Following the October hearing, the families convened with Pierson and Jacobsen at a Mexican eatery. A boom microphone from a documentary film crew dangled above Pierson’s head. Jacobsen retrieved a suitcase from beneath the table, and Pierson distributed glass awards from their foundation, honoring the families’ contributions to aviation safety. He delivered impromptu speeches for each recipient.
Chris Moore was taken aback, thinking, well, this was a surprise. “You never anticipate, oh, I can’t wait to receive an award someday.” Yet amid this difficult five-year struggle that he never sought, feeling like he was “shaking my fist at the clouds,” as he described it, receiving a token for the Zoom group’s endeavors felt gratifying. Moore understands that this pursuit of facts and accountability serves a dual purpose: to shield him from his deep-seated sorrow.
Pierson grapples with his own sorrow, which takes a different shape. Could he have done anything more to avert the crashes? “I don’t think I’ll ever—” He exhales deeply. “I’ll ever stop feeling that way.”
As I listened, I reflected on what Doug Pasternak, the lead investigator of the Max report, shared with me about his discussions with Pierson. “He was heartbroken. He did exhibit a sense of, ‘guilt’ might not be the right term, but responsibility. He simply wishes there was something that could have been done to avert these tragic accidents.”
Pierson couldn’t stop the crashes, although no one I spoke to believed he could have taken further action. However, he could become the determined advocate devoted to preventing another Max from plummeting from the sky. He could huddle over every report in an RV kitchenette to explore possible explanations. He could be the impassioned individual urging authorities to scrutinize—no truly, scrutinize—every last aspect related to Boeing. If a corporate and regulatory culture of compliance led to the loss of 346 lives, then Pierson will eagerly take on the role of the dissenting voice, granting no unearned trust.
The new documents, which held the promise of supporting Pierson’s debated electrical theory, ultimately yielded less than he had anticipated. The NTSB informed Pierson that it would not provide the documents to the Max crash investigators—the inquiries had concluded, the board stated—but he could share them himself.
Boeing remains in a state of uncertainty, navigating civil and criminal courts, the FAA, and Congress, while awaiting the final report from the NTSB. Observers predict that 2025 will be a pivotal year for Boeing: either the company turns around under its new CEO, or it spirals into a cycle of decline. Pierson is resolute in his commitment to continue speaking out.
“For me, it has always been about refusing to let them silence me,” he asserts. Recently, the foundation secured its first donations and has established a payroll. They are beginning to monitor other aircraft models and are in discussions with a university about analyzing industry-wide data—“to be a persistent thorn in the side,” Pierson quips. The individual Boeing likely hoped would fade away has, instead, institutionalized his presence to remain a fixture.
When Pierson bid me farewell in DC, his parting words were: “Don’t fly the Max.” I couldn’t bring myself to admit to him that was precisely what I was booked on—the 7:41 pm flight from Dulles to San Francisco. It was the only flight I could catch after the whistleblower event on Capitol Hill and still return home that night. Air travel was meant to be about convenience, after all, condensing a nation’s distance into a Tuesday night commute. At this point in the evolution of aviation, we passengers should be able to select a flight solely based on timing.
As I soared through the skies that evening in seat 10C, I perused the US House committee’s Max investigation, a revelation of harsh truths. Like many travelers, I had long made peace with the inherent risks. I found solace in statistics and placed my faith in the engineers and assembly workers, the pilots, the system. I had set aside the knowledge—overwhelming, if you allow it in—that boarding an airplane is a monumental act of trust. Deep within the report, I reached the section detailing a senior manager at Boeing’s Renton factory, a man named Ed Pierson, who seemingly understood what we all tell ourselves when we find comfort in thinking, They wouldn’t allow it to fly if it wasn’t safe. We all rely on someone to embody the “they.”
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