Recollections

ATP

      On October 6th, 1992, The Federal Aviation Administration said that "I had been found to be properly qualified to exercise the privileges of an airline transport pilot". I had previously qualified as a private and commercial pilot and held a multi-engine rating. But the ATP, considered by many to be the aviation equivalent of a "PhD", was the most coveted designation of them all. To be an ATP candidate, one must have a valid current first class medical certificate, 75 hours of actual instrument time, 500 cross country hours logged as pilot-in-command, plus 100 logged night hours along with more than 1500 total flight hours. The ATP is primarily designed for pilots who intend to make aviation their career. One has to pass a written and oral exam and a flight test. The written exam is on jet aircraft. To pass the written, i had to learn all about the flight characteristics of the Boeing 707. An FAA examiner administrates the oral exam and the flight tests. I chose Byron Degoff, a legend in New England, to be my trainer. He had the reputation of being a demanding, nasty FAA examiner. Most aviators had a "love-hate" relationship with him. Many avoided him at all costs. He drilled me in FAA regulations and procedured until I was blue in the face. He also tought me the subtleties of flying twin enginer aircraft.

      ATP candidates are expected to meet and exceed the toughest flight standards. They must be able to demonstrate the ability to hand fly the aircraft without the benefit of the autopilot, along with maintaining control of the airplane while identifying and solving problems, navigating and communicating. The altitude deviation allowance from an assigned altitude is 100 feet. Period! Be it recovering from a power on stall, a lost engine, or rolling out of a 360 degree turn with a 45 degree bank. Byron would plan the sessions. We would discuss his expectations and after the flying was completed, he offered an evaluation to then make a logbook entry. On October Sixth, Nineteen Hundred and Ninety Two, I knew that I was getting close to the check-ride. The last few training sessions were mostly reviews, but I had no idea that this was it.

      The reality hit me when he handed me the logbook and asked me to read the entry; ATP. I was now one of the small percentage of all aviators in the country who held this rating.

"Danny Goodyear"

       "Hey! What do you mean that's Danny Goodyear; are you telling me that he's flying that airplane? Yep. You got to be kidding me. No. Wow!.

      It was a spectacular spring day in April of 1957at St. Lawarence University in Canton, New York. I will always remember that day. I was an 18 year old sophomore walking with my friend, Canna, when I noticed the airplane. She told me that Danny Goodyear was flying with her sorority sister. How outrageous was that! I had to see what flying was like. I had to get into a plane. Well, I had won some money playing poker and decided to spend it on flight lessons, The next day I drove to Odgensberg, found an instructor and took an introductory lesson.

      We did landings and take offs, turns and stalls. We were in the air for 1 hour and I loved it. I was hooked. Student pilots must complete a solo flight as their first major hurdle. Two months and 10 flight hours later I was ready to solo. That day began as any other routine flight training day, but as I was taxiing to the tie-down, the instructor said, "Ok, you are ready to solo?", I broke out in a cold sweat. He got out of the airplane and walked away. With my heart pounding, I called the control tower to announce that I was ready to solo. They were ready for me, but was I ready? I was cleared to take the active. Indeed I thought! Was I crazy? Cleared for take off? Me? Alone!? With the blood pounding in my head, I began. Full power. Take off speed. Pull back gently on the yoke until the airplane begins to fly.

      Climb to 800 feet, make a 90 degree left turn. Maintain 800 feet for one minute, make another 90 degree left turn to enter the downwind leg. Fly parallel to the runway, and maintain level flight. Slow the plane down. Apply approach flaps. Begin the descent. Make another 90 degree turn to the left. Enter base leg then one more 90 degree left turn. Enter the final approach phase. Prepare to land. Full flaps, pull back gently, bring the nose up, let the airplane settle on to the runway. Or, as it was in my case, let it go bouncing down the runway until it finally came to a stop. "Congratulations!" It was the tower operator. I had done it! With sweaty palms and adrenaline pumping, I had successfully completed my first solo flight. Danny Goodyear was a senior that year when he inadvertently influenced the beginning of my 45 year love affair with aviation. We did not know each other well. I would be surprised if he would even remember me at all today. But, thanks Danny. I will never forget you.

"Isn't it a shame nothing happened to Paul?"

       Over the more that 30 years of flying my 69' Cessna 310, I have had many people sit in the right seat. Some first timers, some seasoned aviators and, of course, a number of CFI's, but Jean Jacques was my first pre-teen right seat passenger. This story begins in Boston. Some years ago, late one afternoon in August, Jean Jacques and his family were visiting the United States from Switzerland. Nantucket was their final destination.

