The Author is David Reed, a commercial pilot for over 40 years. Over these four decades he has had many events occur, some interesting, some exciting, a few that were frightening and a lot of misadventures. Every story in this blog is true.

Friday, October 28, 2016

Silly Things

They say that flying is hours of boredom interspersed with moments of shear terror. That really bugs me, because it's so untrue. It's a few hours of boredom interspersed with a few moments of pure comedy.
     When I was a First Officer at Northwest Airlink, I was in my seat getting ready to start a day of flying. Larry Wooden was the Captain and Michelle Boyer was the Flight Attendant. I had brought a large, black rubber worm from my fishing box at home. Now on these flights we carried coffee in a pair of big thermos bottles. So I carefully laid the worm on the rim of the thermos when Michelle wasn't looking. Later, she was in the galley and we were in the cockpit doing our thing. "Hey Larry, did you hear what they found on the plane this morning? A small black snake."
"Really? I've heard they can crawl up inside, through the wheel well and the air conditioning ducts." (Absolute BS. No such thing)
"Yeah, probably did. They're not poisonous I hear, but they are nasty little things."
Now Michelle isn't a part of this conversation, but she's listening intently.
"Nasty huh?"
"Oh yes. They bite you like crazy, but not poisonous. Nasty buggers."
A few minutes go by. Then I said, "Hey Michelle? Can I get a cup of coffee please?" She said sure and got a cup and grabbed the thermos. As the "snake" fell off the thermos and landed on her hands she let out a blood-curdling scream, dropped the thermos, inspected the rubber worm, then came up and punched Larry hard in the arm. Perfect! Next I put it on the liquor tray and went outside to preflight the airplane. As I inspected the right wing I hear a scream from inside the airplane. Everyone on the ramp turns and looks. Susan comes storming down the stairs (she was doing galley servicing that day), looked under the plane at me and yells, "You're dead meat, Reed!"
    Another day I brought my water pistol (unheard of today). We had this little six inch hatch by the Captain where we could pass paperwork out to the ground people below. So I had the hatch open on this clear, sunny afternoon when a girl on the ramp came by. Squirt! She flinched, wiped it, looked up at the sky confused, then walked on. Another girl (most of our rampers were young girls) walked by. Squirt! Again, a wipe, a confused look upward. We did this all day. Later, a new girl began cleaning our window. All the newbies cleaned windows, and they all had to get initiated. So as a group of passengers is about to walk in front of us headed to another airplane, I reach out the small hatch, grabbed her shorts and yanked them down over one cheek. She jumped and swatted at my arm, and several passengers were smiling and giving me a thumbs up. 
     We had this one ramper, this guy that hated being outside in the winter. So he was always reporting pilots for the smallest infractions, hoping to get promoted to a job inside. When we landed we were encouraged to cycle the deicing boots and break up the ice so that later when they deiced it, it would come off easier. We turned off the runway with ice on our wings. I noticed from afar that this goober was going to be parking us. A Light bulb went off. We taxied in, shutting down the left engine as we did. He signaled us into the parking spot. When we stopped I set the brake, reached up and turned on the high pressure bleed air. This goober predictably put the wheel chocks in place on the nose tires, then started to walk back to unload bags. I put my finger on the manual boot inflation button, looked over my left shoulder, and when he got to the wing I pushed the button. The boot inflated and a ton of ice fell off, knocking him hard to the ground. Oh crap! I though maybe I'd really hurt him, but we were too busy stifling our laughter and trying not to be seen. Later he said to me that he'd been hit by ice falling off my plane. "Yea, you gotta watch that. It'll do that sometimes."
     In International Falls they had a station manager that everyone hated. She also hated the job in I-Falls and was always writing pilots up for minor infractions, hoping to get promoted to a better station. That was how the promotion system worked at Airlink. So I'm pulling into the ramp one night and it's cold and the ground is covered in slush and deicing fluid and I saw my chance. I came up to her at a good clip, then mashed the props into max reverse. Instantly she was blasted with a big cloud of slush and deicing fluid, soaking her from head to toe. Later I explained that when I hit the brakes, nothing happened, so I had to use reverse to get stopped. Mess with us, will ya?
     You know those little packets of condiments you get at the fast food place? Mustard, ketchup, mayonnaise. I used to take those and put one under the front of the nosewheel. Then when we were being waved out of our parking spot, we'd roll over it and shoot this glop of white creamy goo at the ramper. Only got someone once, but it was worth the wait. 
     Larry and I went to the supermarket after work one day to get some food for a barbeque. We were both still in uniform, with our long black rain coats on but no hat. No gold stripes visible either. The young cashier eyed us both, then finally asked "Do you guys work for the government or something?" Without missing a beat I replied, "Yes ma'am. We work for the Federal Bureau of Investigation." "Wow," she replied, "The FBI! Cool! Do you carry guns?" "Yes ma'am, regulation." "Wow." Larry just stood there, looking straight ahead, all serious. Outside he says "FBI, huh?"
     Fast Eddie had a thing for Continental. He hated them. It was a union thing. If we were coming in to land and Continental checked on behind us, he'd immediately slow to our minimum speed, about 110 knots. Now its almost certain that a Continental jet can't get that slow and every time Fast Eddie did that, Continental would end up having to go around. Every time.
     One Sunday it was pouring rain and we were the last plane to leave MSP. Naturally, we were at the end of the parking line so it meant a long, long walk for the passengers in the rain. So I told the ramper I'd start up, pull close to the door, then they could board them five at a time and no one would get very wet. Great idea! So I tucked it in as close as I could to the gate. As they are boarding the passengers, the First Officer says "You know, we're pretty close to this jetway. You gonna be able to get out?" Well shoot, he was right. Didn't look good. So I got the ramper up to the cockpit and explained that I would back up ten feet so I could get out. We reviewed the signals and then we prepared to do it. The First Officer remarked "You know, we're  not supposed to be backing up." I said "I know, but it's Sunday, nobody is here, and we just need to back up a little bit."
     Meanwhile, inside the office the Chief Pilot had dropped in on this rainy Sunday to check up on things briefly. He was only there a couple of minutes, but while he was there he heard this roar of engines, looks outside, and there's Dave Reed backing up. 
     The next day he called me up at home, said he'd seen me backing up. "You're not authorized to back up, you know," he said sternly. Drat! So I came right back with "Well what about that big speech you gave us the other day, about doing whatever it takes to get the job done?" and he said "Well yeah, but I didn't mean to back up!" I said I wouldn't do it again and he let it go at that. Later, in Hibbing, she parked us right behind a Jetstream at the gate. I asked "What's wrong with him?" She said "Oh, he's broke." "Well, how am I supposed to get out then?" She looked out at the airplane kinda dumbfounded, and yep, I ended up backing up to get out. No Chief Pilot saw it though. Whatever it takes to get the job done. We did lots of crazy things. Still do in fact. It's a pilot thing.

