OK, I’m a hero worshiper…always have been.
From a tot wide-eyed as Peter Pan flew to the “first star on the right and straight out ’til morning,” to sitting in front of a tiny TV screen with Sky King flying his UC-78 Songbird, to seeing The Bridges at Toko-Ri at the local movie theater with those magnificent Grumman F9F Panthers and McDonnell F2H Banshees screaming through valleys.
And, of course, the admiral’s words, “Where do we get such men…?”
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Many years later I had a special friend who had flown those early jets off the Navy straight-deck carrier USS Bonhomme Richard (“Bonny Dick”) with, he said, little or no checkout. The lack of training made the accident, injury, and death rates high. But the camaraderie and bond between those pilots was so strong that, when, 50 years later, one was near death in California, a group of five flew from the Midwest in my friend’s company jet to say goodbye.
And I keenly remember, as a 5-year-old, sitting in the car while my mom stopped in a bakery, the car radio announcing that Chuck Yeager had broken the sound barrier. I was ecstatic!
Lots of heroes, but I guess air carrier (airline) pilots—mostly those who flew from the 1960s through the 1990s—top the list. I’m fortunate to have a few of these guys now as good friends, and I asked them what (if anything) they miss since retirement.
A few samples from George Shanks (above):
“I suppose the thing I miss most is the paycheck…just kidding (sort of).”
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“Landing the 727. To paraphrase Forrest Gump, landing a 727 was like opening a box of chocolates. You never knew what you were going to get. Sometimes the touchdown was so imperceptible, you’d have to shake the yoke to see if you were on the ground. Other times the ‘touch’ down registered on the Cal Tech seismograph and you’d yell, ‘Take that, earth!’”
“I miss breaking out of a stratus layer on a climb, then leveling off until the speed built up as you skimmed through the top of the cloud layer, then resuming the climb now like a scalded-ass ape.”
“Breaking out at minimums on a hand-flown ILS and greasing the touchdown so you didn’t wake the sleeping passengers.”
“The days of layover cars and interesting movies are long gone. But what hasn’t changed is the camaraderie. The banter and mutual respect and common background unique to aviators that you can only find in a cockpit. That I will miss tremendously. Ours is an odd profession. We have a bond with our fellow pilots and can go months or years without seeing one another, but when we finally do, we can pick up the conversation right where it was left off.”
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“Flying becomes part of us. It’s embedded through all the bankruptcies, industry turmoil, commuting hassles, passenger issues, maintenance problems…things that come with being in this industry. Yet when that cockpit door closes, it is an escape from it all. An escape from the mundane world that others that aren’t pilots will never know. And for those few hours we can immerse ourselves in the role of flying airplanes. Everything is right in the world. It never felt like work. Being a pilot is not what we do, in many ways it is what we are. Familiar faces all over the world.”
Another friend, Kevin Uppstrom (above), who’s a freight pilot, offered:
“I still miss certain aspects of my previous life as a road warrior; seeing Orion’s Belt while overflying the Saudi Arabian desert, the towering cumulus clouds backlit by the rising sun over the South China Sea while descending into Hong Kong or even the blast of searing heat that would fog up your glasses for 15 minutes when stepping off the airplane in Bahrain.”
And from Barry Schiff, on being “aged out” of his 34-year TWA career:
“…Good fortune smiled at me during my last flight on Father’s Day in 1998 when my son Brian was seated to my right.” He served as Captain Schiff’s first officer on this final flight: “An affirmation that he approves of who I am and what I have done with my life. No father could ask for more.”
Schiff remembers when the captain was an absolute dictator—no crew resource management. Pilots would walk through the cabin to socialize with passengers or assuage their fears. He misses when pilots could invite passengers into the cockpit during flight and the good-natured kidding between pilots and “stewardesses.”
There are wonderful memories of flying around the world—10 days of adventure and excitement followed by 20 days at home. The best memories, Schiff says, involve the people of TWA: “I miss them the most.”
Schiff’s other memories:
“The arcs of water over the airplane from fire crews following us on my last flight (and assuring the passengers there was nothing wrong). The pride I felt when a stranger asked what I did for a living, and I could say, ‘I’m an airline captain.’ The sadness I felt on my last flight, knowing I would no longer have the best job a pilot could ask for. And then signing the airplane logbook for the last time and, after entering, ‘No items,’ writing ‘Goodbye’ and signing my name. Then fighting back the tears and the lump in my throat when I left the airplane for the last time.”
The guys I talked to all agreed they didn’t miss the commuting and days away from home, the FAA physicals, the check rides, and occasionally being paired with a captain or first officer who was a jerk. The next, younger generation of airline pilots I know don’t seem to have the same attitude. Some are eager to retire and leave the world of aviation behind. Others “man up” and learn all the complexities of Part 91 flying—airspace restrictions, currency requirements, etc., and buy themselves an airplane or go into the home building business.
But they’re still very special and, when I send a card or a box of my homemade cashew crunch at Christmas, it’s always addressed to “Captain Barry Schiff,” or “Captain George Shanks,” or “Captain Kevin Uppstrom.”
They are my all-time heroes.
This column first appeared in the April Issue 957 of the FLYING print edition.
