Losing my mother in a tragic plane crash at the tender age of 3 had a profound impact on my relationship with my father and my perception of fatherhood. I remember a defining moment in my childhood when students were allowed to bring their parents to school for a special day. Each student had the chance to share what they aspired to be when they grew up, and the reasons behind their dreams. It was on this day that I delivered an impromptu speech that left me in tears, saying, “When I grow up, I want to be a dad.”
Though I don’t personally recall this incident, it is clear to me now that I was paying the highest tribute to my father, honoring him and all fathers as a bereaved son. It was during the years following the plane crash that I witnessed my father, still grieving and perplexed, trying his best to navigate his new role as a single father.
The crash, which took place on United Airlines Flight 232, claimed the life of my mother, Frances Lockwood Bailey, also known as Francie. It happened on July 19, 1989, in Sioux City, Iowa, resulting in the loss of 112 lives out of the 296 people on board. Miraculously, my older brother Brandon, who was 6 years old at the time, and my identical twin Spencer were also on the plane and survived, although they sustained severe injuries that took years to heal. (Coincidentally, my father and I had traveled on a different plane the day before.) The investigation revealed that the crash occurred due to an undetected crack in the fan rotor disk that had gone unnoticed for 18 years. As the crack reached its critical size during the flight from Denver to Chicago, the fan disk burst, causing the engine to fail and resulting in the plane’s hydraulic lines being severed, among other internal damage.
Twenty-seven years later, I had the opportunity to delve into a newspaper archive that granted me access to previously unpublished photographs captured by talented local photojournalists on the day of the crash. I witnessed the events unfolding through their eyes, gaining a unique perspective on the tragedy.
In the years following the crash, I was deeply impacted by two movies that painted vivid images of the crash site and Iowa in my mind. The first film, “A Thousand Heroes” (also known as “Crash Landing: The Rescue of Flight 232”), starred Charlton Heston as Capt. Al Haynes and meticulously recreated the events surrounding the crash. At the age of 6, I watched this movie on live TV from the safety of my home, completely engrossed in the cockpit and ground perspectives at Sioux Gateway Airport. Through the film, I was able to grasp a clearer picture and sequence of the events that unfolded that fateful day. However, upon reflection, I wonder how accurately Hollywood portrayed the crash compared to the experiences of journalists at the time, as the media often struggles with the ethical line between reporting facts and emphasizing sensationalism during large-scale calamities.
The second movie, “Field of Dreams,” released three months before the crash, intrigued me with its mystical storyline. The film, starring Kevin Costner as an Iowa farmer who hears voices instructing him to build a baseball diamond in his cornfield, delved into the realms of hope, contemplation, and magical thinking. As a child, I found solace in the idea that if my mother had perished in an Iowa cornfield, perhaps she could be brought back to life and reappear there. These ethereal themes further shaped my perception of Iowa as a place of wonder and possibility.
During my teenage years, I found myself drawn to photography, borrowing my father’s Nikon F1. As I peered through the camera’s viewfinder, a whole new world stretched out before me. Photography provided me with an excuse to immerse myself in various situations, observing my surroundings with acute attention and empathy, and capturing surprising and intimate moments. These experiences, made possible by my father’s camera, have never ceased to fascinate me.
Recently, I have turned to my mother’s artwork for inspiration in my photography. Most of her art was created in the 1960s and ’70s, before she became a parent, and her drawings and snapshots from the 1980s serve as a tangible connection to her. Some of her works seem eerily prophetic, such as “The Big Drop,” which she drew at the age of 9. I have paired her watercolor piece, “FIRE, 1965,” with my own photograph of the Iowa tarmac, depicting a stretch of highway near the crash site at Sioux Gateway Airport. These visual parallels offer me glimpses into the depths of grief and fatherhood that I have experienced throughout my life. They allow me to introspect and extrapolate beyond what the artist intended, as we all hold onto fragments of our pasts. While challenging, it is crucial for me to maintain a presence of mind and create expansive inner landscapes of wonder, loss, and healing.
Six years ago, as I contemplated becoming a parent myself, I realized that I needed to confront the tumultuous emotions surrounding my family’s past. Now that I am a father to two children, I am actively adapting and accepting the inevitable impacts of grief on my own well-being. Part of my daily practice involves allowing myself to fully experience and explore these complex emotions, welcoming them with curiosity instead of instinctively hiding from them. This shift in approach has enabled me to live alongside these feelings and begin the healing process.
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