home and teaching me how to replace a cracked piston in our lawnmower, got me started in my summer job as a commercial clam digger, took us all to Ireland for an unforgettable summer in 1964, where he took Steve and me on many flights to Europe and took us all to Greece and Italy, was a doting father to Ellen and Barbara, took Mom on several vacations, and along with Mom, was a strong influence on my Catholic faith and, after he passed, he was the inspiration that got me involved in flying.
He also took "Barbara and me fishing a lot," Ellen recalls. "The first time I caught anything it was a big black eel. I was so excited and yelled 'Daddy! Daddy, I caught snake!' I brought it home and put it in the bathtub, hoping to keep it as a pet. As you can imagine, that didn't pan out."
The Murray family arrived in Limerick in June 1964, renting a home close to Shannon International Airport. They were well received. The role Irish hospitals and helicopters, nuns and fishermen had played in Tiger 923 was still relatively fresh in people's minds, and a source of Celtic pride, as was the fact that, of all the places he could have chosen to reside, the man whom Cork's Examiner, London's Times, and seemingly every other TV, radio or newspaper reporter called the miracle pilot elected to reside in their fair city.