Hi folks,
It's been awhile. It seems after writing that article for USAToday I got a serious case of writer's block. Kept trying, though. "It was a dark and stormy night" I would write. "No, that won't work. Been done" Into the trash bin it would go and I would sit in front of the computer, shoulders slumped, eyes looking down in a kind of self loathing for what seemed hours trying write a story where I remained ever the hero. "Damn" I thought, "this is hard."
But I am back now and in fine fettle. I thought you folks might like a little perspective on the pilot that had so much trouble on that JetBlue flight last week. Here is my take on it.
First the "charges" levied by some schmuck in the federal prosecuters office. There is absloutely no way that this gent should be charged with anything. He is sick. Something snapped that day and he lost control of his thoughts to the point that the First Officer had to lock him out of the flight deck. The operative word here is sick. He will most likely be psycologically evaluated, given a lot of time off to recover and be back in the cockpit in a few months. I know that may sound a little scary but, in my humble opinion, he did nothing wrong. At least nothing that could not be explained medically. If he is deemed psychologically fit he will most likely return to flying in some capacity. If not, I am sad to say, he may have come to the end of his flying career. But it won't be a punitive dismissal. It will most likely be a medical retirement.
Now, for the First Officer (read copilot). Let me start by saying in the cockpit of a airliner on any given flight there is an air of seriousness and friendliness as two people who have met for the first time go about the business of preparing a flight for departure. The Captain may ask, casually, when a first officer was hired. This helps him get a picture of experience. It also creates what may be a common bond between the two pilots that they can talk about later i.e. what is your backround and what planes did you fly. All of this provides information to the Captain about the skills and experience of the First Officer.
Next: The First Officer and what it takes to lock the Captain out of a cockpit. Hint: Guts!
(Disclaimer: Please keep in mind that this entire story is based on news reports, which we all know can be dubious at best, my experience of almost 40 years as an aircrewman and a healthy dose of speculation. I cannot attest to any of the actual circumstances. I was not there.)
When we left off the Captain on the JetBlue flight had left the cockpit. On this flight, this is where the copilot must act on his belief that the Captain is acting in an irrational manner. The First Officer knows that the decision he is about to make, were it made on a ship on the high seas, would be tantamount to mutiny. Let me explain.
The flight crew structure is very similar to that of a seagoing vessel. The Captain is the first in command and the First Officer or copilot is the second in command. In the flight atendant group there is a lead FA that all others report to. In this structure, unless a Captain is commanding something unsafe, he or she is the boss. That is it. There is no one else with power or responsibilty that exceeds the Captain. This structure is strong and it works. It always starts with the Captain.
This preestablished hierarchy is ingrained in every crewmember from the very minute they start flying for an airline. The Captain is boss and to make any effort to usurp that authority can easliy lead to loss of pay or loss of job. Again, all of this is true unless the Captain is acting in a manner that is unsafe or unwarranted. Then the dynamic shifts.
The First Officer on this flight, apparently, had been listening to and watching the Captain for about 3 hours. Most likely, as a result of the radical and confused words by the Captain, the First Officer had already made up his mind about his course of action. He was now waiting for the Captain to leave the cockpit to use the restroom. As the door to the cockpit closed the First Officer probably locked the door immediately, which can be done from either seat in the cockpit simply by throwing a swtich. He most likely would have called ATC to declare an emergency and asked for vectors (direction) to the closeset airport, turning the aircraft in that direction with great dispatch. There is much to do in a case where an airliner changes it's destination so he had his hands full. At this point he is committed to keeping the Captain out of the cockpit and getting the plane down in the safest, most expeditious manner. Most likely his thoughts, aside from preparing the flight for descent and landing, are "God, let me be right!" There was a lot riding on it.
In the cabin of the aircraft, the lead flight attendant, may or not know what is going on. If the Captain was still in the bathroom, the First Officer would have called her to tell her what had transpired. He would have to make this quick with solid details so she could react accordingly. One thing she would know for certain, the First Officer was now in charge of this flight.
As the Captain exited the the restroom, whatever his thoughts were, he would most probably not be aware that the First Officer had locked him out or that the Lead F/A was going to assist the First Officer in keeping him out. As soon as he contacted the First Officer by interphone to tell him he was on his way back to the cockpit he would know he is locked out. Someone else has takien control of his aircraft. Allegedly he was already in an agitated state so the action by the First Officer most likely added fuel to the fire. It has been written that he pounded on the door of the flight deck and walked up and down the aisle of the aircraft speaking incoherently. At some point he became so disruptive that he had to be subdued by passengers. This would most probably been at the behest of the Lead F/A.
All of this would have been very upsetting to the passengers. That is a huge understatement. After they subdued the Captain I suspect the passengers directly involved sat back in their seats, hands shaking, voices quivering wondering what in the hell just happened. The First Officer was now the Captain and the Captain was in a seat in first class, most likely subdued by the plastic handcuffs carried on all airliners. At this point the thoughts of the passengers most certainly turned to "Can the guy who is now in charge really fly this thing alone?" That question would soon be answered.
Final chapter: The First Officer, the "other pilot" and the landing.
Last chapter.
The First Officer most likely would have his hands full at this point. Descending an aircraft to a predetermined altitude while inserting all of the necessary information into the computer would be tough enough with two pilots. But this guy has to talk with ATC for clearances, set altimeters to the proper barometric setting, complete the descent, approach and landing checklists and land the aircraft. He needed help.
Somewhere in the middle of all this a pilot who happened to be in the cabin, simply riding on a pass probably volunteered to help the First Officer. I believe the pilot worked for JetBlue, a saving grace because he would be most helpful to the First Officer if he new the JetBlue procedures. After a lot of scrutinizing of identification by the lead F/A the extra pilot would be allowed in the cockpit. He would probably sit in the Captain's seat, leaving the original First Officer in the right seat where he would be most comfortable flying. If the extra pilot was JetBlue employee he would pick up the routing fairly quickly and start to assist the original First Officer.
In the cabin the lead F/A would be preparing the passengers for landing. There would most likely be an edge to the way she went about business. None of the usual banter. All business. There was still the potential for serious problems if the First Officer was not able to complete all of the tasks or if he simply made a mistake and went off the end of the runway. A lot of things could still happen and the lead F/A would have to balance her preparation of the passengers, not alarming them any more than they already were. As well she would need to be ready for any incident that may occur. She would review her evacuation procedures as well. And then she would wait.
As the plane rolled out on final approach the First Officer would be flying. After all it is his aircraft and his responsibility. He may allow his thoughts to stray momentarily to what may happen when he gets to the gate. This will last but a second or two and he will wrench himself back to the moment and focus on landing the plane. On touchdown he would slow the plane to a safe taxi speed by using the brakes and reverse thrusters. Arrival at the gate promised utter chaos as he could see the police and medical staff in the jetway as he slowly brought the plane to a halt. Before the door opened the lead F/A would ask all passengers to remain seated until told to move.
It would depend on who as in charge of things on the jetway as to whether or not the medical staff would enter first or the police. Most likely it would be the police. It should be the medical people. They will talk with the Captain to assess his mental state. As you can see from the pictures in the news, he would be taken down a set of steps in handcuffs. A ludicrous gesture in my humble opinion.
The crew as well as the passengers who were directly involved in the subjugation of the Captain would be interviewed at length. Eventually they would all be let go to head off in various directions. The Captain would be headed first to the hospital, then to jail. A travesty.
So there you have it. How it could very well have "gone down" on the JetBlue flight. This situation is extremely rare. Personally, I feel for the Captain. And I hold the passengers, the lead F/A and above all, the First Officer in high regard. They did a spectacular job under very difficult circumstances.
Thursday, April 5, 2012
Monday, May 23, 2011
9/11/2001: The Longest Flight of My Life
Short Bio: I am a former United States Naval Aviator and Captain for an large international airline. With 9/11/2011 approaching I felt it appropriate to write about what became the longest, most harrowing flight of my career. It is a career that spans nearly 37 years in aviation. Let me begin with a little history.