Ted's Excellent Adventure

Ted was a pilot at Northwest Airlink. He and I went through upgrade training together and later he was based in Memphis while I was based in Minneapolis. Ted was a very nice guy. Young, energetic, conscientious. Ted was obviously destined for the major airlines. Or so we thought.
Ted, his co-pilot and the flight attendant were flying empty from Memphis to Tupelo to start another day of flying. The weather was clear, a beautiful spring morning in the south. During the short flight they got to talking and his co-pilot mentioned that he had never seen a propeller actually stopped and feathered in flight. Ted was more than happy to rectify that. He proceeded to shut down the left engine and feather the propeller. From his vantage point in the right seat, the co-pilot couldn't see the left engine so he climbed out and went in the back to look out the cabin window. As he and the flight attendant were checking out the stopped engine, Ted decided to restart the engine. Doing so he followed all the procedures correctly for starting an engine on the ground. Unfortunately, starting the engine in flight was a slightly different procedure. As the engine came to life with the throttle in ground idle, he suddenly discovered something he had probably heard in ground school but didn't pay enough attention too. That is, there is no overspeed governor when in ground idle. So as the prop came up to speed while going 160 knots, the prop did what it wanted to: it ran to an incredibly high overspeed condition. This created a tremendous amount of torque, which caused the plane to roll to the right dramatically, to the tune of almost completely upside down. The overspeed and over torque condition finally hit the Hail Mary engine protection switch and it promptly shut down the engine. Forever. Now the airplane is in anything but controlled flight, and a fair amount of negative g's were created as they hung upside down and started to fall away. The co-pilot and the flight attendant meanwhile are now on the ceiling, grabbing for anything they could grab on to. A cabinet, a seat back, each other. At this point, the right engine, due to the negative g forces, starved for fuel and quit also. So here is Ted, alone in the cockpit, upside down, his crew on the ceiling in the cabin, flight bags emptying everything all about the cockpit, with two dead engines over the great state of Mississippi.Yes, an excellent adventure it was!
Ted managed to get it upright again, even got the right engine running again but the left engine was toast. On the way back to Memphis they tried to get their story straight, but it just wasn't happening. I imagine Ted trying to explain this to the chief pilot on the ground outside the airplane, babbling like Ralph Kramden caught in a lie- "Humina humina humina..." Took the chief pilot about ten minutes to fire them both. Ted appealed it through the union, but the day before it went to System Board he called and dropped it. Seems his father was quite wealthy, owned a Learjet, so we assumed Ted went back to fly for dear old Dad. Sometimes you have a great story for all the wrong reasons.
 

