Stories: More than Words

Somewhere in the Pacific Ocean outside the Asian shores, two US Navy pilots flew a mission. These pilots were perfecting low-flying techniques to avoid radar detection during World War II. Not having found their intended target, however, they could not return to their carrier with the ordinance aboard the planes. The pilots spoke through their radios and agreed to look for any likely target on a close enemy island. Within minutes they discovered a group of buildings and the first pilot flew low with the second plane close behind. The first bomb hit and erupted a thunder of explosions. Shrapnel sprayed and spiraled into the path of the second plane that could not escape the barrage of projectiles. The pilot held his breath and planted his hands firmly on the control. Within seconds, the instruments disengaged as the damage to the plane became ever more clearly evident. The pilot detached the bombs and flew upward as fast and as high as he could go. More shrapnel engulfed the plane. The first pilot was horrified at seeing the encounter his friend faced.
"Andy, Andy! Are you all right?" yelled the first pilot.
The second pilot replied, "I'm still with you! We must have hit an ammunition dump. What fireworks!"
Both planes headed toward the carrier. The first plane would have to land before the limping plane could make an attempt and the likelihood of a crash landing was too good for their liking. Both pilots knew a crash could prevent a safe landing for any plane that immediately followed.
The pilot in the second plane fought for control of his flying machine. It did not want to cooperate. The wings dove and rose in convulsive disagreement. The plane moaned, shrieked, and rattled as Andy intuitively did what he could to comfort and ease it into a steady decline. A hot rush swept through him. Andy knew he had one chance to get the plane down on the runway. He feared the plane would break up if he had to circle and make another pass, and ditching in the sea was an exhausting and expensive alternative that Andy did not want on his record--if he survived the dunk. He had to land on deck. He felt a determination he had not remembered since he was 13 when he jumped out of the third-floor window to prove to those 10 other Boy Scouts they could save themselves from the fire by jumping after him--but that was another story, captured in a newpaper article his mom saved and that his youngest daughter would find fifty-some years later. It was as if he willed the plane to gain stability. The nose tipped downward. He muscled the control and glided to a bumpy stop atop ship. The firefighters rushed over to assist. He unbuckled, unstrapped, and climbed out to a roar of applause. "Lousy approach--helluva landing!" The chant and caption became a lifelong motto: "Turn lousy approaches into magnificent landings." Much later, as Andy related the story to his grandchildren, they heard Andy's finish: "I noticed blood splattered on my flight suit, so I went below deck to get presentable. I washed the blood from my face and arms, and in doing so, I watched my Purple Heart go down the drain!" He chuckled and his grandchildren laughed at his story.
The power of stories can help children and grandchildren know they belong in a family of courage and self-reliance and determination. This can be true of organizations and their employees as well. Think about the stories that inspire you to do your best. Share them--they're more than words! On this Memorial Day 2009, I honor my father, Cdr. Charles Robert Anderson, USN (b. October 20, 1918, d. December 25, 2007), known as Andy to many of his Navy friends.