Architects sometimes get a bad rap for being perfectionists — even a little nit-picky. But in truth, that meticulousness is one of the profession’s greatest strengths. When precision meets vision, and execution meets with intent, something remarkable happens: the result isn’t just code-compliant — it’s purposeful.
If you’ve ever undertaken a significant home-remodeling project, or even sold a house, you’ve probably been jaded by the dreaded phrase “not-to-code”. But it’s easy to forget that every line of code represents a lesson learned by failure. Sometimes, even the most seemingly imperceptible deviations from code become industry changing— as was the case for the aviation industry and British Airways Flight 5390.
More than three decades ago, on June 10, 1990, what began as a routine flight from Birmingham to Málaga very nearly ended in tragedy when just 13 minutes after takeoff, at around 17,000 feet, the cockpit windshield blew out. As the aircraft’s altitude increased, climbing toward ~17,300 ft (5,270 m) passengers heard a loud bang. The cockpit filled with condensation, the cabin suddenly depressurized, and the left cockpit windshield was entirely sucked out of its frame. The flight’s captain, Tim Lancaster, who had just loosened his harness moments before, was propelled from his seat by the force of decompression and violently ejected headfirst out of the flight deck. In what some would consider an act of divine providence, Tim’s ankles became trapped in the control column, which acted as a last anchor, preventing him from being altogether dragged into the sky. The flight’s autopilot system disengaged, causing the plane to descend rapidly. The flight deck door was also blown inward onto the control console, blocking the throttle control and causing an increase in acceleration as they plummeted toward the ground. Flight documents and check lists were blown out of the cockpit, debris blew in from the passenger cabin, and the wind noise was so loud two-way communication with ground control became impossible.
Remarkably, the flight team’s impressive response ultimately compensated for the catastrophic structural failure and no lives were lost.
So where did things go wrong?
Just 27 hours prior to the incident an experienced and skilled maintenance engineer had replaced the windshield. One can only assume he had performed this task multiple times before, methodically removing the old windshield and then replacing it using 84 replacement bolts that appeared visually identical to their predecessors. Confident and capable, the engineer selected bolts that were visually interchangeable with the originals — but as we now know, were not to code specifications. Each bolt was just 0.66 mm too narrow and slightly too short in grip length. He torqued them by hand and sight, comparing them with the old fasteners instead of checking the maintenance manual — a direct breach of procedure and code.
The difference was undetectable to the naked eye, but undeniable under pressure. That fractional deviation compromised the integrity of an entire system, and very nearly claimed the lives of all 87 people on board— ultimately leading to industry-wide changes in how aircraft maintenance is performed, and windshields are mounted.
It serves as a sobering reminder across every field that compliance isn’t bureaucracy — it’s precision with purpose.
In architecture, just as in aviation, the smallest deviations from established codes can unravel entire systems. When vision and verification work hand in hand, safety and innovation stop being opposing forces — they become the same act of design integrity. The smallest deviations — wrong bolt length, wrong unit, missed test, unchecked revision — often compound invisibly until stress or circumstance reveals them catastrophically. The story of British Airways Flight 5390 underscores a core truth across industries: Code compliance is written in blood. Every clause, tolerance, or redundant check is there because someone once paid the price for its absence.
The story of British Airways Flight 5390 reminds us that pressure never creates weakness — it only exposes what was already there. The catastrophic failure began long before the cockpit window gave way; it started during a quiet routine moment, when a maintenance engineer chose speed and familiarity over verification. Under calm conditions, the opportunity existed to check, confirm, and uphold the standard — but character, like code, is built in those unremarkable moments when no one is watching, when the pressure seems low. When the real test comes — whether at 17,000 feet or in high-stakes leadership decisions— the outcome depends entirely on the diligence formed in ordinary hours. Discipline in times of ease is what sustains composure in times of crisis.
Pressure doesn’t build character, it reveals it.
First officer, Alastair Aitchison, immediately took control of the flight and established technical order amidst the mess. Despite having zero visibility he began an emergency descent to reach an altitude with sufficient air pressure to aid passenger breathing. He re-engaged autopilot, calmly issued a Mayday call, and over the next 20 minutes was able to establish communication with Air Traffic Control and make an emergency landing. Nigel Ogden, a seasoned flight attendant, also acted without hesitation as he witnessed the rapidly unfolding crisis. With the cockpit door dislodged, he rushed forward and instinctually grabbed hold of the captain’s legs in the deafening chaos of decompression. Ogden’s decision — to reach forward instead of recoil — set the tone for everything that followed. Other crew members responded in kind, forming a chain of resolve: one holding Ogden, another taking his place when exhaustion and frostbite from subzero temperatures set in.
Under immense physical and psychological pressure, the strength of the flight crew’s character and training held the system together where the integrity of metal and code had failed. The same forces that exposed the weakness of a misidentified bolt revealed the unshakable strength of human integrity — proof that while pressure ruthlessly exposes weakness, it also illuminates integrity with equal measures of exactness. Code compliance ensures that our creativity or talent never outruns our responsibility—and that is true in all professions and industries. Whether you’re an architect, CEO, police officer or football coach, leaders who treat ordinary diligence as sacred practice set the standard for extraordinary performance.
Diligence in upholding our own values and standards — especially when the stakes feel low or the pace is slow — mirrors the same discipline that defines sound professional practice. In architecture and engineering, we know that the integrity of a system depends on countless unseen checks and small acts of precision; leadership is no different. The habits we practice in calm seasons shape our response under pressure. When we hold ourselves accountable to the same consistency and care that we apply to our work, we lead by example — not through authority, but through steadiness. For any leader, that perspective transforms compliance from obligation into character, and turns routine diligence into the quiet architecture of trust. In today’s unpredictable political and economic landscape — where public trust in institutions and leadership continues to erode — consistency between what we say and what we do carries greater weight than ever. Research shows that employees who believe their organization “will do what’s right” are more than twice as likely to trust their leadership and remain engaged in their work.¹ Studies on leader behavioral integrity have linked that same consistency to measurable gains in performance, collaboration, and inclusion across teams.² In times of uncertainty, when volatility and skepticism can easily undermine morale, diligence in upholding personal and professional values becomes not just an ethical choice, but a stabilizing force. Integrity practiced in ordinary moments — long before the crisis comes — builds the credibility that keeps organizations steady when external conditions are anything but.
For us, meticulous design is a form of leadership — one that safeguards communities through consistency, foresight, and care. Code compliance is not constraint; it’s the structure that allows creativity to serve safety. When discipline is practiced in moments of ease, it becomes instinct in moments of crisis. In both architecture and leadership, in the unseen but essential is where lasting safety and trust are built.