Thursday, October 20, 2016

United 232


United 232 trying to land
The date was July 19, 1989. I was three weeks away from going to Captain upgrade training in the Saab 340 at Northwest Airlink. It was a hot summer afternoon as we flew south from Minneapolis to Sioux City, Iowa. I forget the Captain's name, the flight attendant was Michelle Boyer. As we landed we could see a lot of fire trucks and ambulances driving onto the airport. I said something like "I guess they heard you were coming," and he replied "Oh ha ha. Very funny." It was around 3:30 pm as we pulled up to the gate. We sat there doing our thing, waiting for bags and people to get unloaded, then bags and people being loaded for the 4:00 pm departure back to MSP. We could hear the ground controller talking to the firemen, something about a DC-10 that could only turn right. The National Guard A-7's were landing, so we figured one of them must have bumped an Air Force KC-10 or something. Finally we get loaded, doors closed, engines started and I call for taxi. They clear us to taxi to runway 17. We do a 180 on the ramp and start to taxi north when the controller yells at us to "Stop! Stop right there!" then to the fire trucks, "He's coming in on 22!" This was a surprise, as all the emergency vehicles were lined up on runway 22, expecting them to land on runway 31. So all these emergency vehicles takeoff across the grass, heading right towards us. We looked off to our right and here he is, quite low, flaps all up, gear doors hanging open, going very fast. Just then Michelle came up front to say everything was ready in back and I said, "Hey Michelle, watch this. This guy doesn't have any brakes." I fully expected to see a KC-10 roll down the runway, off the end and get stuck in the mud for a week, nothing more than that. It was then we noticed it wasn't a KC-10 at all, but a United DC-10. Just as he got to the airport he started a roll to the right. The right main gear and wingtip hit right at the corner of the runway, right where we would have been had we kept taxiing! This huge airliner then crashed into the ground, blew up and ricocheted back in the air, a giant cloud of black smoke and flames erupting high into the sky above, right in front of us. 

As the crash continued we could see part of the plane, the United emblem, cabin windows, appearing and disappearing in this tremendous black cloud of flame. The video they showed later didn't look half as big as it did to us, a mere thousand feet or so away from it. The crashing slowly stopped, the tail section directly in front of us. The center section came to rest nearly upright just to our left. The front continued on into the corn field to the right of the runway. The flames and smoke continued to bellow upward. We were in shock. We thought we had just seen like 300 people die. No one could have possibly survived that fiery inferno. Finally the Captain notices this huge cloud of... napkins. Thousands of napkins and paper were floating down towards us. I've read that in a plane crash, lightweight things like paper get blown up and out, and usually end up all over the field next to the crash. He says "This stuff is gonna FOD the engines. We'd better shut down," so we did. That snapped us out of it. Then we saw a helicopter swoop in and land just to our left, some firefighters had a body they carried to the helicopter, threw him in and it took off for the hospital. We were amazed anyone had actually survived! Actually, of the 296 people on board, only 111 died. That was a miracle. The cockpit was so crushed that it took rescuers 35 minutes to discover that the pile of debris was the cockpit and the four pilots inside were in fact still alive. 

