Captain Chesley Sullenberger - Superman and Everyman

Captain Chesley Sullenberger is expected any moment at Starbucks at Blackhawk Plaza, and I wait there, half-expecting the American hero to zoom down from the heavens, like Superman. Nearby, four teenage girls share an after-school moment, three brandishing iPhones, and one, perhaps defining underprivileged youth in Blackhawk, making due with a plain old cell phone. A large painting of Lance Armstrong on one wall says "Man Becomes What He Thinks About." We are in the East Bay land of achievers.

Soon after Sully pulls up - driving a dark red Lexus - he makes it clear his house isn't in this gated community on the fancy side of the road. He's a plain guy who's lived in Danville for 15 years, with his wife, Lorrie, and their two daughters, Kate, 16, and Kelly, 14. "I am a man of routine," he writes in his new memoir, "and there's a precision to my life."

He's tall, slim, blue-eyed, white-mustached, recognizable. Would he like to sit in a corner, so people don't approach to greet him? No problem, he says, he'll deal with it. From Jan. 15, the day he landed US Airways Flight 1549 in the Hudson River, to Oct. 7, the day before he was to fly to New York to begin a national tour for the book out today, "Highest Duty: My Search for What Really Matters," Sully has been dealing with it.

Furthermore, as demonstrated by the subtitle, he's been intent on using his newfound fame to promote his own code: Doing things well, doing them right, the way he did the day he used "a lifetime of knowledge to find a way to safety," his written description of the feat of flying those 150 passengers to safety.

If you had to wear a T-shirt describing yourself, would you rather it said "Competent" or "Hero"? I ask, midway through our conversation. He flicks aside the question: "I wouldn't wear the T-shirt." In fact, he's dressed in a plain knit shirt, no logo visible, no symbols except the ones on his Air Force Academy ring, no indication of his likes or dislikes or what he thinks is clever or amusing.

First time in the sky

He's 58 years old, and he grew up a shy boy in Denison, Texas. His dad was a dentist, his mom a first-grade teacher who took him along to a statewide PTA convention when he was 11. It was his first time in the sky, fulfilling a wish to fly he'd had since he was 5. At 16, he made his first solo flight, a thrilling moment, the point at which he knew "this would be my livelihood and my life."

Surely, that was about the rush, the power, the exhilaration of speed. So what kind of driver are you? I asked, gesturing to the car. "I'm a pretty conservative driver," he says. "I appreciate the risks. I work very hard to never be surprised. ... I pay attention."

Even at 16, he writes, "I realized that flying a plane meant not making mistakes." Although in conversation he admits he participated in a few non-plane-related youthful escapades - "an occasional skipping out" - "I wasn't a huge risk-taker. When I would take a risk, I would think about it beforehand. I had fun, but it wasn't with reckless abandon."

More than 40 years later, during which "I ate my vegetables, I did my homework," he is sure that the landing of Flight 1549 "didn't just happen. It was the result of decades of hard work."

Moral mantle

He's a guy who is most comfortable redirecting heaped praise to others, his flight crew for example. But he has also assumed a sort of moral mantle, and in keeping with the subtitle of his book, he's eager to share what he's learned about living, "the more general human issue," in his phrase, and in particular, work. "Finding one's passion as early as possible," is good for the individual, he says, but also "good for society," because it breeds professionals.

Does he apply his own high standards to colleagues? "I work with professionals who like me have dedicated their lives to their professions," said Sully. As to whether anything makes him blow his stack, he jumps beyond his professional life to his worldview: "Injustice, people getting hurt. That makes me mad, when the world isn't fair. ... But maybe that's just reality."

In the aftermath of Flight 1549, "I accepted a management pilot position," a promotion that means a "flexible schedule and also the opportunity to help with safety issues." When the plane lost power, for example, First Officer Jeff Skiles reached for a manual that provides emergency procedures. Those manuals once had tabbed pages that made applicable sections available instantly. Cost cuts eliminated the tabs; Sully's book describes Skiles taking a few seconds to find the right place.

Asked about this, Sully emphasizes that it's no big deal and that he wants to make it clear he's speaking for himself and not for his employer. "US Air is very safe," he says, his only concern "how to make it better." He had complained about those tabs before Flight 1549.

A union man

In keeping with his willingness to question authority, he's also been an outspoken union advocate. "One of the benefits of a union is that it levels the playing field. No one person can stand up to management. It's only through the union that collectively we can have a voice and express grievances that will reach management."

I express surprise at the strength of this assertion, in a time when unions are regularly dissed. Sully's ideal is "a culture at work where employees are valued as partners. There is a cost to every company when you don't have these cooperative relationships." Does he make these views known at US Airways Inc.? "Yes," he says. "I'm a known quantity."

Second only to the thanks of passengers, says Sully, what's touched him most since Jan. 15 has been "the words of our peers. ... They're proud of us and they thank us not only for the outcome, but in some small way helping to restore the lost respect this profession has had." One of the "unintended consequences" of the safety stats of airline travel is that no one thinks it's a big deal anymore. "I think this profession has lost some of its cachet."

Safety records have been so good that passengers have forgotten the challenges of flying "7 miles above the Earth's surface, at 80 percent of the speed of sound." Cheaper seats have led to reduced services, and "people are down on the whole thing. They've forgotten what's really at stake."

Capable person

A big part of the book is about people's response to the rescue, "what it was about this event that made so many people feel the way they do about the crew and me." Taking the long view - in an almost ministerial way, Sully gravitates to philosophical homilies - "people are searching for good news," trying to figure out whether "all the things we believed in were not true after all. There are a lot of distractions, but we still have people who are capable." With no bravado, Sully definitely puts himself into that category. But not (here's where I asked him about "competent" vs. "hero") a wearer of T-shirts.

He has heard from a huge number of people (10,000 e-mails, for instance). "This event caused them to reflect on their own lives," including a correspondent who told him "I had lost my faith, and you, sir, gave it back." And of course, there was an outpouring of commercial offers; he won't discuss particulars.

He turned them down, but "for 8 1/2 months, no one has ever said 'no' to me, including the president of the United States." President-elect Obama had invited Sully to his inauguration; Sully said he would go only accompanied by the rest of the Flight 1549 crew. And so they did.

"I'm on a sprint," he says of the respect with which he's regarded. "I don't want to overdo it and lose my voice prematurely." So he won't go on "Dancing With the Stars"? He breaks out laughing. "They haven't asked me. Besides, you wouldn't want to see me dance."

Family time

As to his celebrity vis-a-vis his family, "They're still teenagers," he says of his daughters. "They still like us most of the time." Their real wish, he says, is that he would be home more. His wife would like him to be less used up by the public when he is home.

As to the community, now that he is recognized, has he had to rethink the amount he leaves in tip jars? Sully has high regard for workers. "I tip really well," he says with a solemn smile.

Outside, as he poses patiently while his picture is shot by The Chronicle, a stranger whips out his cell phone and politely asks if he can take a picture, too. Sure.

"Celebrity must be hard," says the man. "It's my new job," says Sully.
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Leah Garchik - sfchronicle