I entered the United States Navy in August of 1974 after graduating from a small Jesuit university in the northwestern part of the United States. I commissioned into the Navy to be an officer and aviator with no experience in flying, a liberal arts education and just enough math backround to buy a burger, pay with a twenty and know I received the correct change in return. Upon the start of flight training I worked my way through primary and advanced flight training followed closely by carrier qualifications. Stationed in Sicily I flew the C-2A Greyhound, landing on eight different aircraft carriers in the years between flight training and the time I departed Sicily. The next tour of duty was to fly the EC-130, then on to the Naval Reserves to fly DC-9's.
I became an airline pilot in September, 1983 and rapidly moved through the ranks until, after approximately 14 years, I became Captain on the Boeing 747-200. It is at this time in my career that this story takes place.
Prelude:
“Bojinka”. Not a word that would normally enter my thoughts. On 9/11/2001 I could hardly stop thinking of that peculiar word "Bojinka" as events unfolded on our flight across the Pacific Ocean. I was the Captain on a Northwest Airlines 747 flying from Tokyo to San Francisco when we learned of the attacks on the World Trade Center. My first thoughts were of "Bojinka". Bojinka or “Big Bang” was the the 1995 plot conceived and nearly carried out by the terrorist Ramzi Yousef. It's designed end? To blow up a large number of American airliners, all crossing the Pacific Ocean on the same night. As an aircrewman, I recall being briefed in detail as information about this plot became available. Although I knew “Bojinka” was eventually stopped it was only after hearing a small portion of the details of the 9/11/2001 hijackings that the word ”Bojinka” kept working it’s way into my thoughts, forcing me to wonder if, perhaps, this time they had succeeded.
The Longest Flight of My Life
We were late. A typhoon had struck the Tokyo area and flights were pushed back to accommodate delayed incoming flights. We eventually became airborne at 1802 local (6:02pm), approximately two and a half hours after scheduled departure. It was a normal flight in all respects until approximately three hours had passed on our transPacific flight. It was then that we heard the first terrifying words crackling across VHF frequency 123.45. All international airliners monitor this common radio frequency so that they may communicate with one another in flight. The first words came from an American Airlines flight. "Are any of you getting what I am getting over company frequency?” “Ya, I am getting it”, another American flight responded. “Seems a light airplane hit the North Tower of the World Trade center”. A United Airlines flight entered the conversation. “I am getting that info as well but they are telling us it is an airliner”. American: “Now we are being told that
another plane hit the South Tower of the World Trade center and we are getting reports that they were hijacked airliners”. An unidentified aircraft spoke up “Jeezus, what is happening back there?”
American: “We are getting reports now that it is four hijacked airliners and one of them just hit the Pentagon. United, did you see names of the companies they came from?” United responded quietly, almost in a whisper, exposing his disbelief, “Two American, two United.” Another unidentified voice: “God help them.”
At this point I turned to the First Officer and told him I wanted him to pull the power back and conserve fuel. I had no complete details of what had happened but I knew that pulling the power back gave me two things: more time and more fuel. I would need both before the night was over.
C.A., my First Officer and Zack My Second Officer, or Flight Engineer, awaited instructions as I sat in the left seat of my 747-200 thinking that I had never seen or heard of anything like this. First, I assigned the primary tasks of flying and navigation to Chuck. He is a skilled, experienced aviator and it was critical at this point that someone was watching everything related to the the aircraft staying straight and level and on course. I would check in with him frequently as the night progressed. Next, I spoke with Zeek to ensure that all systems were operating normally and that the fuel was being used up at an acceptable rate.
When I was satisfied that the aircraft was safely flying I turned my attention to the Flight Attendants. We had a veteran crew on board but to this point none of them knew of the events as they were unfolding on the east coast. I called for the Purser (Lead Flight Attendant) to come up to the cockpit. As I was preparing to talk with the Purser, wondering just what I was going to say and how I was going to say it, frequency 123.45 continued to carry the news of 9/11. This time the information was of a flight that had apparently struck the ground in Pennsylvania. Whatever it was that was going on it appeared that we were heading right for it as we continued eastbound over the Pacific.
"Hi Tim. What can i do for you?". Pam, our Purser, had just arrived in the flight deck. I asked her to sit down in the jump seat just behind me as I started to explain what I knew of the events as they were occurring in the U.S. Stunned is the only word that can describe the look on her face as she lowered her head to try to adsorb all that I had told her. We took the next few minutes to decide on a plan as to how to inform the rest of the crew and to communicate the need to watch carefully for potential threats. What I said to the Flight Attendants would be extremely important so I wanted to get it right on the first try. An "All Call" was the most effective way to communicate to all of the flight attendants at one time so Pam went back into the cabin of the aircraft to prepare the flight attendants for what I was about to say.
"1 left, 3 left, 4 right, 2 left" the flight attendants checked in, each at their assigned station, ready to listen. I started talking. "People, there is a disaster unfolding on the east coast of the United States. We have very little information but this is what we know". I could hear faint gasps as I went through the information knowing this must be scaring the hell out of them. I continued "I want each of you to stay calm, walk about the cabin as you normally would, look for unusual behavior. There is to be no gathering in the galleys unless you are working and, while you are in your jump seats, please review your manual sections regarding hijacking procedures. This is a sad day for all of us but it is extremely important that you remain focused and remember at all times that the people on this aircraft are depending on us to get them to their destination safely. That is our job and that is what we shall do." As they signed off I could not help to consider how lucky I was to have this group of flight attendants on board.
I had little time to consider my next step when a message came across our inter- company communications radio. "GO TO HIGH ALERT!” it seemed to scream at us. That was the sum total of the message. There were three former military aviators on the flight deck and, although we all knew what "HIGH ALERT" meant, we also knew that the term “High Alert” was almost exclusively used in a military context. What did this message mean? Communications with our company was extremely limited at this time so trying to contact operations was out of the question. As we studied our manuals to find the definition of "HIGH ALERT" it come to me that we, Flight #28, Tokyo to San Francisco, were essentially on our own to decide how this flight was to be conducted. The company's attentions were focused entirely on emptying the airways and getting all company aircraft on the ground as soon as possible. We continued across the Pacific, not at all clear where we would land or whether we would even be able to land in our own country. The situation had become even more complicated.
"Tim, this is Pam". Pam spoke to me over the inter phone. " I think we may have trouble. There is a gentleman who appears to be very confused and he is sweating profusely while holding on tight to his briefcase. Repeated attempts to converse with him have been met with quiet, almost whispering responses. What would you like us to do?"
I could see our situation getting a lot worse before it got any better."Pam, keep a close eye on this guy and check around him to see if there are any others that may be communicating with him through gestures, eye contact or notes. Let me know immediately if you see anything that furthers your suspicion". Less than two hours from the San Francisco airport. I figured if there was going to be a move by any hijackers it would be coming soon.
It was time to talk with my First and Second Officer about how to protect the flight deck from attack. We looked at all available weapons and decided that the two crash axes on the flight deck would indeed be the most effective. We talked a little about what we would do if an intruder tried to come through the door. It was here that I realized none of us had a clue as to how we were going to do this. I said what I thought had to be said. “Zack, you are the first line of defense. If someone succeeds in opening the door you are to swing with all your might and you are not to stop until that person is dead. C.A., you have the second axe so you are next. If they get this far you are to use the crash axe and swing hard. If they get to me I will do all I can to prevent them from getting control of our aircraft”. I said “Killing someone, even someone who is threatening you with bodily harm will not be an easy thing, especially with an axe. If you have to defend this cockpit, do not think of it as defending yourself. Think of it as protecting the lives of the people that we have on board. That may make the job less complicated”. I was done talking. We were as ready as we would ever be.
It was time to contact Oakland Center, the first Air Traffic Control agency that airliners headed for the Bay area speak with after a trans-Pacific flight.
"Oakland Center this is NWA 28, flight level 390". "Flight 28, squawk XXXX. You are cleared direct to the San Francisco VOR".
Just as I was about to read back the directions provided by ATC they followed with a statement that, to this day, brings cold shivers down my spine. "Northwest 28 are you declaring an emergency?”
