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In the summer of 2000, a Boeing 747-200 freighter flew with a pair of enormous blended winglets standing 14 feet 6 inches tall, about two and a half times the size of the small winglets on the 747-400. The project came from Aviation Partners, the company that pioneered the modern blended winglet now found on thousands of Boeing jets. The concept is simple. At the wingtip, high-pressure air from under the wing spills up into the low-pressure air above it, creating swirling vortices that cause drag. A well-shaped winglet smooths out that spillover, cutting drag and saving fuel.

On the test aircraft, a 747-200F powered by Pratt & Whitney JT9D-70A engines, the results were striking. Flight testing showed a fuel burn reduction of about 6 to 7 percent, a big number for a thirsty four-engine widebody. But it never reached airline service. The aerodynamics worked; the problem was everything around them. Winglets that large put major new loads on the wing, and the 747-200's structure needed extensive strengthening to handle them, which drove conversion costs way up.

There were other issues too, including tighter crosswind limits, and in the end there weren't enough interested customers to spread out the heavy certification costs. So the giant-winglet 747 became a fascinating what-if. The blended winglet itself went on to huge success on other Boeings like the 737, 757, and 767, saving airlines enormous amounts of fuel over the years. But these giant blended winglets never made it onto the 747 in service, and the project was shelved.

The recovery effort was an enormous undertaking, requiring months to extinguish the fires and remove thousands of tons of toxic debris. Countless first responders, construction workers, and volunteers risked their lives searching through the rubble, many unknowingly exposing themselves to hazardous conditions that would later lead to serious illnesses and death. Yet when you visit the National September 11 Memorial & Museum, the names inscribed there are only those who perished during the attacks themselves. Maybe I'm wrong but why has there never been a permanent memorial recognizing the extraordinary sacrifices of those who carried out the recovery effort? Their courage and sacrifice deserve to be remembered with the same lasting respect.

On July 19, 1989, United Airlines Flight 232 departed Denver bound for Chicago with 296 people on board. Nearly an hour into the flight, as the McDonnell Douglas DC-10 cruised at 37,000 feet over Iowa, its tail-mounted General Electric CF6 engine suddenly exploded. Although the engine failure itself was survivable, what followed was considered virtually impossible. Fragments from the disintegrating engine severed all three of the aircraft's independent hydraulic systems, leaving the crew without ailerons, elevators, rudder, spoilers, flaps, or slats. The DC-10 had been designed with multiple hydraulic backups specifically to prevent a total loss of flight controls, but engineers believed the simultaneous loss of all three systems was so unlikely that no emergency procedure had ever been written for it. In an instant, Captain Al Haynes, First Officer William Records, Flight Engineer Dudley Dvorak, and off-duty DC-10 check airman Dennis Fitch, who happened to be traveling as a passenger, found themselves facing a situation no airline crew had ever encountered. Fitch was immediately called to the cockpit, and together the four men began searching for any way to keep the aircraft flying.

With no checklist to rely on, the crew was forced to improvise. Through trial and error, they discovered that the only remaining way to influence the aircraft was by adjusting thrust on the two wing-mounted engines. Increasing power on one side would slowly induce a turn, while subtle changes in thrust allowed them to raise or lower the nose just enough to control their descent. It was an exhausting and imprecise way to fly, but it gave them a fighting chance. As the crippled airliner drifted toward Sioux Gateway Airport, air traffic controllers cleared every possible path while emergency crews prepared for what everyone expected would be a devastating arrival. Even in those final minutes, Haynes remained concerned not only for the people on board but also for those on the ground. When controllers suggested a turn to avoid populated areas, he reportedly replied, "Whatever you do, keep us away from the city." With almost no ability to stabilize the approach, Flight 232 descended toward Runway 22 at nearly 215 knots—far faster than a normal landing. The right wing struck the runway, the aircraft rolled violently, broke apart, and erupted into flames as it slid across the airfield. The crash was catastrophic, yet against nearly every expectation, 184 of the 296 people on board survived.

Investigators later determined that the accident began years earlier with a microscopic manufacturing defect in a titanium fan disk inside the tail engine. Over time, the flaw slowly grew until the disk failed catastrophically, triggering the chain of events that nearly doomed the flight. The accident reshaped modern aviation, leading to improved inspection methods for critical engine components, more comprehensive analyses of hydraulic-system vulnerabilities, and advances in aircraft flight-control technology designed to better withstand severe failures. Yet the lasting legacy of Flight 232 extends far beyond engineering. Captain Haynes never portrayed himself as a hero, consistently crediting the survival of so many passengers to the teamwork of the cockpit crew, flight attendants, air traffic controllers, and emergency responders who rushed into the wreckage. His calm leadership became one of the defining examples of Crew Resource Management, the aviation philosophy that emphasizes communication, teamwork, and making use of every available resource during a crisis. Years later, simulator tests demonstrated just how extraordinary the crew's achievement had been, with few experienced pilots able to land a DC-10 under the same conditions. Haynes, who passed away in 2019 at the age of 87, later reflected on the ordeal with the quiet professionalism that had carried them through it: "We were too busy to be scared. You must maintain your composure in the airplane, or you will die." Few moments in aviation history have demonstrated the power of teamwork, technical skill, and composure under pressure more clearly than United Airlines Flight 232.