Financial engineering was in vogue across corporate America, but airplanes like the 737 depend on real engineers. Drab but dependable, the 737 had found its niche after the airline industry was deregulated in the late 1970s. Carriers needed fleets of short-haul planes that could siphon traffic into feeder hubs; the 737 became their workhorse.
By the 2010s, the 737 was providing a third of Boeing’s profit but was in need of an overhaul. Mr. Robison, an investigative reporter at Bloomberg, argues convincingly that concern for costs compromised this effort. He portrays his subject under intense pressure from Airbus, its European rival, and making a questionable decision to upgrade the 737 rather than, more expensively, design it anew.
Test flights showed a tendency for the MAX to pitch up. Designers corrected the problem on the cheap, with software that pushed the nose down. Somewhat perilously, a single sensor measuring the angle of the wings against oncoming air could force the plane into a downward trajectory. An optional cockpit indicator—alerting pilots that the sensor might be faulty—was not included on cheaper models. And the sensors, which sat outside the plane, were vulnerable to bird strikes or improper installation.
Pilots could correct for a bad reading, but they had to follow steps from a written manual rather than, as in newer planes, being prompted by an electronic checklist. Since they had only about 10 seconds to make a correction, training was key. Yet Boeing went to great lengths to get the 737 MAX certified without the requirement that pilots train on a simulator. Lion Air, the Indonesian airline, requested such training, but Boeing said it wasn’t necessary.
During the pre-crash certification process, Boeing misled the FAA on the importance of the software (this later led to an indictment of a supervisor). Still, the FAA, as Mr. Robison shows, was compromised by years of having adapted its regulatory role to promote manufacturers. Even after the first plane went down, it kept the MAX flying—despite an agency analysis predicting more crashes. Nor would Boeing’s CEO, Dennis Muilenburg, admit that the company had been at fault. After the Lion Air crash he went to a ribbon-cutting. The board awarded him a $31 million paycheck, including a bonus. After the second crash, he woodenly stayed on script: “We followed exactly the steps in our design and certification processes.”
Yet various insiders had protested Boeing’s level of risk-taking. One manager sent a note to the 737 factory head: “Frankly right now all my internal warning bells are going off.” The brass was said to have pressured Boeing’s internal regulatory unit. Said one eyewitness, “it was push, push, push, shove, shove, shove, to get the airplane into the customer’s hands.” In the end, cutting corners was not only tragic; it was bad business. Far more money was spent on lawyers, victims’ families, retooling and lost flight time than on Boeing’s supposedly quick fix.
Mr. Lowenstein’s latest book, “Ways and Means: Lincoln and His Cabinet and the Financing of the Civil War,” will be published in March.
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