The fact that they asked this very unusual question spoke volumes to me about how serious they were taking our arrival. We were a large aircraft coming into the US with a full compliment of passengers and crew and a fair amount of fuel on board. This last fact was due to the fuel conservation measures I had put in place hours before. I glanced at the other two aviators with a look that said "What in the hell does that mean? We don't have an emergency." C.A. looked over at me from the flight controls, said nothing then returned to the job of flying the aircraft. I knew he was thinking exactly what I was thinking. What next?
Zack spoke up, "Tim, is there a chance we have been intercepted by US military fighters? Given the situation, I would expect there to be at least two of them trailing us right now." That's when it dawned on me that our situation had just become considerably more dangerous and the wrong word or an errant turn of the aircraft could seriously enhance the possibility that we would be shot down. These guys are in the mood, I thought and I can’t blame them.
As I considered what I was going to tell air traffic control, Pam called to the cockpit. "Tim, this guy is still acting very nervous but we are watching him closely. Everyone is awake and we are preparing for descent. The lights are up in the cabin and all flight attendants are focused and prepared for anything that may occur. Unless you have further instructions I will to continue my walk through the cabin in preparation for landing. I will call you immediately if there is anything further to report". I responded to her comments with "Thank you, Pam". As I did this I took a moment to thank God that I had this competent, focused Purser on this flight. I had little time for reflection as ATC, again, asked if we had an emergency. They were becoming more insistent. I said "No sir, we do not have an emergency". It took only seconds for them to reply. "You will not be permitted to land on American soil if you do not declare an emergency". Things just got worse.
I was now between a rock and a hard place and the lives of everyone on board were riding on my next response to ATC. I worked to collect my thoughts and consider the possibilities. First and foremost, we did not have an emergency. We had fuel and there was no significant adverse activity in the passenger compartment of the aircraft. But ATC did not know that nor did they trust that we were telling them the truth. I am certain that they were considering the prospect that a hijacker had already taken control of the aircraft and was speaking to them in perfect English.
Another question kept coming to the forefront as I considered what I would say to Oakland Center. Had we been intercepted by US military jet fighters and how would the pilots of those aircraft interpret the situation if I declare an emergency? First, I knew we had been intercepted. There were fighters on our tail. I was certain of that. I also knew that I did not have an emergency. So, if I were to declare an emergency how would the fighters read that statement? Would it get me one step closer to oblivion by stating that I had an emergency and having someone interpret that as a hijacking? I simply did not know. What I did know was that if I got this wrong, perhaps having it misinterpreted by someone hell bent on preventing a West Coast” 9/11, then I just signed a death warrant for all those aboard my aircraft. I was being forced to up the ante and I had no illusions about the mood of the leaders of our country at that moment. They were angry. And, in their minds, Northwest 28 was in the perfect position to be the next hijacked plane to head for a populated target. They would never let that happen. Jeezus!
I quietly said a prayer, picked up the microphone and said "Northwest 28 is declaring an emergency". All I could think at that instant, “God help us”.
"Roger, Flight #28, you are cleared to descend and maintain flight level 210". I repeated back the instructions. With that response from ATC I felt that we were in no immediate danger of being shot down so I turned my attention to the aircraft. It was time to go down. C.A. slowly pulled the 4 power levers back, lowered the nose of the huge aircraft and started our descent. I knew that if anything was going to happen it would happen in the next 45 minutes. I suddenly felt very tired. I had been awake for almost 36 hours . I sat up in the seat, took a last sip of a cold cup of coffee and focused all of my attention on getting this 747 on the ground. I turned to C.A., who was doing a magnificent job of flying the aircraft, and said "If you are ever going to be exactly on altitude and heading, today is the day. The slightest deviation could set these fighter guys off!" He nodded and returned his attention to the aircraft instruments. He knew precisely what I meant
The possibility of an attempted hijacking still loomed large as I concentrated on the clearances given to me by ATC. "Northwest 28, heading 090 degrees, descend and maintain 6,000 feet" was their next command. The altitude made sense but the heading seemed strange. We should be headed in the direction of the airport, not away from it. I could not tell if I was justified in my concern or if I was becoming overly sensitive to the nuances of each ATC clearance. All I could do at this point was trust that ATC wanted us on the ground as much as we wanted to be there and follow their instructions to the letter.
As I looked down at the airport it occurred to me that we were landing at a place where time stood still. Not a plane was moving through the air or on the ground. Not a word spoken over any of the usually busy radio frequencies for approach, tower or ground. Surreal is the only word that can describe the scene as we descended for landing at San Francisco International Airport.
With the flight attendants watching closely in the passenger compartment and my First Officer ably handling the 650,000 lb. aircraft, I had a moment to consider whether or not I had made all the right moves, done all that I could to fulfill my obligation to the passengers and crew on this flight. I was shaken from my thoughts by C.A.'s no nonsense request. "Gear down, flaps 20". Chuck barked out the command to prepare the ship for its final descent and landing. It was a clear day, maximum visibility with little or no wind. On any other occasion I would have been looking forward to a wonderful layover in the "City by the Bay". Today, though, I felt as though I had just spent over 9 hours shadowboxing with the Devil, swinging with all my might and never knowing if I had hit or missed.
And I was not finished.
I took a deep breath, said another small prayer and glanced over at C.A. and Zack. "OK, gentleman, here we go". Chuck called for “Flaps 25, landing checklist”. I repeated C.A.s' command and went through all the needed moves to accomplish the required tasks. The plane rumbled as the gear and flaps slid noisily into place. The landing checklist was done. All that was left was to land the plane. I could not help thinking about whether or not a hijacker may strike or a missile may down us even at this late stage in the game.
With a slight rotation of the nose the main wheels of the 747 touched down smoothly as C.A. pulled all four reverse levers to the full back position, using the engines’ reverse thrust to assist the brakes in stopping the aircraft. "80 knots, OK, C.A., I've got the aircraft" I said as we slowed to a safe taxi speed. Over 6 hours had gone by since the disaster we now know as “9/11” occurred.
As I taxied to the gate I looked around the airport noticing that not a single plane, truck or car was moving. "Unbelievable" was my only thought. Pulling into the gate, setting the brakes and shutting down the engines, C.A., Zack and I finished with our post flight checklists. We watched the passengers disembark into a world that would be much different from the one they new upon leaving Tokyo. A world where fear would rule , wars would begin and perceived personal safety would become more important than just about anything else. In the last 12 hours our world had, indeed, changed. Perhaps, forever.
I thanked C.A. and Zack for their superb work and got out of the seat to talk with the flight attendants. The plane was empty of passengers by now. I thanked the Purser for her extraordinary efforts. Without her there is no telling how this would have all turned out. I told all of the flight attendants, many of whom were crying, that they had truly made a difference on this night and to drive safely as they left to go home to their families.
As I left the aircraft and walked through an empty terminal my thoughts drifted to all that was and all that might have been. From the first words uttered over the common frequency almost seven hours before to the nervous passenger hanging on to his briefcase to the interception by jet fighters and the possibility of being shot down, this had been a long, long night. I was exhausted. When I arrived at the hotel I went to my room and immediately turned on the TV to see for the first time the devastation caused by the hijackers. I could not believe my eyes. I recall wishing that I was home with my children. As I sat on my bed watching the countless, repeated showings of the WTC collapse, fatigue took hold. I put my head in my hands and cried. I cried for the airmen, firemen, policemen and people that were in the Twin Towers and Pentagon that had perished that day. I cried for the lost air crewman. It occurred to me that I was merely tired. They were gone forever.
I entered the United States Navy in August of 1974 after graduating from a small Jesuit university in the northwestern part of the United States. I commissioned into the Navy to be an officer and aviator with no experience in flying, a liberal arts education and just enough math backround to buy a burger, pay with a twenty and know I received the correct change in return. Upon the start of flight training I worked my way through primary and advanced flight training followed closely by carrier qualifications. Stationed in Sicily I flew the C-2A Greyhound, landing on eight different aircraft carriers in the years between flight training and the time I departed Sicily. The next tour of duty was to fly the EC-130, then on to the Naval Reserves to fly DC-9's.
I became an airline pilot in September, 1983 and rapidly moved through the ranks until, after approximately 14 years, I became Captain on the Boeing 747-200. It is at this time in my career that this story takes place.
