All right, I'll be the first one to say it: I've had enough of Sully.
In 1981, when the hostages were released from their Iranian imprisonment, the comedian David Steinberg said that while it was wonderful these people were now free, the media explosion following their release would eventually reach a saturation point. "When a hostage shows up in the Secret Square on Hollywood Squares, we will have had too much of them," he said.
Such is now the case with Chesley B. Sullenberger III, the pilot--sorry, heroic pilot--of a US Airways flight that landed safely in the Hudson River after running into at least one flock of birds.
Now, believe me, I take nothing away from Mr. Sullenberger's feat--it saved a lot of lives, took great grace under fire, and was a shining example of a consummate professional doing what he should do under very, very difficult circumstances. I applaud Mr. Sullenberger, the pilot.
But Mr. Sullenberger the celebrity is starting to grate on my nerves.
Not surprisingly after the passengers and crew were rescued, there was quite the media frenzy, and everybody wanted to interview "Sully." That's certainly understandable. Why (after the first couple of hours) they didn't want to interview his co-pilot, the flight crew or the rescue teams that went out in the boats to get the people out of the freezing cold Hudson was questionable, but certainly the captain of the aircraft should take the lion's share of the credit for seeing to the safety of his charges in so extraordinary a fashion.
But then Sully started showing up on 60 Minutes, in an interview only slightly less lengthy that the one of the incoming President of the United States. The interview, it should be noted, took roughly four times as long as the heroic act itself, but then, it wasn't necessary for Sully to tell the passengers what was on his mind in six different ways while the plane was going down. He had to attend to other things, and did so magnificently well.
The next thing you know, it was Sully-mania. Sully got free tickets to Broadway shows, and was photographed entering and leaving said shows. The photographs were published in newspapers. Sully showed up on some late-night talk shows, on Larry King (the show, not Larry himself), on local news, national news, YouTube, MySpace, Facebook and for all I know, in Mad Magazine, pushing Alfred E. Newman to the side for one month to utter, "what, me worry?"
Sully was at the State of the Union... sorry, the first address of President Obama to a Joint Session of Congress.
Now comes the news that William Morrow has paid between $2.5- and $3-million for Sully to write--no, not A book; TWO books! The first, not terribly surprising, will be an autobiography of sorts, putting forth the theory that "everything in his life led up to that moment." Much as everything in my life to this date has led up to me posting this blog entry. Only a little more dramatic. I doubt Morrow would pay $3-million for my explanation of how I posted this blog entry. And good for them.
The second book's contents were not disclosed, but there was some speculation that it would contain some of Sully's poetry. Yes. His poetry.
My point is not that Sullenberger doesn't deserve the attention, the admiration, hell, the adulation that's being thrown his way. He did a wonderful thing. But on a basic level, he did what he was supposed to do. And I'm willing to bet he'd agree with that statement.
What the hell; in a year or so, I'll get to find out if he does in fact agree. I can read it in his book. Or maybe in a poem.
When he's the Secret Square on Hollywood Squares, I suppose that will be too much.
