On the evening of August 16th, 1987, Northwest Flight 255 departed Detroit Metro Airport headed to Phoenix. Fourteen seconds after take-off the plane crashed to the ground landing on Middlebelt Road. Sadly, 156 people died that night including a few that had been driving on the road near the airport. Miraculously, there was one four year old girl who survived.
The Detroit news stations and every other news outlet around the country relentlessly covered the story non-stop for weeks. They showed the crash site over and over and just about everyone I knew was glued to the TV; initially hoping for a better outcome, and then praying they would figure out what happened so it would never happen again. They ultimately determined that “flight crew errors” caused the plane crash.
My father had some friends that lost their son on that flight. Many local people knew first responders who were feeling shocked and devastated by what they had witnessed. It seemed everyone knew someone who was impacted by it. To say that it was a tragedy is a major understatement.
After that horribly sad event, I found myself with a bad case of anxiety anytime I had to go to the airport. If I’m honest, it was more like panic attacks when the plane was about to take-off. The feeling of my stomach fluttering from the G-forces always made me nauseous. I felt sorry for the people around me as they could see I was extremely uncomfortable as I fidgeted in my seat and fought the urge to grab the person unfortunate enough to get seated next to me. All the memories of the debris field laid out on Middlebelt Road flashing before my eyes. I would fight back the urge to jump out of my skin. Every bump and quick movement were sure signs that I was about to die. I lamented ever watching the horrifying newscasts and vowed I would find a better way to deal with that awful feeling.
My father’s advice was to never enter a plane sober and definitely his M.O. It was probably a successful strategy for some, but as a woman flying alone it wasn’t my first choice. I hated the feeling of being afraid more than I hated flying. There are those people who refuse to fly, but I decided a long time ago that fear would not control my life. So with that decision made, I knew I needed to change being afraid.
After I graduated from college in California, I moved back to Michigan and started looking for a job. I saw an Ad for a temp agency on behalf of Chrysler Credit, in which it described a terrifying opportunity. They had developed a six month test case program involving interactive financial software. They needed to hire people willing to fly all around the country training people on their new software. It required flights out of Detroit every Monday to a new city each week to train their credit branch staff, and a few chosen car dealerships. I’m not sure if I was desperate for work or just totally insane, but I sent them my resume. When they offered me the role, I remember thinking it would either kill me or cure me of my flying issues.
I was the low-man-on-the-totem-pole so I was never booked on a non-stop flight. I was awarded the cheapest airline tickets to the worst locations. I went to places like Mobile, AL and Corpus Christi, TX that required flights on puddle-jumpers during hurricane season. Or Tempe, Arizona in July—because wearing suits and pantyhose in 114 degree weather is always fun! I had at least four flights a week for six months straight. For some reason, I spent a lot of time at the St. Louis airport switching aircraft from one coast to another.
On my last trip of the six month grind I was sent to Portland, Oregon. The luckier big fish were traveling home from places like Indianapolis and Milwaukee. I felt like I couldn’t have been further from home. For the first time I had finished up my training sessions on a Thursday night—a day early. I called the airline and was told the flight schedule for Friday morning had a plane leaving at six. I was so excited at the possibility that I could get home early I rushed back to the hotel, packed and jumped in bed—knowing 3:30 AM was going to feel like a kick in the teeth.
After dragging my butt to the airport for a 4 AM arrival, I felt like I had finally caught a break when I managed to get the last Standby seat. I remember thinking back on all the flights I had taken that summer. Every single week the travel coordinator booked me in a window seat. I guess they were cheaper because I specifically asked for an aisle seat—I hated looking out at the ground disappearing. But I learned to close the shade and think about something else during takeoff. The frequency of my trips and having barely enough time to do my laundry before leaving again, was starting to wear on me. Being tired also helped with the anxiety because I was feeling much better about flying. I still hated take-off, but I would stay much calmer and recover a lot quicker.
I landed in St. Louis where my original ticket had an evening departure. I was determined to get on an earlier flight via Standby, once again. There were three flights leaving for Detroit before my original late flight—so I felt good about my chances. Apparently fate had other plans for me. Every single flight was booked. Of course they were! Everybody wanted to get home for plans on Friday night. I sat there all day just to board my original flight. To match my red hair, I had a good case of a chapped, red-ass, too!
After getting myself situated in my nauseating window seat on a very full flight, I noted that there were only two empty seats; one was a few rows behind me, and one was the middle seat right next to me. As we got closer and closer to take-off time I was feeling lucky that perhaps that empty seat would stay open so I could breathe a little. Even though I had gotten better with flying, I still struggled with claustrophobia. Just then the captain came on the intercom and announced, “Folks, we’re just waiting on a couple of passengers from a connecting flight. We’ll be on our way soon. Thanks for your patience.” Airlines today don’t wait for passengers anymore, but back then they did and we waited about 15 minutes. Which felt like an eternity after the kind of day I had been having. Under my breath I was lamenting the whole screwed up day when a big man with white hair approached my row. When he took the seat further back I let out a sigh of relief. Then I heard a very deep voice coming from the aisle. I looked up to find an even larger man with dark, short hair and a friendly smile. He asked the guy in my row to move while he got situated in the middle seat. Inside I started to panic. Those damn rows are so small I felt like the walls were closing in on me; I tried not to freak out.
