Tag Archives: Doug McCarty

Flight 370 and the Fear of Flying

by Doug McCarty

The search for Malaysia Flight 370.

The search for Malaysian Airlines Flight 370.

I am a little scared. Why? Well, it so happens that my two dearest and closest relatives are flying almost simultaneously on long trips. My oldest daughter is flying to Portugal in early April, and my younger daughter flies to Orlando a few days later for her first Disney visit. And, why am I concerned, you may be thinking?

It has been in the news, in our faces, night and day, the fate of the Malaysian Airlines Flight 370. I am excited for my daughters, but I am, much like any other parent, worried over the trustworthiness of the system of flight into which I must place them. Now, I have made many long flights myself, have flown for many hours on large jets towards foreign destinations, yet I have never been at ease with these journeys. Nor have others—I only had to look around me to see my fellow passengers downing alcoholic beverage after alcoholic beverage to realize that my lack of comfort was shared by many. Not terribly reassuring. I recall looking out at the deep, dark Atlantic from my window seat on one flight, a thousand miles yet to go, and, I thought, “Don’t go down.”

And, what do I think when I conceive my children miles above open water flying? The same thoughts that I always had for myself during my flights to other countries, other experiences, cultures. There is that feeling, that innermost twisting, the unexplained feeling of dread, of loss. Certainly, those who had ties to the passengers and crew of Malaysian Flight 370 know it well, accompanied by that tragic knowledge of the irretrievable in the aftermath of what little we now know of the plane’s demise in or over the Indian Ocean.

My Girls.

My Girls.

In our contemporary culture, we demand so much information, promptly delivered. We require that moment of instant gratification, that sense of closure, fulfillment, a quick peace. My father (who is approaching 80) observed while I was writing this blog that, 30 years ago, when he was about my age, a plane could go down in the ocean, and we would not expect to find it. That is hardly true today, 3 weeks plus after Flight 370 vanished. The 24-hour news channels feed us non-stories about what may have occurred, much of it pure speculation. The rather silly theory of terrorism that made its frantic way through the news has largely been abandoned. Granted, terrorist links are still being investigated, chiefly by the U.S., which is focusing on two Iranian citizens who boarded the plane using stolen Austrian and Italian passports. Interpol, however, does not believe that either of the two Iranians were terrorists, a view shared by other countries investigating this possibility. At present, it seems most likely that the two planned to migrate to Europe. That early knee-jerk reaction is interesting, as it heaped fuel upon the speculative flame. Too often, we look for answers without considering the evidence we have before us, or even waiting for the evidence to arrive. As I write, I am watching a CNN discussion of the black box, pingers, sophisticated equipment on the way from the U.S. and China, and I get the sense of urgency as they talk about the 30-day battery life of the black box.

The Black Box.

A “Black Box” Flight Recorder.

I guess one of the problems is that the whole episode makes so little sense that it is almost impossible to contrive a reasonable explanation for whatever happened to Flight 370. There is that talk going on now of possible mechanical failure causing the pilots to speed up, maybe in an effort to get back to the airport, but that explains nothing about why the plane flew over land and back into the ocean. And, no communication is another issue. Why would a pilot in peril not communicate?

Thinking on how safe it is to fly versus to drive, I looked up a few statistics. It turns out that the odds of dying by car per mile are 1 in 100,000, by plane, 1.6 in 100,000,000,000. In other words, one is 625,000 more times likely to die in a car driven per mile than in a plane flown per mile. Now, that seems fairly reassuring news, but when taken into account how many car trips are taken each year (300 billion) versus flights, the numbers become less reassuring. The odds become, then, of dying by car one in 10,000,000, by plane, one in 720,000,000. So, that means one is only 72 times more likely to die by car than by airplane. One would wish a more comfortable margin. Of course, this data is from just one website, and there are many disparities between statistics. I did find one that says, “When we fly, we have a one one-hundred-thousandth of one percent chance of dying.” That is comforting to me, personally, although I know it is not to the families and friends of those lost on Flight 370.

Debris in the ocean.

Debris in the ocean.

