The Worst Inferred

Two sayings I’ve remembered for decades seem to contradict each other. I still think of them often, usually when I’ve followed the wrong one.

“The Scarlet Letter,” by Nathaniel Hawthorne, was assigned to me back in high school. Somehow, a passage stuck in my brain and I remembered it:

“Be true! Be true! Be true! Show freely to the world, if not your worst, yet some trait whereby the worst may be inferred.”

In what is possibly the worst wedding toast ever made, I quoted that passage at my brother’s wedding decades ago. It was the only thing I could think of when my brother turned and asked if his “best man” had something to say. Halfway through my quote, I realized the toast to the newlyweds from a book about adultery may not have been appropriate.

Which brings us to the second adage, a quote some attribute to Abraham Lincoln. Others give credit to Mark Twain, but its origins go back as far as the Bible:

“It is wiser to remain silent and thought a fool than to speak and prove it.”

Even as I was making my toast, I felt like I had slipped into the second adage and was proving my foolishness. I could feel my face turning red (scarlet) as I realized the background and timing of my quote.

My brother and his wife are much smarter than I am. They’ve each published novels and taught at universities. I’m pretty sure they recognized that I’m not particularly well-read and lack the memory to pop off well-timed literary quotes. I imagine they were expecting me to say how I had known my brother all my life, he’s a really good guy (he is), and they’re lucky to have each other (they are).

They each seemed a little surprised I’d dug through the cobwebbed archives of my mind and found a literary reference remotely resembling insightful life guidance. Through knowing smiles at the questionable reference, they each said how happy they were with my toast and seemed to genuinely appreciate it.

Now that I’m much, much older, I’m OK being a proven fool. If I say something unsupportable, I deserve the embarrassment. I hope I’m humble enough to accept others pointing out foolishness in me, causing me to question my position, and learn from my miscues. Come to think of it, I’ve encouraged it in others.

Commercial airplanes are required to have one or even two extra seats on the flight deck. While the primary purpose is to provide a seat for an observer or evaluator, those seats can be used by authorized employees if the rest of the plane is full. Mostly, they are used by pilots commuting between home and their assigned base. 

Once in a while, when I was flying, we’d have a “jump seater” in one or both of those seats. Being a few feet behind the pilot seats, there were certain things within the observer’s field of view that weren’t in ours as pilot and co-pilot. Despite the possibility of the jumpseater having no knowledge or experience with the plane we were flying, my pre-flight briefing to them was always: “If you see something that doesn’t look right, ask. I don’t want the last words on the cockpit voice recorder to be ‘I should have said something.’ ”

In response to the analysis of previous mishaps, the FAA mandated training to enhance cockpit communication. It encouraged captains to solicit and respect input and emboldened the other crew members(s) to speak up. There’s no way of telling how many incidents that training has prevented. Simple questions like: “What does that light mean?” bring a corrective, undocumented response and prevent a possible problem. What is documented is the significant reduction in crashes and fatalities.

National Traffic Safety Board and FAA data show a 65% reduction in accident rates and fatal accidents over the last two decades. Looking further back, the data is even more telling. Even though isolating the enhanced crew communication impact on the data is impossible, it’s compelling to believe it’s significant. With a career spanning four decades, I know flying is safer because crew members are encouraged to speak up.

Fortunately, my career was pretty uneventful. The questions asked by jump seaters or other crew members were easily answered. I didn’t think the question was foolish. It was solicited and represented a simple unfamiliarity. We were all better off (and safer) for it having been asked.

Whether it’s professional training or decades of saying “foolish” things, I’ve become comfortable having my “worst inferred.”

My brother and his wife have lived several decades rich in love and shared experiences. Despite my concern over my toast, we’ve also remained about as close as two brothers could be.

Maybe Hawthorne is right. We should show ourselves freely. It may even save lives.

Mark Michel is a retired commercial airline pilot and a Key Pen Parks commissioner. He lives in Lakebay.