A Clear Blue Sky — by Dan Lynn

By Dan Lynn

Early in my career, I was in sales at AT&T, in an office in Bala Cynwyd, Pennsylvania — top floor. One April afternoon in 1991, a colleague suddenly yelled: "Oh my god! Oh my god! I just saw a plane crash into a helicopter!"

I ran to the window. It was a beautiful day — clear blue skies. And a column of smoke rising, close.

Instinct took over. I ran downstairs to the parking lot, jumped in my car, and drove toward the smoke. Maybe I could help.

What I found has never left me. The aircraft had come down at an elementary school. There were casualties on the playground. First responders were arriving, and I realized almost immediately there was nothing I could do — I would only be in the way. So I stood there, helpless. And then I drove back to a world that was still having an ordinary day.

I later learned what had happened. The plane was carrying Senator John Heinz of Pennsylvania. Its landing gear indicator had failed, and a helicopter had come alongside to take a look. They collided over Merion Elementary School. Seven people died that day — the Senator, the crews of both aircraft, and two first-graders at recess.

I've carried that day for more than thirty years, and I'll be honest with you: I still don't know what the lesson is. I've built a platform on lessons — and this is the experience that resists one.

Maybe it's that life is unbearably fragile — that it can end on the most beautiful day of spring, mid-flight, mid-recess, mid-everything. Everyone involved had plans for that evening.

Maybe it's that everyone you meet is carrying something — some moment that haunts them. It took me years to understand that carrying it is normal. Some experiences don't resolve, don't fade, and don't turn into tidy takeaways. They just become part of you.

So I won't force a lesson. Life is about experiences- good and bad. Hopefully, more good than bad. This is one of my bad ones.