The Captain, the Servant

February 1996

I saw him on ABC news tonight. Captain John Testrake leaning out of the window of his TWA jet talking to reporters while a hijacker waved a gun out the window and around Capt. Testrake's head. Pictures that mesmerized the world some years ago. Pictures of a man who died of cancer today, February 6, 1996. I didn't see those pictures when the rest of the world did.

Hundreds of miles from a TV set I was at Korupun, a small valley tucked into the Snow Mountain range of Irian Jaya, Indonesia. The people at Korupun, the Kimyals, knew nothing of world politics. Their world revolved around raising their pigs, growing their sweet potatoes and gathering firewood and the materials needed to build their thatch-roofed huts. They had bows and arrows, not guns.

I followed the news of the hijacking by short-wave radio, listening to the Voice of America and the BBC World Service.

But when I saw Capt. Testrake on the TV screen tonight, it wasn't the memories of the hijacking that those images invoked. My memories of him are much more personal of a few days five and a half years ago. The news story mentioned that after his retirement, John Testrake identified himself with a Christian flying service helping people all over the world. That was the John Testrake I remember.

My memories of John take place at Korupun. John Testrake and his wife Phyllis were in Irian Jaya as part of a tour they were doing for Mission Aviation Fellowship, seeing first hand MAF's work so they could better describe it to MAF's friends and supporters. MAF asked me if Testrakes could come to Korupun for a few days to see what a truly remote place was like, and experience what a life-line MAF was to us. I was delighted to have them come.

The Johnson Triplets

For nearly a month I had been taking care of the 12-year old triplet daughters of friends, while the girls' parents were in Java brushing up on their Indonesian. These were not doll and tea-party girls. Oh, no. Even taking them on two-hour hikes around the mountains didn't use up all their energy. Testrakes came toward the end of the month; I was glad not only to see them, but also to have another diversion for the girls. My missionary colleague, a nurse, Jessie, was on vacation, so I was handling the girls on my own steam. Which was losing more and more of it's heat by the day.

Karen, Kristine and Kelsie were delighted to help organize a pig feast for the Testrakes, and to take them around the valley, showing them the sights of the villages, rivers, waterfalls and mountain paths. I was glad they had someone else to go with!

In just a week the girls would leave for home on the north coast. Then I could rest. Why was I so tired? Sure, they were active girls, but I used to be able to handle that kind of activity and more. What was wrong with me?

Testrakes came on Wednesday, and were supposed to leave on Friday. But we were fogged in. Same on Saturday. MAF only does emergency flights on Sundays, so they would have to wait until Monday for their flight out - and hope weather allowed it.

Actually, it was the Lord, not the weather, which kept them there. After all of our hikes on the mountains, when I would silently pray that none of the girls would fall down a cliff and break something, it happened in my yard. At dusk Saturday, Karen was doing cart-wheels on the grass, landed wrong, and broke a leg. I heard it pop. I immediately sent out a call for Sabbil, the clinic worker Jessie had just trained in the setting of bones, and sent a note up to Jessie's house at the top of the airstrip, where Testrakes were staying. Could John please come down and help us with Karen? Sabbil, John and Semia, the local pastor, all arrived. Sabbil confirmed that Karen's leg was broken. He told me he'd make a splint - would John help? Sabbil measured Karen's leg, then the guys went off to make a box-like splint. Phyllis cooked supper. I couldn't handle that now.

I got on the communications radio and contacted a missionary doctor. All I could do was try to keep Karen comfortable for the night and call MAF as soon as it got light in the morning. Karen would have to be flown to a mission hospital at Mulia, a couple hundred miles away. Dr. Buce and his wife Janet would be happy to keep Karen in their home after he cast her leg. Karen knew and liked Buce and Janet. Karen would be fine and well cared for. Kelsie, Kristine and I would follow our original plan to fly out to Sentani on Wednesday. But I felt responsible; the girls were in my care. I really ought to stay with Karen; all of us should fly to Mulia in the morning. But I was exhausted; I knew I could not stay up half the night getting myself and the girls packed and ready. I just couldn't do it. Why not? Last year I could have handled it. What was wrong with me? Why was I being so irresponsible? Why couldn't I do it?

John Testrake was wonderful. I suppose next to the stress of the hijacking, this was small peanuts. But this time he wasn't captain, and didn't try to be. Sabbil, a simple village man who didn't even have a grade-school education was in charge, and John followed his instructions. With respect. They brought the finished splint in, and John and Semia held Karen while Sabbil pulled her leg to line the bone up and bind it into the splint. John, the airline captain, a man who had seen the world and whose courage had been supremely tested, was impressed. He treated Sabbil like the equal he was in his world.

Karen was in great pain through the night. Kristine, Kelsie and I didn't get much sleep, either.

Landing in Korupun

In the morning I called MAF and told them of our emergency. The fog was gone, the sun was shining and there was no wind. Perfect for the plane to come in. An MAF pilot's wife who is a nurse came along to take care of Karen during the 2-hour flight. Her sisters cried. We waved goodbye and fell silent as the plane lifted off our little grass and gravel airstrip.

Later that day Dr. Buce told me Sabbil had done a perfect job. The x-ray showed the bone was lined up perfectly. He didn't have to set it further, just cast it. It was so good to have the Testrakes there to share my relief, and to comfort me.

But the guilty questions still echoed in my head. Over and over every day and even on the flight to Sentani on Wednesday. "Why couldn't I have gone with Karen? What was wrong with me?"

A year later I was the one with legs in great pain. I couldn't walk without crutches now, and was being flown back to the States for medical evaluation. A year after that I was well practiced in a scooter and was using a free-swinging arm support to hold my arm to brush my teeth and put on my make-up.

Now I knew what had been wrong with me. I had post-polio syndrome, and was weakening fast.

The memory tonight's news piece brought to my mind is not of a hijacking, but of a couple the Lord sent along to help me in a situation I did not have the strength to handle alone, and didn't know why. Part of it is melancholy, but part makes me smile - the part about how God knew and provided. And still does.