Reflections on Life in the Skies as a Check Airman

As if the moment wasn’t enough of a career epitome, Dick surprised me with an offer. He said, “You did a great job. I’d like you to consider being a line check airman when you finish up your 100 hours and have six months in the left seat.”

For those not familiar, the FAA ordains a check airman at any particular airline to ensure that not only are pilot certification standards maintained but also the airline standards. A line check airman is relegated to actual flying and not simulator training.

Although the offer humbled me, it was not on my radar. After all, check airmen were one step away from management, a force of evil among the rank and file. I replied, “Thanks, but I don’t think that’s a job for me.” Dick smirked as though he were reading my thoughts. He insisted that I still consider the opportunity. Meanwhile, like it or not, he would make a recommendation to our New York chief pilot. I nodded respectfully.

A few months later, my phone rang. It was the chief pilot. We had become friendly during the time he served as chairman of our union’s New York domicile. He said, “I understand you are interested in becoming a check airman?” with a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

I replied with a chuckle and simply said, “No.”

“Good,” my chief pilot responded. “So, you’re going to call the admin of the fleet captain’s office in DFW with the number I’m about to give you. Set up an appointment for an interview.”

“I don’t think I’m check airman material,” I replied.

“I’ve heard from people that say otherwise.” My chief pilot cleared his throat and added, “This isn’t a request, captain, it’s an order.” His tone was now firm. Although I sensed he was not completely serious, the implication was that my relationship had immediately transitioned from friend to subordinate. How could I defy an order?

After a deep breath, I replied, “Yessir. I’ll make the appointment.”

I spent the next few days ruminating about the opportunity. Discussions with friends varied in opinion. Eventually, I reached the conclusion that it would be a career opportunity, notwithstanding schedule and pay advantages.

After being introduced to an amiable fleet captain, the interview began with a predictable question, “Why do you want to be a check airman?” I was prepared with an answer and responded, “I think I would enjoy kit bag inspections.” My strategy was that if the fleet captain read the sarcasm, and thus had a sense of humor, I would do the job. He grinned. From that point forward, the remaining part of the interview involved mostly information. Essentially, it was my job to lose if I proved to be unworthy…or a total idiot.

Unfortunately, the early 1990s had become a financial challenge for my airline. Pilots were not advancing through the ranks as before, so the need for additional check airmen wasn’t required at that point in time. Although I was asked to call periodically, the opportunity slowly dissipated. Eventually, I moved on, albeit slightly disappointed.

Not quite 15 years later, after logging thousands of hours on the B-767/757, I had a misstep in Zurich while flying one of the departure procedures. Out of pure distraction, I had exceeded a speed limit, which caused us to fly outside the lateral limits of the procedure. Zurich is strict and does not hesitate to notify airlines of violations. Fines levied against the airline for such discretions were substantial. Gulp.

The 767 fleet captain at the time of my violation was an old friend. We had upgraded as captains together on the B-727. During a conference call, I plead guilty and asked my friend and the upper-level pilot management types to take mercy on my soul. Although they appreciated my candor, the details of the incident were important so that the situation could be avoided in the future. Understandably, management wanted to make the case with Zurich authorities that my indiscretion wasn’t a blatant disregard for procedures.

My fleet captain friend assured me that consequences for the incident would not fall into my lap. I had already done my penance by analyzing the mistake. His subsequent comments resonated with me later as a great leadership quality. He said, “If you screwed up the procedure, somebody else will. It seems we should do a better job messaging pilots about the departure through our training and chart publication.”

I vowed to take my fleet captain friend to lunch as repayment for my transgression. When that day happened, my friend surprised me with an offer. He asked with a grin, “Wanna be a line check airman?”

“Really?” I replied. “After causing you angst in Zurich?”

He smiled and said, “That’s why I’m offering. I need people that not only know the rules but know how to fly.” He added: “You might work a little bit more, but you can pick your schedule. And you’ll be getting B-777 pay.

“Thanks, but no thanks,” I said with a smirk.

“Good. Then you’ll think about it,” he said, then turned and stepped into the elevator that led to his office.

The rest is history. After about five days of training and a couple of domestic and international trips in the left and right seat of the B-767, I was officially a check airman. To this day, I wonder how it happened.

Aside from the financial and scheduling benefits, the job was gratifying in and of itself. Although the position often puts colleagues at attention, I did my best to make them feel relaxed. My purpose was not to find them lacking in their standards, but rather to assist in bringing those standards to a higher level.

The job had become more challenging because at that time we were in the process of eliminating our Airbus-300-600 fleet. The transitioning pilots were filling their heads with not just one airplane database but with three—the B-757, B-767-200, and B-767-300. For some of those pilots that had been comfortably situated for years as part of the Airbus cartel, the task had become difficult.

After logging a few hundred hours of check airman time, I was asked by a retired former check airman, “So, how do you like flying solo across the North Atlantic?”

I had never thought of the job with that perspective, but in a subtle way, he had a point. Regardless, I enjoyed my life wearing a name tag and was grateful to have been given the opportunity. 

This column first appeared in the January Issue 954 of the FLYING print edition.