Prelude:
“Bojinka”. Not a word that would normally enter my thoughts. On 9/11/2001 I could hardly stop thinking of that peculiar word "Bojinka" as events unfolded on our flight across the Pacific Ocean. I was the Captain on a Northwest Airlines 747 flying from Tokyo to San Francisco when we learned of the attacks on the World Trade Center. My first thoughts were of "Bojinka". Bojinka or “Big Bang” was the the 1995 plot conceived and nearly carried out by the terrorist Ramzi Yousef. It's designed end? To blow up a large number of American airliners, all crossing the Pacific Ocean on the same night. As an aircrewman, I recall being briefed in detail as information about this plot became available. Although I knew “Bojinka” was eventually stopped it was only after hearing a small portion of the details of the 9/11/2001 hijackings that the word ”Bojinka” kept working it’s way into my thoughts, forcing me to wonder if, perhaps, this time they had succeeded.
The Longest Flight of My Life
We were late. A typhoon had struck the Tokyo area and flights were pushed back to accommodate delayed incoming flights. We eventually became airborne at 1802 local (6:02pm), approximately two and a half hours after scheduled departure. It was a normal flight in all respects until approximately three hours had passed on our transPacific flight. It was then that we heard the first terrifying words crackling across VHF frequency 123.45. All international airliners monitor this common radio frequency so that they may communicate with one another in flight. The first words came from an American Airlines flight. "Are any of you getting what I am getting over company frequency?” “Ya, I am getting it”, another American flight responded. “Seems a light airplane hit the North Tower of the World Trade center”. A United Airlines flight entered the conversation. “I am getting that info as well but they are telling us it is an airliner”. American: “Now we are being told that
another plane hit the South Tower of the World Trade center and we are getting reports that they were hijacked airliners”. An unidentified aircraft spoke up “Jeezus, what is happening back there?”
American: “We are getting reports now that it is four hijacked airliners and one of them just hit the Pentagon. United, did you see names of the companies they came from?” United responded quietly, almost in a whisper, exposing his disbelief, “Two American, two United.” Another unidentified voice: “God help them.”
At this point I turned to the First Officer and told him I wanted him to pull the power back and conserve fuel. I had no complete details of what had happened but I knew that pulling the power back gave me two things: more time and more fuel. I would need both before the night was over.
C.A., my First Officer and Zack My Second Officer, or Flight Engineer, awaited instructions as I sat in the left seat of my 747-200 thinking that I had never seen or heard of anything like this. First, I assigned the primary tasks of flying and navigation to Chuck. He is a skilled, experienced aviator and it was critical at this point that someone was watching everything related to the the aircraft staying straight and level and on course. I would check in with him frequently as the night progressed. Next, I spoke with Zeek to ensure that all systems were operating normally and that the fuel was being used up at an acceptable rate.
When I was satisfied that the aircraft was safely flying I turned my attention to the Flight Attendants. We had a veteran crew on board but to this point none of them knew of the events as they were unfolding on the east coast. I called for the Purser (Lead Flight Attendant) to come up to the cockpit. As I was preparing to talk with the Purser, wondering just what I was going to say and how I was going to say it, frequency 123.45 continued to carry the news of 9/11. This time the information was of a flight that had apparently struck the ground in Pennsylvania. Whatever it was that was going on it appeared that we were heading right for it as we continued eastbound over the Pacific.
"Hi Tim. What can i do for you?". Pam, our Purser, had just arrived in the flight deck. I asked her to sit down in the jump seat just behind me as I started to explain what I knew of the events as they were occurring in the U.S. Stunned is the only word that can describe the look on her face as she lowered her head to try to adsorb all that I had told her. We took the next few minutes to decide on a plan as to how to inform the rest of the crew and to communicate the need to watch carefully for potential threats. What I said to the Flight Attendants would be extremely important so I wanted to get it right on the first try. An "All Call" was the most effective way to communicate to all of the flight attendants at one time so Pam went back into the cabin of the aircraft to prepare the flight attendants for what I was about to say.
"1 left, 3 left, 4 right, 2 left" the flight attendants checked in, each at their assigned station, ready to listen. I started talking. "People, there is a disaster unfolding on the east coast of the United States. We have very little information but this is what we know". I could hear faint gasps as I went through the information knowing this must be scaring the hell out of them. I continued "I want each of you to stay calm, walk about the cabin as you normally would, look for unusual behavior. There is to be no gathering in the galleys unless you are working and, while you are in your jump seats, please review your manual sections regarding hijacking procedures. This is a sad day for all of us but it is extremely important that you remain focused and remember at all times that the people on this aircraft are depending on us to get them to their destination safely. That is our job and that is what we shall do." As they signed off I could not help to consider how lucky I was to have this group of flight attendants on board.
I had little time to consider my next step when a message came across our inter- company communications radio. "GO TO HIGH ALERT!” it seemed to scream at us. That was the sum total of the message. There were three former military aviators on the flight deck and, although we all knew what "HIGH ALERT" meant, we also knew that the term “High Alert” was almost exclusively used in a military context. What did this message mean? Communications with our company was extremely limited at this time so trying to contact operations was out of the question. As we studied our manuals to find the definition of "HIGH ALERT" it come to me that we, Flight #28, Tokyo to San Francisco, were essentially on our own to decide how this flight was to be conducted. The company's attentions were focused entirely on emptying the airways and getting all company aircraft on the ground as soon as possible. We continued across the Pacific, not at all clear where we would land or whether we would even be able to land in our own country. The situation had become even more complicated.
"Tim, this is Pam". Pam spoke to me over the inter phone. " I think we may have trouble. There is a gentleman who appears to be very confused and he is sweating profusely while holding on tight to his briefcase. Repeated attempts to converse with him have been met with quiet, almost whispering responses. What would you like us to do?"
I could see our situation getting a lot worse before it got any better."Pam, keep a close eye on this guy and check around him to see if there are any others that may be communicating with him through gestures, eye contact or notes. Let me know immediately if you see anything that furthers your suspicion". Less than two hours from the San Francisco airport. I figured if there was going to be a move by any hijackers it would be coming soon.
It was time to talk with my First and Second Officer about how to protect the flight deck from attack. We looked at all available weapons and decided that the two crash axes on the flight deck would indeed be the most effective. We talked a little about what we would do if an intruder tried to come through the door. It was here that I realized none of us had a clue as to how we were going to do this. I said what I thought had to be said. “Zack, you are the first line of defense. If someone succeeds in opening the door you are to swing with all your might and you are not to stop until that person is dead. C.A., you have the second axe so you are next. If they get this far you are to use the crash axe and swing hard. If they get to me I will do all I can to prevent them from getting control of our aircraft”. I said “Killing someone, even someone who is threatening you with bodily harm will not be an easy thing, especially with an axe. If you have to defend this cockpit, do not think of it as defending yourself. Think of it as protecting the lives of the people that we have on board. That may make the job less complicated”. I was done talking. We were as ready as we would ever be.
It was time to contact Oakland Center, the first Air Traffic Control agency that airliners headed for the Bay area speak with after a trans-Pacific flight.
"Oakland Center this is NWA 28, flight level 390". "Flight 28, squawk XXXX. You are cleared direct to the San Francisco VOR".
Just as I was about to read back the directions provided by ATC they followed with a statement that, to this day, brings cold shivers down my spine. "Northwest 28 are you declaring an emergency?”
The fact that they asked this very unusual question spoke volumes to me about how serious they were taking our arrival. We were a large aircraft coming into the US with a full compliment of passengers and crew and a fair amount of fuel on board. This last fact was due to the fuel conservation measures I had put in place hours before. I glanced at the other two aviators with a look that said "What in the hell does that mean? We don't have an emergency." C.A. looked over at me from the flight controls, said nothing then returned to the job of flying the aircraft. I knew he was thinking exactly what I was thinking. What next?
Zack spoke up, "Tim, is there a chance we have been intercepted by US military fighters? Given the situation, I would expect there to be at least two of them trailing us right now." That's when it dawned on me that our situation had just become considerably more dangerous and the wrong word or an errant turn of the aircraft could seriously enhance the possibility that we would be shot down. These guys are in the mood, I thought and I can’t blame them.