Now that the entire plane was packed tighter than my grandmother’s girdle, it seemed the flight crew was in a big yank to get us out of there. I started thinking of all the ways one might get out of this situation. Could I switch seats? Could I go to the bathroom? No. I was stuck! The plane was already heading down a dark runway with my head spinning like a top. I felt faint when the wheels left the earth. When the plane dipped and turned it felt like I was strapped to a bat-outta-hell! I looked up at the man next me and he had his arms crossed in front of him, his eyes closed and he was still breathing heavy and sweating from his run through the airport. I slowly got up the nerve to tap him on the shoulder.
He snapped his head right and looked at me with an expression of surprise, and I said, “Hi. Is there any chance you might want to switch seats with me?”
He quickly gave me a look like I was nuts and said, “Um, no thanks.”
We were still climbing to our traveling altitude when I started to hyperventilate. I thought to myself, “Do something or this is not going to end well!” I tapped the man’s shoulder again and said, “Sir, I’m sorry, but if you don’t change seats with me, I’m probably going to throw up on you!”
His eyes jerked wide open and he grabbed his seatbelt and pulled himself loose while simultaneously elbowing the guy to his left. They both jumped into the aisle and I joined them. After we all performed the Hokey Pokey dance and settled back into our row, I took the middle seat and desperately tried to find my composure.
The gentleman now jammed into the window seat asked, “Are ya alright? Are ya good?”
I shook my head up and down and tried to smile as I grabbed my magazines. I said, “Thank you sir, I was really feeling claustrophobic and you saved the day.”
He said, “Ok, glad to hear it. Are you ok if we leave this arm up?” I shook my head up and down and flashed a friendly smile.
A few minutes later, the man asked, “Do you mind if I read your Vogue magazine?”
I said, “Sure! I’ve got several things to read.”
After what felt like an eternity, I heard the pilot announce that we had reached our cruising altitude of around 30,000 feet.
Then I heard his deep voice ask, “Why are you flying today? What do you do for a living?”
I answered, “I train people on EFT financial services software.” His eyes popped wide open and he said, “You do? Tell me about that.”
It turned out that the man that I had tormented for over a half an hour was Dave Lind, the Chief Operating Officer of an electronic funds transfer network (EFT) called Magic Line, located in Dearborn, Michigan. He was looking to grow his technical team and started interviewing me on the spot. I thought to myself, “This guy must be desperate or crazy if he’s still interested in employing me after this little debacle of a rodeo.” But as it turned out, he was just a really nice man, and apparently not easily scared off by lunatics.
He was also a man of his word because he really did have a job opening. After a few phone calls he convinced me to join his company and that was the beginning of my career in financial services.
If I had never tackled my fear of flying, ever been placed in an aisle seat, hadn’t missed all those flights in St. Louis and threatened to barf on a stranger, I would’ve never landed at my current destination. Thank God for all the annoying ways I paid my dues, and I learned that luck (or no luck) was just fate—meeting an opportunity.
You know you’ve fully accepted the pain when you find the purpose behind it. I’m so grateful I suffered those PTSD moments and pushed myself to overcome them. In life there might be times that you feel like you don’t have any good choices. But I am here to tell you, you always have the choice to find perspective and look for the purpose in the pain. My advice is not to avoid what makes you afraid—run to it instead.
Thank you to all the people that I met along the way that directed my flight to this amazing destination. If you would like to learn more about my journey, I hope you will read my memoir All But Six and/or follow my blogs for more of the story.
Love,
Terrina
PS-Hey Dave,—Always ask for an aisle seat buddy! And avoid those redheads! : )
PPS- One of my favorite songs is by Zach Williams. Check out the lyrics:
When he told you you’re not good enough
When he told you you’re not right
When he told you you’re not strong enough
To put up a good fight
When he told you you’re not worthy
When he told you you’re not loved
When he told you you’re not beautiful
You’ll never be enough
Fear, he is a liar
He will take your breath
Stop you in your steps
Fear, he is a liar
He will rob your rest
Steal your happiness
Cast your fear in the fire
‘Cause fear, he is a liar
When he told you were troubled
You’ll forever be alone
When he told you you should run away
You’ll never find a home
When he told you you were dirty
And you should be ashamed
When he told you you could be the one
That grace could never change
Oh, fear, he is a liar
He will take your breath
Stop you in your steps
Fear, he is a liar
He will rob your rest
Steal your happiness
Cast your fear in the fire
‘Cause fear, he is a liar
