The Flight of the Phoenix, Elleston Trevor’s tale of endurance, pits 14 men against the elements, and when human weakness intervenes, even against each other. After a sandstorm sends their transport plane 130 miles off course in the Sahara, they survive the crash landing only to face slow, terrible death due to thirst, starvation, and exposure. With no radio contact and tormented by the chance of a rescue evaporating in the heat, the survivors seek to escape despite personal differences and growing conflict among themselves. Their only hope in fleeing the desert lies in a workable plane to be built from the wreckage of their airplane.
Among the survivors, the only person who can build such a craft is Stringer, a young, brilliant but arrogant engineer. Only one man can fly it though: Frank Towns, the pilot haunted by the crash. Both hate each other, but cannot live without the other. Amid all the clashing emotions, the ordeal draws out the survivors’ willpower not to accept defeat and teaches them the capability of many men acting all together even as they learn to value human life. Salvaging parts from their original airplane, they assemble an aircraft on which they attempt their flight to safety. They call it the "Phoenix," a name derived from an Egyptian legend about a beautiful bird with red and gold plumage that lived in the desert for 500 years, then consumed itself in flames. Out of the ashes rose renewed a bird that started another long life.
In our lives, our patience and determination are tested by complicated or unwanted situations and obstacles. These are the personal deserts we confront every day. One may have a desert of isolation and sorrow, or it may be a wasteland of jealousy, poverty, or worthlessness. The Phoenix plane represents any effort we make, however embarrassing, boring, distasteful, or exhausting, to break free from the grip of these deserts. Many times, we allow ourselves to wilt in our deserts, when we let the worst of our traits spoil our efforts. We easily yield to our inadequacy and limitations that even our smallest of troubles overwhelm us. Striving to change or to adjust – to rise renewed from the ashes – gives us strength to face our problems; Trevor’s The Flight of the Phoenix shows how adversity transforms and moves men.
I, for one, have crashed into my own desert of pain and frustration. I have been joining the company’s volleyball tournaments the past 16 years; two years ago, our team won the championship, but this took a toll on me. My aching right shoulder worsened, and an injured knee made walking and climbing stairs painful and awkward. (Arthritis, my teammates would tease me.)
Others have told me to stop playing, but I have ignored the taunting remarks. Physical therapy temporarily relieved the pain, but I have had to put up with a slight limp, discomfort, and daily inconveniences ever since.
However, the challenges and the appeal of the sport proved too hard to resist. It was always a thrill to see a player in midair poised to strike the ball near the net while arms stretched out at the other side to block. After contemplating for a split second whether to complete the spike, he might tap the ball to one side instead. Of course, he didn’t always score but excitement came from defying the odds. New and younger players with sturdier legs and stronger spiking arms were signing up with rival teams to chase us "grand old men of volleyball" out of the court. Armed with my lucky number 3 jersey and my game plan "If you can’t outhit them, outwit them," I joined last year’s tournament despite my "disabilities." My ailing knee limited my mobility on the court, but my arm proved dependable from the baseline; I managed to pick up the best server award.
My reassignment to another department led me to a new team this year. I now play with teammates with unfamiliar temperament and different playing styles. Still I find it amusing how our team members compare with Trevor’s characters from Phoenix. In many ways, I can easily relate to Towns, the has-been pilot, although I refuse to be called a has-been player even when back pains and a bum knee now restrain my game. Another teammate shows signs of Stringer: young and bossy, but undeniably a talented ball player. There is also a mediator on the team, reminding me of Lew Moran the navigator. We even have the other characters of Captain Harris with his get-to-it attitude and several of his sluggish men, the eccentric Trucker Cobb, and the kind-hearted Roberts who shares his water ration with a monkey from the ill-fated plane.
Sadly, our new team, a potentially strong one, lies in its desert of defaulted games and defeat.
Nevertheless, for the first time in years, the team broke the default jinx on opening day when seven of us attended the games. It was a great improvement over losing by default, but still, discouraged by previous years’ losses, many of my new teammates would shy away from scheduled Sunday matches, leaving only six or seven of us to continue the fight.
After the crash, each of the survivors of the Flight asks himself: Will he concede to death, or can he summon the best within himself and cooperate to build the Phoenix? The second choice, no matter how long the odds of success, presents a better option than idly waiting for starvation and death to claim them.
Our Phoenix is a wobbly team thirsting to win, but it is weighed down by past failures and now faces great odds. Ironically, the unbeaten team we are about to tackle is my former squad. If we can completely set aside our personal differences and play our best as a team, perhaps we can break free from our desert of disappointing defeats. But then again, perhaps not. There have been talks of pushing on, while some players have hinted of bowing out now, citing our slim chances of surviving the eliminations, much more winning the finals.
Towns, Stringer, Moran, and the others attempt their flight to safety on their recycled plane, a one-shot deal that gives them some sense of purpose despite the slimmest possibility of success.
There is no guarantee that the Phoenix will work, but they persist anyway and I am glad over how the story ends: "Out of the desert [emerged] seven men and a monkey."
I sometimes wish I could get my teammates to read Trevor’s book and be inspired, come out fighting, and work out a miracle on the volleyball court. It will not be as easy as that. It may need more than pinning our hopes on a mythical red-and-gold bird that burns up every 500 years in the desert, but no one can tell what happens next if we surrender this early. No one can tell unless we finish the matches. So, will the team fold up or hold out?
I’m keeping my jersey, kneepads, and Nikes ready for the next game.