Just Hanging Around the Airport

This is especially true at airports near big cities with those fancy FBOs featuring high ceilings, mood lighting, attractive customer service representatives, and exorbitant gas prices. I see nearly 10 bucks a gallon for fuel at Logan International Airport (KBOS)—jet-A or 100LL. 

One time I saw former Secretary of State John Kerry boarding his government 757 at Boston. He didn’t wave. That’s not to say famous people aren’t friendly. In my experience they are almost always polite and approachable. 

My first sighting was at Chicago Midway International Airport (KMDW). This was during a slow period for Midway, after O’Hare International Airport (KORD) was built and before Southwest Airlines revived the field. During this early 1980’s hiatus, I based my Cessna 210 there at Butler Aviation.

One day I was unloading a bunch of Christmas gifts from the airplane. Each time I walked into the FBO, an older man held the door open for me. There were three or four young men there, looking serious, watching but not helping. It was only on my third trip did I recognize the doorman—former President Gerald Ford. The suits were his Secret Service agents. 

“Oh, wow,” I said. “Thanks for holding the door, Mr. President. By the way, I bought this airplane in your hometown, Grand Rapids, Michigan.” “I want to see it,” Ford said. And so we walked back out to the ramp, suits in tow. Ford was extremely friendly, admired the airplane, and wished me well.

After I moved to Tampa, Florida, and found hangar space at “the big airport,” Tampa International (KTPA), I’d often just go to the FBO in order to admire my airplane and look around. One day I spotted a group of straggly young men. Their airplane was pretty ratty, too. It was an old Gulfstream with hush kits on the engines and worn paint.

“Who the heck are these guys?” I asked R.G., a veteran lineman. “Some band I never heard of,” he said. “They call themselves ‘Foo Fighters.’” Little did we both know.

Sometimes I’d go to the hangar at night just to sit in the airplane and maybe turn the master on, survey the instruments, listen to the ATIS, and appreciate my good fortune.

One night a 737 was parked out front, its pilots loitering about. A conversation was struck up. This was Jimmy Buffett’s ride, leased for a group of shows. An impromptu tour was arranged revealing the interior in Coral Reefer Band style.

“We go back to Palm Beach tonight,” said the first officer. Buffett made it back to one of his homes almost every night, whether it was the Hamptons, Beverly Hills, or West Palm Beach. I never saw him, but I felt as if I had.

When it comes to privacy for celebrities, I once had a conversation with a line guy at Clay Lacy Aviation in Van Nuys, California. He told me they provided a service so that big shots can have their tinted glass limos driven into a hangar, whereupon the hangar doors are closed and the passengers board in privacy. The doors are opened, the Gulfstream tugged out, and off you go. Personally, I’d want everybody I know to witness such a spectacle.

It was in 2012 when I began flying professionally as a contract pilot for a local Part 135 company that I began to see, even meet, more celebrities.

As a part-time second in command on a Lear 31A, I signed up for a trip from St. Petersburg, Florida, to Philadelphia. Our passenger was an NHL hockey player, Pavel Kubina. He had been traded from the Tampa Bay Lightning to the Philadelphia Flyers.

We met at 6 a.m. in a scene reminiscent of the movie Casablanca. It was a misty morning as a Cadillac Escalade pulled up. Kubina’s wife and kids were in tears—he had been traded the night before. We loaded two duffel bags and about eight hockey sticks.

In Philly, as we waited for a teammate to pick him up, I asked why, with several commercial flights a day between Tampa and Philadelphia, was a private jet required. “It’s in my contract,” Kubina said. “And we have practice at 10 this morning and we fly to Edmonton at 3 p.m.” This was a working man, whose life had just been markedly disrupted. It didn’t look glamorous at all.

On a Saturday afternoon, we flew a lady from Fort Lauderdale to Orlando, Florida. We were to wait for four hours and then fly to Naples, Florida. I did not recognize the passenger’s name, but the captain did. It was the singer Diana Ross. Traveling alone under her married name and without fanfare, she was headlining an event at Disney World. Her wardrobe and orchestra were traveling by bus.

As we taxied in, it was apparent that many airplanes were at the same airport for the NBA All-Star Game. Bling was the vibe and Gulfstreams were the preferred mode of transport.

Our tiny Learjet was marshaled close to a huge Global Express said to be ferrying the rapper Pitbull. Ross was only concerned about security and ice cream. At 11 p.m. she reappeared with a gentle, friendly demeanor and fell asleep. It occurred to me that Pitbull might never have made it in music if it hadn’t been for Ross and the Supremes.

When I quit my day job and started flying full time for a Part 135 company based in California, my contact with celebrities accelerated.

In three years I met actors Michael Caine, Ben Stiller, and Michelle Pfeiffer, singer Michael Bublé, and comedian Chris Rock among other well-known celebrities and business people. They moved through the world with a sense of confidence and gratitude and were almost unfailingly pleasant and kind. I’ve got plenty of stories about those days—some funny, some poignant.

One day while waiting for an unfamous passenger at Teterboro Airport (KTEB) in New Jersey, I saw a young lady stride to her Gulfstream with several young people in tow. I called my wife, Cathy, and said I’d just spotted Molly Cyrus. “It’s Miley,” she said, deadpan.

This column first appeared in the November Issue 952 of the FLYING print edition.