As I considered what I was going to tell air traffic control, Pam called to the cockpit. "Tim, this guy is still acting very nervous but we are watching him closely. Everyone is awake and we are preparing for descent. The lights are up in the cabin and all flight attendants are focused and prepared for anything that may occur. Unless you have further instructions I will to continue my walk through the cabin in preparation for landing. I will call you immediately if there is anything further to report". I responded to her comments with "Thank you, Pam". As I did this I took a moment to thank God that I had this competent, focused Purser on this flight. I had little time for reflection as ATC, again, asked if we had an emergency. They were becoming more insistent. I said "No sir, we do not have an emergency". It took only seconds for them to reply. "You will not be permitted to land on American soil if you do not declare an emergency". Things just got worse.
I was now between a rock and a hard place and the lives of everyone on board were riding on my next response to ATC. I worked to collect my thoughts and consider the possibilities. First and foremost, we did not have an emergency. We had fuel and there was no significant adverse activity in the passenger compartment of the aircraft. But ATC did not know that nor did they trust that we were telling them the truth. I am certain that they were considering the prospect that a hijacker had already taken control of the aircraft and was speaking to them in perfect English.
Another question kept coming to the forefront as I considered what I would say to Oakland Center. Had we been intercepted by US military jet fighters and how would the pilots of those aircraft interpret the situation if I declare an emergency? First, I knew we had been intercepted. There were fighters on our tail. I was certain of that. I also knew that I did not have an emergency. So, if I were to declare an emergency how would the fighters read that statement? Would it get me one step closer to oblivion by stating that I had an emergency and having someone interpret that as a hijacking? I simply did not know. What I did know was that if I got this wrong, perhaps having it misinterpreted by someone hell bent on preventing a West Coast” 9/11, then I just signed a death warrant for all those aboard my aircraft. I was being forced to up the ante and I had no illusions about the mood of the leaders of our country at that moment. They were angry. And, in their minds, Northwest 28 was in the perfect position to be the next hijacked plane to head for a populated target. They would never let that happen. Jeezus!
I quietly said a prayer, picked up the microphone and said "Northwest 28 is declaring an emergency". All I could think at that instant, “God help us”.
"Roger, Flight #28, you are cleared to descend and maintain flight level 210". I repeated back the instructions. With that response from ATC I felt that we were in no immediate danger of being shot down so I turned my attention to the aircraft. It was time to go down. C.A. slowly pulled the 4 power levers back, lowered the nose of the huge aircraft and started our descent. I knew that if anything was going to happen it would happen in the next 45 minutes. I suddenly felt very tired. I had been awake for almost 36 hours . I sat up in the seat, took a last sip of a cold cup of coffee and focused all of my attention on getting this 747 on the ground. I turned to C.A., who was doing a magnificent job of flying the aircraft, and said "If you are ever going to be exactly on altitude and heading, today is the day. The slightest deviation could set these fighter guys off!" He nodded and returned his attention to the aircraft instruments. He knew precisely what I meant
The possibility of an attempted hijacking still loomed large as I concentrated on the clearances given to me by ATC. "Northwest 28, heading 090 degrees, descend and maintain 6,000 feet" was their next command. The altitude made sense but the heading seemed strange. We should be headed in the direction of the airport, not away from it. I could not tell if I was justified in my concern or if I was becoming overly sensitive to the nuances of each ATC clearance. All I could do at this point was trust that ATC wanted us on the ground as much as we wanted to be there and follow their instructions to the letter.
As I looked down at the airport it occurred to me that we were landing at a place where time stood still. Not a plane was moving through the air or on the ground. Not a word spoken over any of the usually busy radio frequencies for approach, tower or ground. Surreal is the only word that can describe the scene as we descended for landing at San Francisco International Airport.
With the flight attendants watching closely in the passenger compartment and my First Officer ably handling the 650,000 lb. aircraft, I had a moment to consider whether or not I had made all the right moves, done all that I could to fulfill my obligation to the passengers and crew on this flight. I was shaken from my thoughts by C.A.'s no nonsense request. "Gear down, flaps 20". Chuck barked out the command to prepare the ship for its final descent and landing. It was a clear day, maximum visibility with little or no wind. On any other occasion I would have been looking forward to a wonderful layover in the "City by the Bay". Today, though, I felt as though I had just spent over 9 hours shadowboxing with the Devil, swinging with all my might and never knowing if I had hit or missed.
And I was not finished.
I took a deep breath, said another small prayer and glanced over at C.A. and Zack. "OK, gentleman, here we go". Chuck called for “Flaps 25, landing checklist”. I repeated C.A.s' command and went through all the needed moves to accomplish the required tasks. The plane rumbled as the gear and flaps slid noisily into place. The landing checklist was done. All that was left was to land the plane. I could not help thinking about whether or not a hijacker may strike or a missile may down us even at this late stage in the game.
With a slight rotation of the nose the main wheels of the 747 touched down smoothly as C.A. pulled all four reverse levers to the full back position, using the engines’ reverse thrust to assist the brakes in stopping the aircraft. "80 knots, OK, C.A., I've got the aircraft" I said as we slowed to a safe taxi speed. Over 6 hours had gone by since the disaster we now know as “9/11” occurred.
As I taxied to the gate I looked around the airport noticing that not a single plane, truck or car was moving. "Unbelievable" was my only thought. Pulling into the gate, setting the brakes and shutting down the engines, C.A., Zack and I finished with our post flight checklists. We watched the passengers disembark into a world that would be much different from the one they new upon leaving Tokyo. A world where fear would rule , wars would begin and perceived personal safety would become more important than just about anything else. In the last 12 hours our world had, indeed, changed. Perhaps, forever.
I thanked C.A. and Zack for their superb work and got out of the seat to talk with the flight attendants. The plane was empty of passengers by now. I thanked the Purser for her extraordinary efforts. Without her there is no telling how this would have all turned out. I told all of the flight attendants, many of whom were crying, that they had truly made a difference on this night and to drive safely as they left to go home to their families.
As I left the aircraft and walked through an empty terminal my thoughts drifted to all that was and all that might have been. From the first words uttered over the common frequency almost seven hours before to the nervous passenger hanging on to his briefcase to the interception by jet fighters and the possibility of being shot down, this had been a long, long night. I was exhausted. When I arrived at the hotel I went to my room and immediately turned on the TV to see for the first time the devastation caused by the hijackers. I could not believe my eyes. I recall wishing that I was home with my children. As I sat on my bed watching the countless, repeated showings of the WTC collapse, fatigue took hold. I put my head in my hands and cried. I cried for the airmen, firemen, policemen and people that were in the Twin Towers and Pentagon that had perished that day. I cried for the lost air crewman. It occurred to me that I was merely tired. They were gone forever.
Saturday, April 30, 2011
Roughed up by the Little Guy
We were in Mr. S's gym class engaged in a raucous game of rugby. I had the ball in hand and was moving with dispatch towards the goal line. I was a rather big fellow in those day and getting all of that heft moving in any direction, much less forward, was quite an accomplishment. I was feelin' good.
As I crossed each yard marker I had one thought in mind and that was to SCORE! As my Mother would always say "I was bound and determined". There was one person between me and the goal: Daryl T. Tall and skinny, Daryl was not what I would call a formidable opponent so I set my sights on him, thinking that I would crush him on my way to rugby immortality. I was acting like a jerk but I didn't care. I rarely got to carry the ball and this was my big chance to show em' all. Moving at the speed of heat and with dirt flying beneath my sneakers, I closed the distance between the ill fated Daryl and I.
As I drew closer to Daryl something very strange occurred. I looked in his eyes, expecting to see stark terror and a wide eyed acknowledgement of his impending doom. Instead I witnessed an unnerving calm and a devilish smile that forced me to consider what Daryl might know that I didn't. Closer and closer, moving now with all the inertia that I could amass, I began to wonder, "Perhaps running over Daryl was not the best decision I could have made". Too late. I kept the locomotive moving.
