By John P. Slosek Jr., Insurance Coach®
If you’ve been reading my posts, you’ve probably noticed that I’m drawn to stories about people who have faced extraordinary obstacles.
There is worthwhile advice about opening a business, stepping onto a stage, or becoming a better speaker. I also find lessons in the lives of people whose greatest accomplishment, at one point, was simply making it through another day.
Their stories make me wonder: What kept them going? What decisions made a difference? And what can you and I learn from their experience?
One story recently got hold of me.
I encountered it through Brian Murphy’s book, 81 Days Below Zero, which recounts the remarkable survival of Lieutenant Leon Crane in the Alaskan wilderness during World War II.
On December 21, 1943, Crane was the co-pilot aboard a B-24 Liberator on a test flight from Ladd Field, near Fairbanks. The aircraft developed trouble and crashed. Crane escaped by parachute and became the only known survivor among the five men aboard.
He landed in deep snow, facing temperatures around forty degrees below zero.
He had no food, no sleeping bag, and no clear idea of where he was. Among his few resources were matches, a Boy Scout knife, his clothing, and the parachute that would provide some protection from the cold.
He also had a letter from his father. Crane used that letter to help start a fire.
That detail stopped me. A letter written by a father to his son had become something that could help keep him alive.
Consider how quickly his world had changed. That morning, he had a job to do and people around him. Now his immediate concerns were finding shelter, keeping a fire burning, and surviving the night.
For roughly nine days, according to the National Park Service, Crane endured an improvised campsite without food. Eventually, he began following the Charley River.
Then he found a cabin and a supply cache.
They belonged to trapper Phil Berail and contained food, equipment, and mittens. Crane finally had shelter and resources that gave him a chance to recover.
But a cabin in the wilderness was still a long way from home.
At one point, he attempted to travel farther and became so exhausted that he had to struggle back to shelter. He needed rest before he could continue. There are times in everyone's life that we need the courage to face the truth about ourselves.
That decision belongs in this story just as much as his determination to move forward.
Crane eventually resumed his journey. There were more hardships, including a plunge into icy water that forced him to build a fire and dry his clothing. Other shelter helped sustain him along the way.
Eventually, a sled trail led him to an occupied cabin, where Albert Ames and his family could help. Crane returned to Fairbanks in March 1944, approximately twelve weeks after the crash.
I cannot imagine what those weeks demanded of him.
But I can recognize something in his story that belongs in our everyday lives. There are times when the distance between where we are and where we need to be feels impossible.
For someone reading this, that distance may involve recovering from an illness. For another, it may be finding work, facing bills, grieving someone, or rebuilding a life that suddenly looks nothing like the one they expected.
I would never suggest that determination makes every hardship disappear. Crane needed shelter, food, time, and help. His story reminds me how much those things matter.
It also reminds me to be careful about what I call failure. Returning to shelter allowed him to recover. Accepting help became part of finding his way home. Progress included pauses and changes of direction.
Perhaps you need permission to do the same. Make the phone call. Tell someone you’re struggling. Take the rest you need. Look honestly at what is within reach today.
And remember those cabins. Someone had stocked them before Crane arrived. Something you do for another person may become the help they need at a moment you will never fully understand.
We cannot always see how a difficult chapter will end. We can look for what will help us through the next part.
Crane’s journey began with very little. Along the way, he found enough to continue.
If you are facing something overwhelming today, I hope you will remember this:
You do not have to see the whole way home to take the next step toward it.
Sources and editorial note: This reflection was inspired by Brian Murphy’s book, 81 Days Below Zero. Historical details were checked against the National Park Service’s account of Lieutenant Leon Crane and John L. Frisbee’s “Valor: Alone in the Arctic,” published in Air & Space Forces Magazine. The perspective and takeaway are my own, developed with AI assistance for drafting, organization, and editing.
