deadstick
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[FONT=Times New Roman, Times, serif]Solemn flight delivers airman to final resting place
[FONT=Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif]By Gary Blied[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, Times, serif]On Dec. 3, I was the co-pilot for American Airlines Flight 1904, traveling from Chicago to Miami.
We were informed at the gate that the remains of Master Sgt. Shawn Richardson would shortly be loaded on our flight.
He was a 17-year veteran of the Air Force and had been killed in a motorcycle accident while serving our country in South Korea.
I went down to the ramp and found the long box appropriately stationed off to the side in a luggage cart. The curtains on the cart were pulled. It was my honor to spend a few moments in prayer with him.
The captain and I finished our preflight duties and then went back down to the ramp and checked in with the crew chiefs to observe the loading of Master Sgt. Richardson. We departed almost an hour late due to our late arrival into Chicago.
We called for push and it was immediately granted. Normally, there’s a wait. We called ground for taxi and again — immediately granted. Normally, there’s a wait. We were cleared onto the runway and for an immediate takeoff. Passing through about 25,000 feet we were further cleared direct to Ormand Beach, which is the first fix on the arrival into Miami. That’s basically a thousand-mile straight line and the most direct clearance I’ve ever received to Miami.
The flight to and landing in Miami were uneventful until we went to turn off the runway. The tower asked us to proceed to where an escort was waiting for us. A Miami-Dade police cruiser met us on the taxiway. He escorted our Boeing 757 to the D terminal. The entire north ramp had been cleared of all aircraft. I’d never seen that, either.
As we approached the ramp, we noticed the lights. There were at least a half-dozen fire trucks, no fewer than 15 police cars and countless other vehicles. The fire trucks saluted our arrival with crossed streams of water shooting over the aircraft. My first seven years of service were in the Air Force Crash Fire Rescue Department. There is no higher salute from the fire department.
We parked the aircraft and shut down. After our checklists, Capt. Jeff Wallace and I went to the ramp level and observed the unpacking of the casket, then the dressing with a flag. It was accepted by the bearer team which was composed of members of the Miami-Dade Police Department and Air Force honor guard.
As I looked up from the ramp level I saw a somber face in every window. Not one of our passengers had moved until our fallen airman had departed the aircraft.
When the procession left the airport, there were two cruisers in front of the hearse, and I have no idea how many behind. It was worthy of a presidential motorcade and a fitting show of love and respect for one of our fallen.
It was 1:30 a.m. on a Sunday; we were almost two hours late. I would bet that most of the people on our ramp were not on the clock.
Every now and then you see it: the silent majority that makes this country the best in the world. I was so proud that night. Proud that my fellow citizens on every level worked to get Master Sgt. Richardson to his final repose. Proud of the people who waited hours into Sunday morning to show their respect. Proud of our passengers that they recognized a greater purpose than getting off the jet.
It was my privilege to be witness to this homecoming. I would hope that all the service people who read this know that you are in our prayers. We are all proud of you — what I witnessed that night proves it.
The author retired from the Air Force as a major with 22 years of service. He has been a pilot for American Airlines since October 1991.
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[FONT=Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif]By Gary Blied[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, Times, serif]On Dec. 3, I was the co-pilot for American Airlines Flight 1904, traveling from Chicago to Miami.
We were informed at the gate that the remains of Master Sgt. Shawn Richardson would shortly be loaded on our flight.
He was a 17-year veteran of the Air Force and had been killed in a motorcycle accident while serving our country in South Korea.
I went down to the ramp and found the long box appropriately stationed off to the side in a luggage cart. The curtains on the cart were pulled. It was my honor to spend a few moments in prayer with him.
The captain and I finished our preflight duties and then went back down to the ramp and checked in with the crew chiefs to observe the loading of Master Sgt. Richardson. We departed almost an hour late due to our late arrival into Chicago.
We called for push and it was immediately granted. Normally, there’s a wait. We called ground for taxi and again — immediately granted. Normally, there’s a wait. We were cleared onto the runway and for an immediate takeoff. Passing through about 25,000 feet we were further cleared direct to Ormand Beach, which is the first fix on the arrival into Miami. That’s basically a thousand-mile straight line and the most direct clearance I’ve ever received to Miami.
The flight to and landing in Miami were uneventful until we went to turn off the runway. The tower asked us to proceed to where an escort was waiting for us. A Miami-Dade police cruiser met us on the taxiway. He escorted our Boeing 757 to the D terminal. The entire north ramp had been cleared of all aircraft. I’d never seen that, either.
As we approached the ramp, we noticed the lights. There were at least a half-dozen fire trucks, no fewer than 15 police cars and countless other vehicles. The fire trucks saluted our arrival with crossed streams of water shooting over the aircraft. My first seven years of service were in the Air Force Crash Fire Rescue Department. There is no higher salute from the fire department.
We parked the aircraft and shut down. After our checklists, Capt. Jeff Wallace and I went to the ramp level and observed the unpacking of the casket, then the dressing with a flag. It was accepted by the bearer team which was composed of members of the Miami-Dade Police Department and Air Force honor guard.
As I looked up from the ramp level I saw a somber face in every window. Not one of our passengers had moved until our fallen airman had departed the aircraft.
When the procession left the airport, there were two cruisers in front of the hearse, and I have no idea how many behind. It was worthy of a presidential motorcade and a fitting show of love and respect for one of our fallen.
It was 1:30 a.m. on a Sunday; we were almost two hours late. I would bet that most of the people on our ramp were not on the clock.
Every now and then you see it: the silent majority that makes this country the best in the world. I was so proud that night. Proud that my fellow citizens on every level worked to get Master Sgt. Richardson to his final repose. Proud of the people who waited hours into Sunday morning to show their respect. Proud of our passengers that they recognized a greater purpose than getting off the jet.
It was my privilege to be witness to this homecoming. I would hope that all the service people who read this know that you are in our prayers. We are all proud of you — what I witnessed that night proves it.
The author retired from the Air Force as a major with 22 years of service. He has been a pilot for American Airlines since October 1991.
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