15 feet to go, then 10, then 5. There was fire in my eyes as I closed the last few steps to Daryl, knowing that after Daryl there was nothing between me and rugby fame and fortune. And that's when it happened. Daryl T. did the last thing on earth I would have expected. He dropped to the ground in the fetal position, rolled up in a tight ball and covered his head with his hands. I could not deviate to the left nor to the right. Now the stark terror was all mine as I hit Daryl full force with both feet. I went flying head over heals. Higher and higher my big body flew. I landed flat on my back, the ball slipping from my grasp as I tried mightily to catch my breath. I looked like a dazed elephant who had been rolling about in the dusty red earth of the Serengeti.
"Holy sh-t, M., are you all right?", a class mate asked. He was smiling, almost laughing. I opened my grime filled mouth to respond but nothing came out, save a little dust. Then the laughs came. Full, hearty, knee slapping laughs that told me it would take years of fabricated machismo to live this down. As I managed to get up on my elbows I saw two things that forced me to collapse my body back to the ground, close my eyes and think about completing my "high school experience" at the innocuous Queen Anne High. The first thing I saw was a class mate picking up the ball and merrily heading off to score. "Hay. That was my goal", I gasped. The second was Daryl T. getting up and dusting himself off while looking down at me with that same divilish grin. I looked up and smiled, my lips heavily crusted with dirt. The smile was a demonstration of my new found respect for Daryl T.
Truth be told, Daryl T. and I both knew that on that date in our young lives, I had been bested and he was, indeed, the man.
Andy S. came flying over to me to see if I was hurt but he, too, was laughing. Not a mean laugh but a laugh nonetheless. "You OK, big fella?" he asked. "Yes Sir", I said lamely. As he helped me stand up I could not help but notice how Mr. S. absolutely reveled in this stuff. Dirt, collisions and an ultimate victory of David over Goliath. He loved it all.
And we loved him because he always let us play.
May he rest in peace.
As I crossed each yard marker I had one thought in mind and that was to SCORE! As my Mother would always say "I was bound and determined". There was one person between me and the goal: Daryl T. Tall and skinny, Daryl was not what I would call a formidable opponent so I set my sights on him, thinking that I would crush him on my way to rugby immortality. I was acting like a jerk but I didn't care. I rarely got to carry the ball and this was my big chance to show em' all. Moving at the speed of heat and with dirt flying beneath my sneakers, I closed the distance between the ill fated Daryl and I.
As I drew closer to Daryl something very strange occurred. I looked in his eyes, expecting to see stark terror and a wide eyed acknowledgement of his impending doom. Instead I witnessed an unnerving calm and a devilish smile that forced me to consider what Daryl might know that I didn't. Closer and closer, moving now with all the inertia that I could amass, I began to wonder, "Perhaps running over Daryl was not the best decision I could have made". Too late. I kept the locomotive moving.
15 feet to go, then 10, then 5. There was fire in my eyes as I closed the last few steps to Daryl, knowing that after Daryl there was nothing between me and rugby fame and fortune. And that's when it happened. Daryl T. did the last thing on earth I would have expected. He dropped to the ground in the fetal position, rolled up in a tight ball and covered his head with his hands. I could not deviate to the left nor to the right. Now the stark terror was all mine as I hit Daryl full force with both feet. I went flying head over heals. Higher and higher my big body flew. I landed flat on my back, the ball slipping from my grasp as I tried mightily to catch my breath. I looked like a dazed elephant who had been rolling about in the dusty red earth of the Serengeti.
"Holy sh-t, M., are you all right?", a class mate asked. He was smiling, almost laughing. I opened my grime filled mouth to respond but nothing came out, save a little dust. Then the laughs came. Full, hearty, knee slapping laughs that told me it would take years of fabricated machismo to live this down. As I managed to get up on my elbows I saw two things that forced me to collapse my body back to the ground, close my eyes and think about completing my "high school experience" at the innocuous Queen Anne High. The first thing I saw was a class mate picking up the ball and merrily heading off to score. "Hay. That was my goal", I gasped. The second was Daryl T. getting up and dusting himself off while looking down at me with that same divilish grin. I looked up and smiled, my lips heavily crusted with dirt. The smile was a demonstration of my new found respect for Daryl T.
Truth be told, Daryl T. and I both knew that on that date in our young lives, I had been bested and he was, indeed, the man.
Andy S. came flying over to me to see if I was hurt but he, too, was laughing. Not a mean laugh but a laugh nonetheless. "You OK, big fella?" he asked. "Yes Sir", I said lamely. As he helped me stand up I could not help but notice how Mr. S. absolutely reveled in this stuff. Dirt, collisions and an ultimate victory of David over Goliath. He loved it all.
And we loved him because he always let us play.
May he rest in peace.
Sunday, April 24, 2011
Boston, You're My Home
Reporting today from Boston, MA. It is sunny and cold with a stiff wind from the west adding to one's displeasure with the elements. But sunny is the key word today in Boston as those in the Great Northwest spend yet another day beneath the clouds. (My wife told me). But fear not, Washingtonians, there is a sun out there and today it is located in Boston.
Boston is amazing. Historically, Boston dates back to the early 1600's, making Seattle look like a petulant teenager . Great places to walk, eat and visit all of which in some way seem to be connected to the birth of our nation (or so they say). And the clam chowder (or chowda, as it is pronounced here) rivals that of our home state, at times besting it.
Everyone here speaks very loudly, ALL THE TIME. The town of Peabody is not pronounced Peabody. It is "Peebiddy", said very fast. Worchester is "Wooster", Boston is "Bawstin" and on and on. They love the Red Sox, hate the Yankees and swear by the Patriots. They hate BS and call it as they see it. I like these guys.
My grandmother and grandfather are products of Marblehead, an exclusive area just outside of Boston that was home to a large number of wealthy Irish immigrants at the turn of the 20th century. The wealth went away but the Irish in my family remained as I continuously worked to understand my grandmother when she asked if the "Kah in the garawg had a good battry ". (Car in the garage had a good battery). Or, if I were to inquire as to whether or not a gent standing nearby was from Ireland, grandmother would reply "Indeed, laddy, why he is as Irish as Patty's pig". You have got to love the Irish.
Boston is great. Visit if you get a chance. You will love it.
Off to Amsterdam today. Next enry: Bucket lists. Great idea. One idea for me is to walk the Pacific trail. Oh no, I felt a twinge in my knee when I wrote that. Good thing the Bucket list is just that...a list. More on that later.
Boston is amazing. Historically, Boston dates back to the early 1600's, making Seattle look like a petulant teenager . Great places to walk, eat and visit all of which in some way seem to be connected to the birth of our nation (or so they say). And the clam chowder (or chowda, as it is pronounced here) rivals that of our home state, at times besting it.
Everyone here speaks very loudly, ALL THE TIME. The town of Peabody is not pronounced Peabody. It is "Peebiddy", said very fast. Worchester is "Wooster", Boston is "Bawstin" and on and on. They love the Red Sox, hate the Yankees and swear by the Patriots. They hate BS and call it as they see it. I like these guys.
My grandmother and grandfather are products of Marblehead, an exclusive area just outside of Boston that was home to a large number of wealthy Irish immigrants at the turn of the 20th century. The wealth went away but the Irish in my family remained as I continuously worked to understand my grandmother when she asked if the "Kah in the garawg had a good battry ". (Car in the garage had a good battery). Or, if I were to inquire as to whether or not a gent standing nearby was from Ireland, grandmother would reply "Indeed, laddy, why he is as Irish as Patty's pig". You have got to love the Irish.
Boston is great. Visit if you get a chance. You will love it.
Off to Amsterdam today. Next enry: Bucket lists. Great idea. One idea for me is to walk the Pacific trail. Oh no, I felt a twinge in my knee when I wrote that. Good thing the Bucket list is just that...a list. More on that later.
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
Don't Let the Bastards Get you Down
Let me share a short story before I pass along one of the great pearls of wisdom that has helped carry me through the tough times in my life. It was my first day in the Navy. As a recent college graduate, I knew I would be treated with respect and quite possibly admiration by any of the Marine Drill Instructors that I would meet upon my arrival at AOCS. After all I was destined to become an Officer and a Gentleman. As it happened, minutes after my entry into the "Indoc" battalion headquarters I found myself face down on the deck doing push ups until my arms felt as if they were on fire, rapidly turning to rubber. Meanwhile, Staff Sargeant Penn, Indoctrination Battalion Marine Drill Instructor, was screaming profanities at me reaching decibel levels I did not think could be reached by the voice of a human being. That was my first clue that Marine Drill Instructors were, indeed, not human at all.