       Although Jean Jacques' father had frequently flown with me, this was the first private aviation experience for the other three family members. Once everyone was assembled, the plane loaded with luggage, gifts and other baggage, it became apparent that one of the kids would have to ride in the fifth seat. Being the smallest, Jean Jaques was dealt that card. That was not acceptable to him. He began to cry and complain that his sister should sit alone. His dad explained that his sister would sit in the rear on the return flight. This was still not enough of a compromise. To sweeten the deal, he would get a chance to steer the Jeep on the dirt roads. Done deal. Several days later I was flying some guests back to BDR and offered to take Jean Jacques and his dad for the ride. With the promise of the right seat for the return trip, Jean Jacques was satisfied to sit in the rear. Fifty minutes later, refueled, filed and ready to fire-up, we realized that we had to build up his seat. Though small for his age, Jean Jacques was a very self-assured 11 year old. Because he did not speak English and I did not speak French, his father had to act as the interpreter. He instructed Jean Jacques to be very careful not to touch any of the switches or controls. The first 40 minutes were VMC. Good visability and a smooth ride at 8000 feet. ATIS reported fog...IFR delays. The weather in Nantucket is always subject to change minute by minute in the summer. I was always prepared to fly an approach to minimums.

       From my point of view what could be better? Gump check complete; auto-pilot coupled; approach flaps set; outer marker; gear extended; glideslope captured; middle marker passed; full flaps; runway in sight; wheels down; taxi to the tie down; logbook entry; button up; head home. But Jean Jacques was not very happy. I could understand that. Being stuck in IMC conditions for an extended period of time. No visual references. Low visability. Not very exciting event for an 11 year old.

       Exciting for you and me? Yes! Wow, did I misread what that kid was thinking. His dad asked him how he felt about the flight, being the copilot and all. He shrugged his shoulders and asked what was the big deal about a copilot. His father explained that the copilot has a very important role in the flight. Why? Because, if anything happens to the pilot, then the copilot is in charge and is responsible for flying the airplane. Well, Jean Jacques thought about that for just a moment before he said, "isn't it a shame that nothing happenened to Paul!" Thanks Jean Jacques for the compliment. Your confidence in my skill ranks right up there with the FAA examiner who signed my ATP ticket...although that might be a subject for another day.

"I'm hoping?"

      I had many flight instructors over the more than 30 years of flying n5880m, but none who would make a more lasting impression than Henry Lopez, a man I referred to as "The Phantom". This story begins in Bridgeport, CT. The year was 1968. I was a low time pilot with a private ticket. Single engine land privileges. A few hundred hours in my log book. Very limited discretionary funds to spend on aviation. A strong yearning to fly twin engines. Not a clue how I could accomplish it. Then, a once in a lifetime opportunity dropped in my lap. I was invited to participate in a block of twin time. I got to sit in the left seat of a 310. Fly to and from business appointments. Begin training towards my multi-engine, instrument and commercial ratings with a most qualified CFII. And then, in November of 1969, the lease turned into a purchase. And that began a 30 year love affair with n5880m. A sexy, sleek, fast and exciting airplane. A 310p model with Coleman conversions, GPS, moving map, long-range tanks. Pretty much the works. A challenging airplane to fly well. All that, and Henry Lopez, too.

      Booking and confirming training time with Henry, where I was to learn, was not necessarily a done deal. In fact, there were a number of occassions in which Henry was a no show. On days like these, no one ever knew where Henry was. He would re-appear as mysteriously as he disappeared. He never offered an excuse or an explanation. Thus, I labled him "The Phanthom". You might be thinking I should not have put up with this unreliable flight instructor. In fact, why would I want to continue training with a character like this? I had those thoughts, too. I guess I instinctively knew that he was the right guy for me. And, as crazy as that might sound, I stuck with him. To his credit, he was always on time for business trips. He had extraordinary knowledge of the aircraft. In fact, over the succeeding 30 years that we trained together, he never failed to teach me something new about 80m, something that I did not know. Things that I expected to learn at Flight Safety and equivalent, but did not. In fact, it was scary to think how much he knew, and how much I had to learn. Henry made me feel comfortable in the cockpit. He was a layed back flight instructor. He believed that his students had to learn to solve their own problems. He was patient. Taught me the art of trouble-shooting and problem solving. Gave me the confidence and the training to be a safe pilot. Which brings me back to the subject of this recollection.

       It was early on in my twin training, a day that I was beginning to feel slightly ahead of the airplane. I was on a training flight to Rochester, New York from Bridgeport, Connecticut. A very cold, clear winter morning. A flight in which I would be flying the entire trip under the hood. I was ready. And, anxious to show Henry that I, too, was ready to join the ranks of twin flyers. It was a routine flight. I was prepared. We were cleared for the approach. Everything was in order. I was, in fact, quite pleased with the way I was flying that day. Relaxed. The landing checklist completed. I revisited the gump check several times, just to be sure not to forget anything. Had the ILS nailed. Waiting for the middle marker. For minimums. Anxious to take the hood off and land. When it suddenly occurred to me that Henry has been more quiet than usual. I was thinking that he must have been as pleased with me, as I was with myself. It wasn't until we were on short final, that I looked to my right and saw that he was sitting there with his back slightly turned towards me. He was staring out the right window. With his fingers crossed. I asked him why his fingers were crossed. "I'm hoping", he said. "Hoping for what?", I asked. "I'm hoping that you are going to put the landing gear down"! So much for the perfect flight. But, I never forgot the lesson I learned that day.

      When flying twins, it is best to be current and on top of your game. There are always things that can go wrong, but, inadvertant gear-up landings were never one of them for me. I always had the advantage of "The Phanthom" sitting in the right seat, looking out the window with his fingers crossed.