By Jacob Passy

Pilots and flight attendants say they are not all right.

A deadly aviation accident last week near Washington, D.C., sent shock waves through the airline industry and gave crews the added responsibility of dealing with their own grief while also bringing calm to the flying public.

For many crew members, it was their first experience returning to work after a crash in the U.S., owing to the country's enviable air-safety record.

Richard Rafferty, a commercial pilot who works for a regional airline, regularly flies into Ronald Reagan Washington National Airport using the exact approach that American Airlines Flight 5342 took. A friend from Rafferty's pilot training days was at the airport at the time of the crash.

"When something like this happens, it makes it almost impossible not to feel the weight of the souls on board," says Rafferty.

Flight-crew members readily stress that air travel is incredibly safe -- safer than getting in a car to drive to the airport.

Nevertheless, pilots and flight attendants are aware of the risks that come with a career in the skies. The bulk of their training focuses on how to handle emergency situations; they are required to watch videos of past crashes in the process. A common refrain among industry professionals is that their rulebook "was written in blood."

It's one thing to study past crashes. It's another to see one in your backyard. Zakiya Percy, a regional airline pilot, lives close to Reagan airport and watched from her apartment window as first responders rushed toward the crash site.

Percy had spent the day completing her annual pilot-training requirements. She was supposed to fly to her work base in New York the next morning, but wasn't able to because flights were halted from the airport following the crash.

Even if the airport would have been operating, "I wasn't in the capacity to do it," she says. Her union contacted members to encourage them to take whatever time they needed to process the tragedy.

Following the crash, airline employees rushed to group chats to find out whether friends were safe. They also called parents and spouses to put their minds at ease. Disbelief and sorrow set in with the realization that there would be few, if any, survivors.

There were 67 people combined on the two aircraft: the 60 passengers and four crew members on the Bombardier CRJ700 and the three Army servicemembers on the Sikorsky UH-60 Black Hawk helicopter.

The crash was personal for Gary Baumgardner, a pilot who now flies for a major airline. He previously spent 12 years flying for PSA Airlines, the American Airlines-owned regional carrier that was operating Flight 5342.

"I've flown that plane. I worked for that company," Baumgardner said. "That could have been any of us."

Daphne Baez, a flight attendant who is based in Chicago, said in the days following the accident that she has regularly encountered groups of co-workers crying together at the crash pads where they spend nights between shifts.

"When I go to work right now, I'm just on autopilot," Baez says. "I do my safety duties. I smile. I work through it, but I am thinking about it."

Baez has turned to friends she made during training for support, some of whom fly for American and PSA.

American Airlines and other carriers have directed employees to mental-health coaching and therapy sessions available through company-funded programs. The Air Line Pilots Association, a union representing commercial pilots, is also offering peer-support services.

The rush to speculate on the cause of the crash, including comments from politicians implying that diversity-focused hiring initiatives played a role, have bothered many people in the aviation community. A union representing air-traffic controllers said its members, "regardless of race or gender -- are well-trained and highly skilled dedicated professionals."

Others found it distressing how quickly conspiracy theories regarding the incident began to circulate.

"If I ever die in a crash, I would not want a bunch of people on the internet instantly speculating on whether it was my fault or not," Baumgardner says. He and other pilots say they are eagerly waiting for the results of the National Transportation Safety Board's investigation.

Comments made by political officials also revived concerns regarding industry regulations tied to mental health. For years, pilots and air-traffic controllers have sought changes to policies that some argue effectively penalize workers for seeking mental-health treatment.

"Even something as simple as grief counseling could ground a pilot or controller for years," says Joe LoRusso, a pilot and attorney who serves on the board of directors for the Pilot Mental Health Campaign. Many pilots, he suspects, will turn to each other for support following the crash rather than going to a therapist or another certified mental-health professional.

The crash has prompted flight attendants and pilots to reconsider what information they share with family and friends about their jobs. Many in the industry will share their location with loved ones given the nomadic natures of their lives. Some are now going a step further, and letting their families know the tail numbers of the planes they are flying on.

Sharing this information can be a double-edged sword. Baez says she is grateful her mother wasn't checking her location status at the time of the crash. The flight she was working on departed from Reagan National Airport roughly 15 minutes before the accident. "She would have been terrified knowing that it was DCA. And she didn't know what carrier I was working," Baez says.

Adam Muhsin, who has worked as a flight attendant, says the crash made him realize he should take his colleagues' suggestion and have a goodbye note saved in his phone. That way, he could quickly share the message with loved ones in case of emergency.

It's a note he hopes he never has to send.

Write to Jacob Passy at jacob.passy@wsj.com

(END) Dow Jones Newswires

February 07, 2025 12:00 ET (17:00 GMT)

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