The Luggage, the Luggage

I don’t know what these people were thinking, but whoever organized the flotilla of rescue boats for the U.S. Airways plane that went down in the Hudson just put a mighty big dent in New Yorkers’ carefully crafted reputation for being mean, unfriendly and unwilling to go out of our way to help a stranger in need. I mean, it’s not like the pilot brought the plane in close to the pier, or anything. This thing was out in the middle of the river, for crine out loud, on a day when even the polar bears at the Central Park Zoo would have thought twice about stepping outside. Next thing you know, tourists are going to feel comfortable asking for directions on the subway or something.

Seriously, hats off to Capt. Chesley “Sully” Sullenberger III, who proved that you don’t need to be a New Yorker to know that East Side traffic is murder in the mid-afternoon. Although I’m laying heavy odds that in the made-for-TV movie, the plane maydays in the East River, narrowly threading the needle on the Williamsburgh, Brooklyn and Manhattan Bridges before touching down in the harbor mere inches away from the Statue of Liberty.

Okay, seriously, seriously, this was perfect timing for a story about a surefire catastrophe where the only casualty miraculously ends up being the luggage. Ten-to-one Sully just got himself some prime real estate at the inauguration next week.

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