Heroic Humor

Since I first assumed the identity of Major Fun, I have become increasingly sensitive to the power of humor as an instrument for returning people to the Fun of it All. Here's "the story of Alfa Foxtrot 586" as found in Chapter Eight of Dennis N. T. Perkin's brilliant Leading at the Edge:

 

In the jarring crash, many crewmembers had been buried in debris and caught in the wreckage. But the radar man was able to launch two life rafts, one large and one small. Grigsby stayed on the aircraft, counting his crew, until he was certain that everyone had made it off. Then he swam for the large raft.

After repeated efforts, Grigsby failed to reach the raft, and he was lost in the swells. The pilot then tried for the second raft and was within twenty-five feet of it when those aboard threw him his last hope -- a rope anchored with an emergency radio. It fell short by a few feet, and Grigsby disappeared from sight.

Four men huddled in the large raft, which was designed to carry twelve, while nine men jammed into the smaller raft, designed to carry seven. The small raft, with no tarpaulin cover, was awash with breaking waves from the freezing ocean. In their desperate attempt to bail with the boat’s metallic survival blanket, an air valve was inadvertently opened.

The rafts drifted helplessly in the heavy seas while planes from Shemya searched for survivors. In the bitter cold and rain, the men – seasick and in a state of shock -- began to lose their alertness and coordination. Finally, one airman in the seven-man boat realized that something was desperately wrong. The raft was deflating, and they were slowly sinking. This startling observation jarred the others from their near-comatose state, and they began a frantic search for the leak. Finally, the loose valve was discovered and closed.

As the hours went by, water entered the torn survival suit of technician Gary Hemmer and his eyes began to close. Master Chief Garland Shepard slapped Hemmer’s helmet until he regained consciousness. James Brooner, a sonobuoy technician who had gone into the water in an effort to save Grigsby, slowly slid into the water sloshing around in the raft. Soon, only his head was visible. Three others pulled him up, talked to him, slapped him, and shook him. But they were all at the edge of death.

Then, in this grimmest of moments, the pivotal event occurred. Someone suggested they sing. And, slowly, the chant started: To-ga…To-ga…To-ga… To-ga. Somehow, from the foggy depths of despair, the comic image of John Belushi dressed in a sheet at a fraternity party had entered the consciousness of one of the survivors. Others joined in. The chant, feeble at first, grew in strength and rallied the survivors, just as Belushi had rallied his despondent fraternity brothers.

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