It was a Monday afternoon, right around lunch. June 10, 2019. If you were anywhere near Midtown Manhattan, the weather was the first thing you noticed—low clouds, a persistent, misty rain, and that gray soup that usually keeps most sane pilots on the ground. Then, at 1:43 PM, the sound of a turbine engine screaming over Seventh Avenue cut through the city noise. Seconds later, a 1998 Agusta A109E Power slammed into the roof of the AXA Equitable Center at 787 Seventh Avenue.
It sparked a fire. It rattled the building. People inside thought it was 9/11 all over again.
But what actually happened to the helicopter in NYC that day wasn't an act of terror. It was a localized tragedy, a series of questionable decisions, and a stark reminder that even in the most regulated airspace in the world, things can go sideways in an instant. Tim McCormack, the pilot and the only person on board, lost his life in the impact.
Everyone asks the same thing: why was he even up there?
New York City's airspace is a nightmare on a good day. When the ceiling drops to 500 feet and visibility hits less than a mile, it becomes a trap. McCormack had been waiting at the 34th Street heliport for the weather to clear. He was supposed to fly back to Linden, New Jersey. He waited. He checked the maps. For some reason, he decided he had a window. He didn't.
The NTSB Findings: A "Spatial Disorientation" Nightmare
The National Transportation Safety Board (NTSB) doesn't use flowery language. Their final report on the 787 Seventh Avenue crash is clinical, but if you read between the lines, it’s terrifying. They pointed to "spatial disorientation" as the primary cause.
Think about it.
You’re flying a high-performance twin-engine machine. You enter a cloud bank. Suddenly, up is down. Left is right. Your inner ear is telling you that you’re level, but your instruments are screaming that you’re in a bank. In the aviation world, we call this the "leans." Once you lose the horizon in a concrete canyon like Manhattan, you have about 60 seconds before your brain and the reality of the aircraft's position become completely decoupled.
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McCormack wasn't instrument-rated for that specific flight. He was flying under Visual Flight Rules (VFR). That basically means you have to see where you're going. The moment he punched into those clouds near the Chrysler Building, he was legally and physically in over his head.
He stayed in the air for about eleven minutes. Eleven minutes of erratic maneuvers, trying to find a hole in the clouds, while the roar of the Agusta bounced off the skyscrapers of Midtown. He eventually ended up over the AXA building, likely trying to find the Hudson River to follow it south, but he was too low. The roof was at 750 feet. He hit it at a high rate of speed.
NYC Helicopter Safety: Is it Getting Worse?
If you feel like you've heard about "what happened to the helicopter in NYC" more than once lately, you aren't imagining things. This 2019 crash was a tipping point for public sentiment. It followed the 2018 Liberty Helicopters crash in the East River, where five passengers died because they were strapped into "open-door" harnesses they couldn't escape.
New York is one of the busiest heli-hubs on the planet. Between the "Blade" commuters, the NYPD, the news choppers, and the tourists taking $200 selfies from the air, the sky is crowded.
People are fed up.
Groups like Stop the Chop NY/NJ have been screaming for years about noise and safety. They argue that non-essential flights—meaning everything except medical and police—should be banned. After the 2019 crash, those voices got a lot louder. City Council members started pushing for tighter restrictions on the city-owned heliports.
But here is the catch: the FAA (Federal Aviation Administration) controls the air, not the Mayor. The city can close a heliport, but they can't tell a pilot where to fly once they are in the sky. It's a jurisdictional mess that leaves residents feeling like sitting ducks every time they hear a low-flying rotor.
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Why the 787 Seventh Avenue Location Mattered
The AXA Equitable Center isn't just any building. It’s a 54-story skyscraper right in the heart of the theater district. When the helicopter hit, the FDNY had a massive problem. Most people don't realize that NYC skyscrapers aren't necessarily designed to have a 5,000-pound aircraft fueled with kerosene explode on the roof.
