At the age of 58, stuck in her house throughout the long nights of the coronavirus pandemic, Michelle Brennen began to devote more and more of her time to contemplating the most devastating event she had ever experienced. This event took place when she was just 10 years old, during summer vacation. Michelle had been playing in the yard in Essex, Vt., and upon returning indoors, she found her mother standing in the archway between the kitchen and living room, in tears. One of her five siblings informed her, “Daddy’s plane crashed,” although she didn’t grasp the gravity of the situation at the time.
In 1973, discussing death with children was not a common practice. That afternoon, their neighbor took Michelle and the other children to the beach so they wouldn’t witness the news coverage of the crash, which happened to be one of the deadliest in the history of New England. The following week, when their father was laid to rest, Michelle and her siblings were not permitted to attend the funeral. When school began, a guidance counselor checked in on Michelle and asked how she was coping. She responded with a simple “Fine,” and that was the end of it.
Perhaps that’s the reason why, all these years later, Michelle found her thoughts continuously returning to the plane crash. When she was clearing out her mother’s basement after her passing in 2021, Michelle stumbled upon a cardboard box containing everything related to the flight, Delta 723 — newspaper clippings, letters from lawyers, and journal entries. Once she began reading, Michelle couldn’t stop. She was particularly fascinated by the worn-out passenger manifest, a sheet of paper bearing the names of 89 individuals. How many of them, like herself, had left behind children? Where were those children now? How had their lives unfolded? And so, seated at her dining room table with an iPad, Michelle embarked on a mission to locate and connect with each survivor one by one. She reached out to them through private messages, phone calls, and even invited them to a Facebook page where they could share their stories. She hoped she wouldn’t come across as strange or eccentric.
In her own unique way, Michelle was exploring questions that have long captivated the field of mental health. How does a traumatic loss shape the trajectory of one’s life? Does grief dissipate more completely when it’s kept hidden away or when it’s shared? Does it ever truly dissipate at all?
These profound questions hung in the air on a July Sunday morning as Michelle, now 60, eagerly awaited the arrival of approximately 200 people, nearly all of them strangers. Over the course of two years, she had managed to locate survivors for all but four of the 89 individuals who had been aboard the ill-fated plane. Remarkably, she convinced them to gather in person on the 50th anniversary of the crash. Logan Airport, not far from the runway where Flight 723 had tragically erupted into flames, served as the location for their one and only reunion.
A “large, long flame”
As the plane descended through dense clouds enveloping Boston, something seemed amiss in the cockpit. “Going like a son of a bitch,” remarked pilot John Streil to his co-pilot Sidney Burrill, who was attempting to align the jet with the runway for a proper approach. Due to thick fog in Boston, many flights had been redirected, so Flight 723, originating from Burlington, Vt., had made an unscheduled stop in Manchester, N.H., to pick up stranded passengers. Most likely, these passengers were anxiously checking their watches, concerned about making their connecting flights.
As per instructions from air traffic control, the crew executed a series of turns intended to align the aircraft with a localizer beam, which serves as a guide for pilots in low visibility by marking the centerline of the runway. However, they were moving too swiftly at a speed of 237 miles per hour and were flying too high. They overshot the localizer and frantically tried to correct their course while descending too rapidly. The crew had been informed that cloud cover was at 400 feet, and they peered into the whiteness, anticipating a breakthrough at any moment. Unbeknownst to them, a dense bank of sea fog was advancing towards the airport, rendering visibility nearly nonexistent.
“OK, just fly the airplane,” the pilot instructed, according to the cockpit voice recordings. Two seconds later, Mr. Streil realized that the plane’s flight director was malfunctioning, prompting him to say, “You better go to raw data. I don’t trust that thing.” It was the first time stress crept into his voice. “Let’s get back on course if you can,” he barked at his co-pilot. The plane was traveling at roughly 150 mph when it collided with the concrete sea wall separating the airport from Boston Harbor.
The impact shattered the plane, and fragments of the cabin were hurled forward onto the runway. A nearby construction worker described witnessing a “large, long flame” erupting on the runway, rising “as if it were a curtain.” Rescue workers arrived to find the wreckage of the plane and its passengers scattered across the runway, covering an area equivalent to three football fields. Seats, some with passengers still strapped in, were found along with other debris.
The remaining portions of the aircraft had disintegrated with such force that, as a spokesperson from the National Transportation Safety Board later remarked, “you could pick up almost any of the pieces in your hands.” Many factors contributed to the disaster during the landing, as concluded by Paul Houle, a former U.S. Army accident investigator, in his 2021 book on the subject. The faulty flight director, the distracted air traffic controller, and the crew’s erroneous weather information all carried equal weight in causing the crash. However, at the time, the public was presented with only one explanation: pilot error. Aviation officials stated that Captain John N. Streil Jr. had flown the jetliner 230 feet too low and 3,500 feet short of the usual touchdown point, as reported by The Associated Press. Fishermen, unable to see their fishing hooks hitting the water due to the dense fog, voiced their disappointment, expressing their belief that flying in such weather conditions was foolish.
The box
On the day of her father’s funeral, Michelle observed the adults departing in their Sunday best. She had pleaded with her mother, arguing that she was old enough to attend, but now she sat on the floor in an unfinished part of the house behind a piece of lumber, where she could cry unnoticed. Her aunt promised to bring her a gift, a bottle of Shower to Shower baby powder, as a means of providing comfort. However, nothing could console her.
She came to realize her role in the family tragedy. “You knew something big was happening, and you didn’t make a fuss,” she confessed. Her mother consistently encouraged them to go outside and play, even during the moments of silence that enveloped their household. Within that silence, dark thoughts took hold of her mind. The night before the crash, Michelle had gotten into an argument with her father and mumbled to herself, “I wish you would die,” in her stubborn and bossy 10-year-old manner. This guilt-ridden sentiment plagued her, but she couldn’t confide in anyone. Who could she possibly share it with?
In a peculiar twist, Michelle never fully comprehended the reality of her father’s death, even years later. From time to time, she would believe she caught a glimpse of him in crowds. She would search for him in Barre, Vt., where he had spent his childhood. Her sister Denise, who was 8 when their father passed away, experienced the same sense of yearning. “I kept thinking for years that he was coming back,” she admitted.
That summer, their father, Michael Longchamp, was 39 years old and working as a draftsman at an architectural firm. He possessed a love for the outdoors and had served as an Air Force tail gunner in the past. He had an inherently calm nature and would often recline in an armchair, allowing his six children to crawl on him like puppies. That summer acted as a dividing line, separating life with their father from a life without him: Tear here.
The extended family rallied together, with their aunt relocating her own family back to Vermont in order to be nearby. Michelle vividly recalls her mother, Patricia, busying herself in the following years. Chris was 9, Denise was 8, Anthony was 6, Renee was 5, and Joseph was only 2 years old. “She didn’t have the luxury of sitting and crying over it with nobody around,” Michelle clarified. “She had other responsibilities…”
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