As sweat was poring from a thousand pores on my body I got a call to come to the quarterdeck (main entrance) to answer a personal phone call. It was my brother, Warrant Officer M.E.G., US Army. He thought it would be nice to say hi. "How is it going?" he asked. I told him that they obviously were not aware of how important I was for they were beating the tar out of me on a minute by minute basis. He laughed. (This is where the pearl of wisdom comes in) He said "Tim, whatever you do, don't let the bastards get you down". That was it. Simple. Elegant. To the point.
I live by that pearl. I relay it today to all others for use as needed. Remember, no matter how tough things get in this magnificent time continuum that we call life, we should never, ever let the bastards get us down.
As sweat was poring from a thousand pores on my body I got a call to come to the quarterdeck (main entrance) to answer a personal phone call. It was my brother, Warrant Officer M.E.G., US Army. He thought it would be nice to say hi. "How is it going?" he asked. I told him that they obviously were not aware of how important I was for they were beating the tar out of me on a minute by minute basis. He laughed. (This is where the pearl of wisdom comes in) He said "Tim, whatever you do, don't let the bastards get you down". That was it. Simple. Elegant. To the point.
I live by that pearl. I relay it today to all others for use as needed. Remember, no matter how tough things get in this magnificent time continuum that we call life, we should never, ever let the bastards get us down.
Sunday, April 10, 2011
Comments on Aging
I have a few comments regarding age 60 and retirement that I wish to add to the discussion. First, age 60.
Now remember, I am not quite 60. I am 59 years and 4 months on December 13. In denial? No, no, not me. (Maybe just a little). But, admittedly, there are little reminders that I may be headed in the "aging" direction at an accelerated pace. For instance, waking up in the great Northwest, looking out the window at the cold, misty air and the frost lined trees and thinking, in my younger days, that I could not wait to get outside. Nowadays, I straighten up my back, kick out my titanium inserted knee a couple of times to get the fluids running, slip into my fleece lined slippers and shuffle downstairs for my first cup of coffee and a look at the internet. Going outside? I think I will wait until it warms up a little bit.
When it is time to head out for the day, I bundle up to walk the 15 feet to my car, thinking, "perhaps I should get one of those hats with ear muffs that come down on both sides of the head. You know the hats I am talking about. They snap tightly around the chin. I like that. Kind of stylish, actually". When I am in the car I hit the radio button and turn on the only two stations that are preset. Oldies and classical. And I am off.
After a day of doing whatever it is that I do, I turn the car in the direction of home and allow it to take me there, almost like a horse returning to the barn. I am looking forward to the low cholesterol lunch I will eat and the nap I will take.
In the evening, I will have frozen yogurt instead of ice cream for desert, read a little, listen to the news and marvel at how the youth of this country just doesn't seem to get it (sound familiar?), slip on my fleece lined slippers and head for the sack.
If all of this resonates as a little "heavy" it is not meant to sound that way. I embrace this time of life. There are some things I do now that I did not do in my youth that have improved, sometimes dramatically, the quality of my day to day life. For example:
I listen more than ever. I hear what people are saying. I always ask them something about what they said after they said it. This allows them to know I am listening to them. Who knows, I might just learn something. I write down folks names so that I may recall it the next time I see the person. It always brings a smile to a person's face when you, at the very least, can address them by their first name.
I take off my sun glasses from time to time so I can see everything as it truly is. Doing so also allows me to remember exactly how a meadow appeared at a given moment, blanketed in early morning fog or how a tree turns colors as it continues its annual journey towards seasonal maturity.
I remove my Ipod earbuds during walks, halt, for a moment, the rocking and rolling and allow myself to be blanketed in the "sounds of silence".
And I breathe. Deep, deep breaths of our magnificent Northwest air. Doing so clears my eyesight, removes the cobwebs from my brain and sweeps negative thoughts from my mind.
So there you are. My thoughts of turning 60. I like where I have been and I love where I am headed. Fleece slippers and all.
Now, quick notes about retirement. I asked one friend how he likes retirement. His words "This is great!". I asked my brother, Glen, the elder in the family, the same question: The answer: "Retirement sucks!". I am not sure where to go with all of that. Think I will keep my job for a bit longer and work it all out some other time.
Now remember, I am not quite 60. I am 59 years and 4 months on December 13. In denial? No, no, not me. (Maybe just a little). But, admittedly, there are little reminders that I may be headed in the "aging" direction at an accelerated pace. For instance, waking up in the great Northwest, looking out the window at the cold, misty air and the frost lined trees and thinking, in my younger days, that I could not wait to get outside. Nowadays, I straighten up my back, kick out my titanium inserted knee a couple of times to get the fluids running, slip into my fleece lined slippers and shuffle downstairs for my first cup of coffee and a look at the internet. Going outside? I think I will wait until it warms up a little bit.
When it is time to head out for the day, I bundle up to walk the 15 feet to my car, thinking, "perhaps I should get one of those hats with ear muffs that come down on both sides of the head. You know the hats I am talking about. They snap tightly around the chin. I like that. Kind of stylish, actually". When I am in the car I hit the radio button and turn on the only two stations that are preset. Oldies and classical. And I am off.
After a day of doing whatever it is that I do, I turn the car in the direction of home and allow it to take me there, almost like a horse returning to the barn. I am looking forward to the low cholesterol lunch I will eat and the nap I will take.
In the evening, I will have frozen yogurt instead of ice cream for desert, read a little, listen to the news and marvel at how the youth of this country just doesn't seem to get it (sound familiar?), slip on my fleece lined slippers and head for the sack.
If all of this resonates as a little "heavy" it is not meant to sound that way. I embrace this time of life. There are some things I do now that I did not do in my youth that have improved, sometimes dramatically, the quality of my day to day life. For example:
I listen more than ever. I hear what people are saying. I always ask them something about what they said after they said it. This allows them to know I am listening to them. Who knows, I might just learn something. I write down folks names so that I may recall it the next time I see the person. It always brings a smile to a person's face when you, at the very least, can address them by their first name.
I take off my sun glasses from time to time so I can see everything as it truly is. Doing so also allows me to remember exactly how a meadow appeared at a given moment, blanketed in early morning fog or how a tree turns colors as it continues its annual journey towards seasonal maturity.
I remove my Ipod earbuds during walks, halt, for a moment, the rocking and rolling and allow myself to be blanketed in the "sounds of silence".
And I breathe. Deep, deep breaths of our magnificent Northwest air. Doing so clears my eyesight, removes the cobwebs from my brain and sweeps negative thoughts from my mind.
So there you are. My thoughts of turning 60. I like where I have been and I love where I am headed. Fleece slippers and all.
Now, quick notes about retirement. I asked one friend how he likes retirement. His words "This is great!". I asked my brother, Glen, the elder in the family, the same question: The answer: "Retirement sucks!". I am not sure where to go with all of that. Think I will keep my job for a bit longer and work it all out some other time.
How to Ride on an Airplane: Comfortably.
As I sit in my room in Tokyo, once again on a 12 day trip that will have me in the air on the way to Osaka about the time you all sit down to turkey, I thought I would add a few thoughts and hints about how to travel on an aircraft under present day circumstances. There is a lot of information on the internet in addition to the suggestions in this entry but this advice comes straight from my own experience.
Let me start with the simple fact that if I did not fly airliners for a living I would be ever so reluctant to go to any airport in the United States to fly on an airliner regardless of the airline. That is not said from a safety standpoint. Not at all. I make that statement from the standpoint of someone who would rather drive an RV than go through the tremendous hassle involved with comtemporaneous air travel. All of that clearly stated, let's move on. Please keep in mind that air travel is the safest form of travel in the world. But, man, it can be tough of a man's (or woman's) patience.