The fire was small but stubborn. Because the crash happened on the roof, the building's standpipe system had to be used. Firefighters had to haul gear up dozens of flights of stairs because elevators are the first thing you lose in a structural fire.
The building didn't have a helipad.
That was one of the first rumors that flew around Twitter—that he was trying to land. He wasn't. He was trying to survive. There hasn't been a legal rooftop landing in Manhattan (outside of emergencies) since the 1977 Pan Am Building disaster, where a rotor blade snapped and killed people on the roof and on the street below. That 1977 event changed NYC aviation forever, essentially banning the "rooftop hop" that used to be a status symbol for executives.
Misconceptions About NYC Helicopter Flights
- "They fly wherever they want." Not really. There are strictly defined "corridors." Usually, they stick to the rivers. The 2019 pilot was way off course by being over Midtown.
- "They are all tourist flights." Actually, the 2019 crash involved a private executive transport. A lot of the traffic you see is basically "Uber for the 1%."
- "Rooftop pads are common." Nope. They are mostly decommissioned. If you see a helicopter near a roof, something is usually wrong.
Honestly, the 2019 incident was a freak occurrence caused by a pilot who—by all accounts from his peers—was a good man but made a catastrophic call regarding the weather. It wasn't a mechanical failure. The engines were working. The fuel was clean. It was human error, plain and simple.
The Regulatory Fallout
Since that day, things have changed, though maybe not as fast as residents want. There’s more pressure on the FAA to restrict VFR flights during "marginal" weather in the New York corridor. If you're a pilot now, you’re looking at much tighter scrutiny if you try to take off when the ceiling is low.
Insurance companies have also hiked rates for NYC-based operators. It’s just too risky. One mistake and you’re hitting a billion-dollar building in the most litigious city on Earth.
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How to Stay Informed and Stay Safe
If you live in NYC or are just visiting and you’re worried about the overhead traffic, there are a few things you can actually do.
First, keep an eye on the Notify NYC app. Whenever there is a planned flyover—like for a movie shoot or a military exercise—the city sends out a blast. This prevents the "panic" that happened during the 2019 crash when people thought the city was under attack.
Second, if you see a helicopter that looks like it’s struggling or flying dangerously low over residential areas (not over the water), you can actually report it. Use the 311 system or contact the FAA’s Flight Standards District Office (FSDO) directly. They do investigate these reports, especially if you have a tail number.
Third, understand the weather. If it’s a "soup" day with heavy fog and you hear a helicopter circling low over buildings, that’s an anomaly. It shouldn't be happening.
The reality of what happened to the helicopter in NYC is that it was a tragedy that shouldn't have occurred. It was a pilot trying to get home, a building that was in the wrong place at the wrong time, and a regulatory system that relies heavily on a pilot's individual judgment. We've seen fewer Midtown "shortcuts" since 2019, but as long as helicopters are allowed to fly over the most densely populated island in America, the risk will never be zero.
Actionable Steps for the Future
- Monitor Flight Paths: Use apps like FlightRadar24. If you hear a loud chopper, you can see exactly who it belongs to and how high they are flying.
- Support Local Advocacy: If the noise and safety concern you, look into the "Leading by Expediting Airway Reform now" (LEARN) Act or similar legislation aimed at reducing non-essential flights.
- Check the FAA Registry: If you are ever booking a tour, look up the tail number. Check the safety record of the operator. Don't just go for the cheapest "doors-off" experience.
The 2019 crash was a wake-up call. The city is still waking up from it.
Expert Insight: Aviation safety in NYC is a balance of federal law and local patience. While the 2019 crash was isolated, it highlighted the "human factor" that no amount of technology can fully erase. Always prioritize weather awareness if you are involved in general aviation near metropolitan centers.
Next Steps for Residents:
- Download the Notify NYC app to receive real-time alerts about authorized low-flying aircraft.
- Report persistent low-altitude violations to the FAA Eastern Region office with specific timestamps.
- Review the NTSB's General Aviation safety alerts regarding spatial disorientation if you are a student pilot or frequent flyer.