BY LEAH GARCHIK

SAN FRANCISCO CHRONICLE

Capt. Chesley Sullenberger is expected any moment at a Danville, Calif., Starbucks, and I wait there, half-expecting the American hero to zoom down from the heavens, like Superman.

Soon "Sully" pulls up -- simply driving a dark red Lexus. He's a plain guy who's lived in Danville for 15 years, with his wife, Lorrie, and their two daughters, Kate, 16, and Kelly, 14. "I am a man of routine," he writes in his new memoir, "and there's a precision to my life."

He's tall, slim, blue-eyed, white-mustached, recognizable. Would he like to sit in a corner, so people don't approach him? No problem, he says, he'll deal with it. From Jan. 15, the day he landed US Airways Flight 1549 in the Hudson River, to Oct. 7, the day before he was to fly to New York to begin a national tour for his new book, "Highest Duty: My Search for What Really Matters," Sullenberger has been dealing with it.

Furthermore, as demonstrated by the subtitle, he's been intent on using his newfound fame to promote his own code: Doing things well, doing them right, the way he did the day he used "a lifetime of knowledge to find a way to safety," his written description of the feat of flying those 150 passengers to safety.

If you had to wear a T-shirt describing yourself, would you rather it said "Competent" or "Hero"? I ask midway through our conversation. He flicks aside the question: "I wouldn't wear the T-shirt." In fact, he's dressed in a plain knit shirt, no logo visible, no symbols except the ones on his Air Force Academy ring, no indication of his likes or dislikes or what he thinks is clever or amusing.

He's 58 years old, and he grew up a shy boy in Denison. His dad was a dentist, his mom a first-grade teacher who took him along to a statewide PTA convention when he was 11. It was his first time in the sky, fulfilling a wish to fly he'd had since he was 5. At 16, he made his first solo flight, a thrilling moment, the point at which he knew "this would be my livelihood and my life." But even at 16, he writes, "I realized that flying a plane meant not making mistakes."

More than 40 years later, during which "I ate my vegetables, I did my homework," he is sure that the landing of Flight 1549 "didn't just happen. It was the result of decades of hard work."

He's a guy who is most comfortable redirecting heaped praise to others -- his flight crew, for example. But he has also assumed a sort of moral mantle, and he's eager to share what he's learned about living, "the more general human issue," in his phrase, and in particular, work. "Finding one's passion as early as possible" is good for the individual, he says, but also "good for society," because it breeds professionals.

Does he apply his own high standards to colleagues? "I work with professionals who like me have dedicated their lives to their professions," said Sullenberger. As to whether anything makes him blow his stack, he jumps beyond his professional life to his worldview: "Injustice, people getting hurt. That makes me mad, when the world isn't fair. ... But maybe that's just reality."

In the aftermath of Flight 1549, "I accepted a management pilot position," a promotion that means a "flexible schedule and also the opportunity to help with safety issues." When the plane lost power, for example, First Officer Jeff Skiles reached for a manual that provides emergency procedures. Those manuals once had tabbed pages that made applicable sections available instantly. Cost cuts eliminated the tabs; Sullenberger's book describes Skiles taking a few seconds to find the right place.

Asked about this, Sullenberger emphasizes that it's no big deal and that he wants to make it clear he's speaking for himself and not for his employer. "US Air is very safe," he says, his only concern "how to make it better." He had complained about those tabs before Flight 1549.

In keeping with his willingness to question authority, he's also been an outspoken union advocate. Sullenberger's ideal is "a culture at work where employees are valued as partners. There is a cost to every company when you don't have these cooperative relationships." Does he make these views known at US Airways Inc.? "Yes," he says. "I'm a known quantity." Second only to the thanks of passengers, says Sullenberger, what's touched him most since Jan. 15 has been "the words of our peers. ... They're proud of us and they thank us not only for the outcome, but in some small way helping to restore the lost respect this profession has had."

One of the "unintended consequences" of the safety stats of airline travel is that no one thinks it's a big deal anymore. Safety records have been so good that passengers have forgotten the challenges of flying "seven miles above the Earth's surface, at 80 percent of the speed of sound." Cheaper seats have led to reduced services, and "people are down on the whole thing. They've forgotten what's really at stake."

A big part of the book is about people's response to the rescue, "what it was about this event that made so many people feel the way they do about the crew and me." Taking the long view, "people are searching for good news," trying to figure out whether "all the things we believed in were not true after all. There are a lot of distractions, but we still have people who are capable."

He has heard from a huge number of people (10,000 e-mails, for instance). "This event caused them to reflect on their own lives." And of course, there was an outpouring of commercial offers.

He turned them down, but "for 8-1/2 months, no one has ever said 'no' to me, including the president of the United States." President-elect Barack Obama invited him to the inauguration; Sullenberger said he would go only accompanied by the rest of the Flight 1549 crew. And so they did.

"I'm on a sprint," he says of the respect with which he's regarded. "I don't want to overdo it and lose my voice prematurely." So he won't go on "Dancing With the Stars"? He breaks out laughing. "They haven't asked me. Besides, you wouldn't want to see me dance."

As to his celebrity vis-a-vie his family, "They're still teenagers," he says of his daughters. "They still like us most of the time." Their real wish, he says, is that he would be home more. His wife would like him to be less used up by the public when he is home.

Outside, as he poses patiently for a newspaper photographer, a stranger whips out his cell phone and politely asks if he can take a picture, too. Sure.

"Celebrity must be hard," says the man.

"It's my new job," says Sullenberger.