At this point, debris and objects retrieved from the Indian Ocean have proved to be unrelated to the flight. There are dozens of ships and planes in the area from a multitude of countries. One wonders if these amassed forces will be sufficient to unravel the mystery surrounding this plane’s disappearance. The intensity and scale of the search is increasing hourly, and it has been said that, if this mystery has a solution, then the searchers will find it. I hope for the sake of those left behind that this is true.

Revisiting Richard III

by Doug McCarty

Garage Sale Books.

Garage Sale Books.

I remember when I was quite young, not quite eight years old, and I visited a neighborhood garage sale. I liked to read and was fairly precocious, so it was natural for me to be drawn to a box of old books in a corner, barely visible among all the various knickknacks and junk. Most of what was in the box was pretty uninteresting, the usual Reader’s Digest collections in hardback and the like. I did find something, though, that caught my eye—a tattered three-volume collection of Shakespeare’s works. I think I paid a dime for all three books.

Wm. Shakespeare

William Shakespeare.

Now, what is a seven-year-old going to do with Shakespeare? Not that much, at first. The collection sat in the bookshelves in my room until a got a little older. Once I started, however, I read the entire set, all the plays, all the poems. I may not have understood everything I was reading all that well, but I kept on and on.

Certain plays held my attention more than others, Richard III especially. Any of you who have read the play or seen one or more of the numerous film adaptions know well the historical description of this king as a deformed hunchback with a withered arm who had his nephews (the sons of his late brother Edward IV) murdered in the Tower of London and who seized the crown through nefarious means. This description bothered me from the beginning, although I could never put my finger on why. Shakespeare, of course, could hardly write about the late king in a positive light, given that in 1591, when the play was probably written, the Tudor line that overthrew and killed Richard was still in charge in England. It always seemed strange that such an enigmatic figure was written in such a way, particularly when this character was given some of the finest lines read from among all the plays.

Sir Laurence Olivier as Richard III in 1955

Sir Laurence Olivier as Richard III in 1955.

Years went by, and I reviewed the play from time to time, then very little after graduate school. In recent years, I discovered that there was a revival of interest in Richard, especially among those who wanted to reform the negative image created chiefly by Sir Thomas More and dramatized by Shakespeare. After a few moments of online research, I realized that I had been sleeping while new data and information on Richard was being uncovered. Unknown to me, there are several societies and research projects devoted to discovering the truth about Richard, who is, by the way, the current Queen of England’s 14th great-grand-uncle. There is a bunch of new stuff out there, but I will avoid boring anyone with all of it, even though it excites me.

Sir Ian McKellen as a historically-reimagined Richard III in 1995

Sir Ian McKellen as a historically-reimagined Richard III in 1995.

The most interesting thing I found out is that Richard III’s remains were discovered underneath a parking lot in 2012 after vanishing over five centuries ago, at the site of the medieval Greyfriars Church, where he was reputed to have been interred. The skeleton was identified, according to researchers, beyond a reasonable doubt as belonging to Richard.

This reasonably-positive identification was made through comparison of his mitochondrial DNA with that of two matrilineal descendants of Richard’s eldest sister, Anne of York. The spine showed considerable deformity consistent with scoliosis, which may have given Richard the appearance of having one shoulder higher than the other.

The Skeleton in the Grave.

The Skeleton in the Grave.

The skeleton sustained at least ten wounds demonstrative of battlefield injuries of Richard’s day, when he was killed by the forces of Henry Tudor at the Battle of Bosworth Field in 1485, which was the end of the Wars of the Roses and is typically considered to mark the end of the Middle Ages in England. There are plenty of gruesome details and conjectures about the events leading up to his death, and I invite you to do a web search for yourself, if you are at all inclined.

Portrait of Richard III in National Portrait Gallery

Portrait of Richard III

At this point, the team from the University of Leicester who participated in Richard III’s discovery, among other players, is planning to decode his genome, which has set off a flurry of controversy and protests, even involving Buckingham Palace.

Although history has been unkind to Richard, perhaps justly so in some instances, he was by many accounts an able and talented military commander, a king who reputedly enacted laws to protect the poor, and a noble who lived at the very least according to the principles of his time. He remains an enigma and perhaps always will, but that is what makes him so interesting, at least to me.