The Making of Moose Weatherman

I was a new Captain. And I was wound tight-tight-tight.  I was like a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs... simply wound tight.

Sure, I had been flying commercially for years, more than a decade really, and the mechanics of flying from the Captain's seat were pretty much identical to the Copilot's seat.  It wasn't the mechanics of flying so much... it was the responsibility.  That responsibility was heavy, and it was new enough to me that I felt it's weight with every decision I made.  I realized that I held more than a hundred and fifty lives in my hands, and an error would be so very costly.  I felt the weight of every life every moment, every second.

That fateful day we were flying to Chicago.  It was a normal flight, without much in the way of excitement or adventure, and we anticipated a quick 50 minute turn on the ground before flying back out.   In every way, it was an average trip on an average day.   My approach and landing were uneventful, all the way up until I applied the brakes to slow the aircraft after a gentle touchdown.

With an audible "bang" and an immediate, violent shudder, the aircraft lurched to the left and headed for the edge of the runway at 140 knots.  It happened in an instant... there was no time to think, no time to analyze; 125,000 pounds of aluminum, jet fuel and humanity were moving quickly towards an accident.  I reacted without conscious thought, and tried to wrestle the aircraft back towards the center of the runway.


Braking was minimal.  Steering was only marginally effective.  We were headed for the ditch to the left.  Running off the runway, I knew, would be a bad thing.  A very bad thing.  Significant aircraft damage was guaranteed.  There could be a fire.  There would certainly be an emergency evacuation.  People would be hurt, possibly killed.  

I could not let that happen.  

For fifteen seconds or so, I didn't know if I'd be able to keep the plane on the runway.  Reverse thrust worked, marginally at first, but then began to slow the aircraft.   Braking on the right side of the aircraft was unaffected, and began to help slow us down.  As we slowed, the aircraft began to respond to my commands, and I turned us back towards the center of the runway.   After several eternal moments, the crisis passed.

I slowed the aircraft as we turned on to a taxiway, and I could hear a loud roar of applause and cheering from behind me as I brought the aircraft to a stop.  I don't think my heart has ever beat that fast and hard before, or since.

In moments, we were surrounded by fire trucks and firemen, spraying foam on the left side landing gear.  Part of our left main gear had disintegrated when I applied the brakes, spraying the braking system with rubber shrapnel.  It damaged the underside of the wing and trailing edge flaps, as well.  I would find out later that the cost of the damage to the aircraft totaled over a million dollars. 

It took over an hour to make sure the landing gear was safe, and to get the aircraft towed to the gate.  There would be phone calls to make, paperwork to fill out, narrative of the incident to write.  I was not looking forward to the paperwork.

Part of being a Captain includes saying goodbye to our passengers after a flight, and it was especially important after this one.  I was standing in the door, alternating between saying “Thanks for flying Delta” and “Sorry for the inconvenience." Nearly everyone wanted to shake my hand, and many offered their thanks and gratitude.  

I simply wanted to apologize to these great folks, but every single one of them wanted to thank me for keeping them alive... it was truly a humbling experience.  I had no idea that one of the most moving moments of my life was about to happen.  

At the end of the line, a young mother and her son were waiting shake my hand and exit. The boy, tow-headed and about 9 years old, grabbed my hand strongly, looked me up and down and said, “Is your name ‘Moose?’”

I wasn't sure I had head him correctly, and I smiled at him.  He had a stuffed brown Moose with yellow antlers in his arms. 

"Is MY name Moose?" I asked. “Why do you ask, buddy?”

"Mmm hmmm."  he nodded vigorously.  "Are you 'Moose?'"


I looked at his mother with some confusion, then back down to meet his gaze.  "I'm sorry, buddy, I don't understand."


“My Grandpa gave me my ‘Moose’ because I was a little scared to fly."  He held up the Moose for me to see.   "Grandpa told me that my Moose would keep me safe and make everything alright. And then.... we landed and the tire blew up and the airplane skidded and everyone started crying and screaming, we were all so scared!”  A frown crossed his face as he remembered the terror of the landing.  

“But then the airplane slowed down and stopped, and it was okay. And then Mommy said that maybe the Pilot’s name is Moose, too!" 

"So," he said, "are you Moose?”

I thought about it for a moment.   “Well, of course I am!  Today, I’m Captain Moose, aren’t I?”

"Yay!"  He jumped up and hugged me, and offered the his stuffed Moose’s hoof for a Fist-to-Hoof bump, which I gratefully accepted. 

The boy's pretty young mother also hugged me, kissed my cheek and whispered "Thank you, Captain Moose!" in my ear as she hugged me.  As they walked off the aircraft, I watched the boy bounce up the jetway.  I could hear him singing at the top of his voice “Cap-tain-MOOSE! Cap- tain-MOOSE!” over and over again, until his joyful cries faded in the distance.


The Flight Attendant standing next to punched my arm.  "Wow," she said, laughing and wiping away a tear.  She handed me a tissue as well, which I accepted gratefully.


And that's why today, my name is Captain Moose Weatherman.    Safe travels, my friends.