Verified by 
Depression
The Sky King of Sea-Tac Airport
“Got a few screws loose, I guess. Never really knew it, until now.”
Posted September 24, 2018 Reviewed by Ekua Hagan
The story, despite seeming near-mythic, is true. On July 2, 1982, a 33-year-old truck driver named Larry Walters took flight in a patio chair attached to more than 40 helium-filled weather balloons. To the consternation of friends gathered to witness the launch, he quickly ascended out of sight and climbed to an altitude of 16,000 feet.
He gradually drifted into controlled airspace near Los Angeles International Airport, causing some alarm both to the authorities and to the pilots of at least two commercial jets. He carried with him a CB radio, sandwiches, beer, and a camera. He also had a pellet gun, with which he eventually shot several of the balloons, beginning his slow descent.
After he landed, Mr. Walters was arrested and charged with unlawful operation of an aircraft within a controlled air traffic area. Purportedly, when the arresting officers asked why he had risked his life with such a stunt, he said, “A man can’t just sit around.”
Later, he told the press, “It was something I had to do. I had this dream for 20 years, and if I hadn’t done it, I think I would have ended up in the funny farm.” That is an example of what we clinicians call “good insight.”
In 1993, “Lawnchair Larry” Walters was named an “At-Risk Survivor” in the annual Darwin Awards. Sadly, he did not survive much longer at all.
On October 6, 1993, now aged 44, he hiked into the Angeles National Forest and died by self-inflicted gunshot. Since his famous flight, he had spent a lot of time hiking, reading the Bible, and volunteering with the Forest Service. He had broken up with his girlfriend of 15 years and was having trouble finding steady work. He left no children.
It is not surprising that I thought of Larry Walters when I first heard about Richard Russell.
On August 10, 2018, Mr. Russell, known as “Beebo” to his friends and family, helped himself to a Horizon Air Bombardier Q400 turboprop and took it on a 75-minute joyride. He somehow managed to execute a barrel roll and a few other aerobatic maneuvers before crashing the aircraft onto a sparsely populated island, killing only himself.
He was 29 years old and a member of the ground crew at the Seattle-Tacoma Airport, earning minimum wage. He was married and completing a bachelor’s degree. He and his wife had owned a bakery in Oregon but sold it to move closer to her family. He hoped perhaps to commission in the military after graduation. He was a quiet and well-liked young man who was active in his church.
Mr. Russell chatted, not too calmly, but coherently, with an air traffic controller during his solo flight. He went sightseeing along the Olympic mountain range. He claimed to have “buzzed” Mount Rainier. He said of himself that, “I’ve got a lot of people that care about me. I’m going to disappoint them to hear that I did this. I would like to apologize to each and every one of them. [I’m] just a broken guy, got a few screws loose, I guess. Never really knew it, until now.”
While “Lawnchair Larry” was mostly a figure of fun in our popular culture, many people responded to Rich Russell’s flight with a level of compassion unfamiliar in our social media age. He was dubbed “Sky King” and tributes were offered to him. People contended that he didn’t want to die — "he just wanted to feel alive for once in his life.”
"What can you expect," some said, "when you take people whose great-great-grandparents were pioneers, grizzly bear hunters, and city-builders and make them baggage handlers, call center operators, and sales clerks?" The general feeling was, "It is a wonder that more of us don't crack from the tedium and meaninglessness of our consumer culture." These statements should probably be considered the emotional projections of similarly disaffected people.
The cockpit recordings are widely available online and it would be hard not to feel compassion while listening to them. Hearing Mr. Russell speak during his final hour is an emotional experience. He sounds just like anyone else would if they suddenly found themselves in a similar situation. What have I done? Why did I do it? What now?
At one point, he says to the utterly professional air traffic controller, “I’m sorry about this. I hope it doesn’t ruin your day.” Up until then, he had seemed torn between life and death, at least considering the possibility of attempting a landing or ditching the aircraft in the sea. But after that apology, oblivion seemed like the only option left to him.
Because I am a clinical psychologist, people come up to me after a news event like this and ask my opinion. I suspect that most of the time they want to hear some kind of post-mortem diagnosis: “He was a paranoid schizophrenic. He was manic-depressive. He had psychotic depression. He was on meth.”
Hearing a diagnosis would comfort them somehow. First, it would provide a simple explanation that makes the incomprehensible seem comprehensible. “He did it because he was depressed.” As David Hume observed, our brains habitually seek out causation and are restless until a cause, even an erroneous cause, is determined.
Second, psychiatric diagnosis also suggests simple solutions to complex problems: “If he did it because he was mentally ill, we need more widely available mental health services.”
Third, and perhaps most importantly, psychiatric diagnoses provide listeners with psychological distance from the victim. “If he was bipolar and did that, then I don’t have to worry about doing that, because I’m not bipolar.” That is something that they do. People like me don’t do things like that.
When I heard that Mr. Russell’s aircraft had gone down, I thought, “The poor bastard.” And then I thought, “How many tens of thousands of people are out there who are just like him?”
Larry Walters and Rich Russell were people just like us. They were born, they laughed, they struggled, they loved, and they died. There wasn’t anything particularly wrong with them. There’s something wrong with all of us. As Melville noted, “We are all somehow dreadfully cracked about the head, and sadly need mending.”
Be wary of simple explanations of any human behavior, and of simple solutions for complex problems. Perhaps the least we should do in the wake of such tragedies is to reflect upon the words attributed to Philo of Alexandria: “Be kind, for everyone you meet is in the midst of a great struggle.”