1. Get to the airport earlier than you think you should. If you have a clock in your head that tells you that one and one half hours is adequate then make it two hours. The traffic congestion and confusing signs at most of todays airports is more than enough to create a high level of anxiety when you are trying to park, unload, get to the gate and get on the plane. So get to the airport early. Keep in mind that there are some entertaining things to see and do at most airports now that allow you to keep busy if you arrive early. I enjoy the people watching. Most excellent!
2. Check in 24 hours before the scheduled departure and while at home using the internet. You can move your seat to another available seat, check in and pay for bags before you leave the house. When you are done checking in, print your boarding pass and you are ready to go when you arrive. Speaking of seats, here is some "increase your comfort" ideas for selecting your seat.
a. If you are not riding in First Class try to select (on you home computer) an "exit row, isle" seat. Actualy, the best way to get one of these seats is to arrive at the gate at least one hour and fifteen minutes before departure and stand like a big lump right in front of the agent. The agent is the person that will assign the exit row seat. They hold these seats for assignment at the airport and they are the best seats on the airplane, sometimes rivaling First Class. Ask the agent for an "exit row seat, on the isle, that reclines". Some of these seats do not recline and if that matters to you then not having the seat recline will drive you nuts. Remember, with the exit row comes some responsibility. You must be willing to be the first one out of the aircraft if it becomes necessary to evacuate over the wing. Heck, who would not want to be the first one out during an evac? I recommend wherever you are sitting on any aircraft take a quick look around you while boarding. Look for the emergency rows and mentally plan your escape in the very unlikely event there is trouble.
b. If the exit row is taken (by the way, do not accept the exit row window seat. It is like sitting in a bucket and it rarely reclines) then ask for a seat that is behind the wing anywhere on the plane. Isle seats are always desirable. They give you a little room to breathe and they help in the event of an evac. Seats aft of the wing are statsically the safest on the plane. Not by much but statictics show that being in a seat behind the trailing edge of the wing is safer.
3. As you board look in the overhead as you walk to your seat. There may be a few pillows and blankets in the overhead. Grab a pillow and a blanket if they are there. It does not matter if it is not in the area where your seat is. These items are fair game and are there for the taking but there are few of them available so scarf them if you can. I always use one of these two items to stuff in the lower lumbar region of my back. This gives me added back support.
4. Do not put you things in an overhead bin unless it is near your seat. That said, do not hesitate to take any overhead space if you are one of the last folks on the airplane and the is simply nowhere else to put your bag. I have seen people come completely unglued because they believed someone had swiped "their" space in the overhead.
5. Make some sandwiches at home to take to the airport. I usually get quite hungry on the longer flights and the food they offer is "garbagio". And take a plastc water bottle, empty, through security. When you get on the other side fill it with water from the fountain. This saves money and allows you to hydrate on the plane if you are unable to get enough water from the flight attendants. All planes dehydrate you, except the 787. It will be great when it arrives.
6. Last suggestion: take it easy on the booze. Your body feels like it is at 8,000 feet on any typical flight. Because you are flying at, say, 37,000 feet the pressurization system keeps the cabin at a comfortable 8,000 feet. But that is like going to the top of an 8,000 moountain. Booze will get you drunk faster and if you are unfortunate enough to be flying when the hangover hits (LA to Tokyo) it will hurt just that much more.
That is it for this episode of "Tim knows a whole bunch of stuff about planes and stuff". I hope it makes your flying a little less onerous.
ps I do not think I know a Brian Mathesson. One of our Captains is Eric Mathisson.
ps I don't have my draft card either. I went for the physical in crutches at Lake Union and promptly flunked for having had multiple surgeries on the left knee. Then I subsequently joined the Navy to fly planes. Ah, but I do have my dad's draft card from WW2, "The Big One".
Everyone's travel stories are great. It is obvious that we all have a tale to tell when it comes to travel. Next entry: What do I do to survive the TSA (take your hand out of my waist band, sir, thank you very much!) and other related topics.
Let me start with the simple fact that if I did not fly airliners for a living I would be ever so reluctant to go to any airport in the United States to fly on an airliner regardless of the airline. That is not said from a safety standpoint. Not at all. I make that statement from the standpoint of someone who would rather drive an RV than go through the tremendous hassle involved with comtemporaneous air travel. All of that clearly stated, let's move on. Please keep in mind that air travel is the safest form of travel in the world. But, man, it can be tough of a man's (or woman's) patience.
1. Get to the airport earlier than you think you should. If you have a clock in your head that tells you that one and one half hours is adequate then make it two hours. The traffic congestion and confusing signs at most of todays airports is more than enough to create a high level of anxiety when you are trying to park, unload, get to the gate and get on the plane. So get to the airport early. Keep in mind that there are some entertaining things to see and do at most airports now that allow you to keep busy if you arrive early. I enjoy the people watching. Most excellent!
2. Check in 24 hours before the scheduled departure and while at home using the internet. You can move your seat to another available seat, check in and pay for bags before you leave the house. When you are done checking in, print your boarding pass and you are ready to go when you arrive. Speaking of seats, here is some "increase your comfort" ideas for selecting your seat.
a. If you are not riding in First Class try to select (on you home computer) an "exit row, isle" seat. Actualy, the best way to get one of these seats is to arrive at the gate at least one hour and fifteen minutes before departure and stand like a big lump right in front of the agent. The agent is the person that will assign the exit row seat. They hold these seats for assignment at the airport and they are the best seats on the airplane, sometimes rivaling First Class. Ask the agent for an "exit row seat, on the isle, that reclines". Some of these seats do not recline and if that matters to you then not having the seat recline will drive you nuts. Remember, with the exit row comes some responsibility. You must be willing to be the first one out of the aircraft if it becomes necessary to evacuate over the wing. Heck, who would not want to be the first one out during an evac? I recommend wherever you are sitting on any aircraft take a quick look around you while boarding. Look for the emergency rows and mentally plan your escape in the very unlikely event there is trouble.
b. If the exit row is taken (by the way, do not accept the exit row window seat. It is like sitting in a bucket and it rarely reclines) then ask for a seat that is behind the wing anywhere on the plane. Isle seats are always desirable. They give you a little room to breathe and they help in the event of an evac. Seats aft of the wing are statsically the safest on the plane. Not by much but statictics show that being in a seat behind the trailing edge of the wing is safer.
3. As you board look in the overhead as you walk to your seat. There may be a few pillows and blankets in the overhead. Grab a pillow and a blanket if they are there. It does not matter if it is not in the area where your seat is. These items are fair game and are there for the taking but there are few of them available so scarf them if you can. I always use one of these two items to stuff in the lower lumbar region of my back. This gives me added back support.
4. Do not put you things in an overhead bin unless it is near your seat. That said, do not hesitate to take any overhead space if you are one of the last folks on the airplane and the is simply nowhere else to put your bag. I have seen people come completely unglued because they believed someone had swiped "their" space in the overhead.
5. Make some sandwiches at home to take to the airport. I usually get quite hungry on the longer flights and the food they offer is "garbagio". And take a plastc water bottle, empty, through security. When you get on the other side fill it with water from the fountain. This saves money and allows you to hydrate on the plane if you are unable to get enough water from the flight attendants. All planes dehydrate you, except the 787. It will be great when it arrives.
6. Last suggestion: take it easy on the booze. Your body feels like it is at 8,000 feet on any typical flight. Because you are flying at, say, 37,000 feet the pressurization system keeps the cabin at a comfortable 8,000 feet. But that is like going to the top of an 8,000 moountain. Booze will get you drunk faster and if you are unfortunate enough to be flying when the hangover hits (LA to Tokyo) it will hurt just that much more.
That is it for this episode of "Tim knows a whole bunch of stuff about planes and stuff". I hope it makes your flying a little less onerous.
ps I do not think I know a Brian Mathesson. One of our Captains is Eric Mathisson.
ps I don't have my draft card either. I went for the physical in crutches at Lake Union and promptly flunked for having had multiple surgeries on the left knee. Then I subsequently joined the Navy to fly planes. Ah, but I do have my dad's draft card from WW2, "The Big One".
Everyone's travel stories are great. It is obvious that we all have a tale to tell when it comes to travel. Next entry: What do I do to survive the TSA (take your hand out of my waist band, sir, thank you very much!) and other related topics.
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