We were parked on the ramp just to the right of this
We opened the door and went outside to watch. Our airline people took the passengers back inside. No one felt like flying after seeing that, and who could blame them? A short time later a guy in a suit walked up to us from the crash and asked if that was the door to the terminal. We said yes it was. I thought it was some sort of FAA person. Then the Captain whispers to me "Look at that!" This guy's suit was completely burned away in back. He had actually walked away from the crash. Still later a United 727 flew low overhead and circled the airport a few times. It landed on runway 31, blowing a huge amount of napkins into the air as it did. The copilot came out and asked us what happened. They'd been at the gate in Chicago when all this took place. "A large group of United management personnel ran down the jetway, kicked off the few passengers that had been boarded and handed us a flight plan to Sioux City. We'd never even heard of Sioux City," he said. 

The police did a great job. The state police closed down the interstate from the airport to the downtown exits. The city police blocked the main road from the interstate to the hospital. Ambulances ran back and forth non-stop with the most seriously injured. Less serious patients went to other area hospitals. We finally left around 9pm that night, flew empty back to Minneapolis. I remember that for a week or so after that, Sioux City passengers on our flights were mostly FAA and NTSB people, and a whole lot of priests. Later they put all the wreckage in one spot, put up a big fence around it, parked a rent-a-cop by the gate and it stayed like that for years. If I never see anything like that crash again I'll be happy.

Thursday, October 13, 2016

Wildlife

     Wildlife and airplanes, we have this uneasy relationship. They try to bring us down, to disable us and cause us to land in rivers and such. We in turn fight them off, winning more times than not. Which we have to do, because like the RAF battling the Nazis in the Battle of Britain, they far outnumber us. 
     Late night, 1993. We land our Northwest Airlink Saab 340 in International Falls, drop off a few passengers and taxi out for the trip to Hibbing. We taxi to the end of the runway and nearby a very large buck sees his chance. We add power and race down the runway. At around 125 mph I call out "V1, rotate," and at that moment the buck runs out onto the runway, right in front of us. "Rotate! Rotate!" I yell. The buck stops, does an about face maneuver, changes his mind and turns back again. Nice reflexes, he does all this quicker than an Olympic gymnast. My copilot yanks back on the control wheel and we leap into the air, ending the age old question 'if you pull back hard enough, will you hit the tail?'. Answer: No you will not. The buck flashes by close aboard on our right, so close I can easily see the fur on his back. In an instant I'm waiting for the impact, the veering off to the right, the wingtip catching the ground and the inevitable sliding, burning, dirt flying carnage that is sure to follow. But as quick as it happened, it was over. These two cool airline professionals are sitting there wide eyed saying, "Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God..." There are a few tense moments as we wait to see what may happen, but it seems that everything is working. Holy Mother of God, how did we not hit him? Eventually, we calm down enough to do things like retract the landing gear and set climb power. In Hibbing we inspect the outside of the plane, but not a mark anywhere. Like a baseball player sliding into home plate, it seems the buck has managed to avoid our tag. Had he not, I'm totally convinced we would have wrecked that airplane. He was huge.
     Spring, 2007. I'm flying a KingAir 200 up to some small airport in the middle of no place in Michigan to retrieve a kidney. No doctors, just grab the Styrofoam box and go, so I've brought the wife along for company. Arriving in Michigan the weather is cloudy and the AWOS is reporting visibility around 1/2 mile in fog. I let the autopilot fly us down to minimums on the RNAV approach and see the airport. As we are touching down we notice these deer alongside the runway. Not just a few, but like a whole herd. Twenty or more, they were everywhere. Surprisingly none were on the runway. On my right are more deer in the grass between the runway and taxiway. It was kinda surreal, like walking nervously past some notorious gang members late at night. They watched us suspiciously but didn't move or run away. I cautiously taxied to the ramp and shut one engine down, leaving the wife in charge of the airplane ("Wait! You can't leave me here! Where are you going? Come back!!") I'm not crazy, it's running in feather and I told her if anything happens just pull this lever here. I hop out the door, sign for the box from the courier, and hop back in ten seconds later. Deer-wise, this is a bad neighborhood and I don't want to hang around for long. It's not like I could call someone to clear the area first. This airport is deserted and it was around two o'clock in the morning. I slowly back taxi down the runway, past the Deer Gangsters. They're eyeballing me and I'm avoiding eye contact. I get my clearance, say a prayer that they're still off the runway, and take off. They let me pass, this time.
     Birds. I love birds. Love sitting at home watching them fly to their little nests, taking a splishy splashy bath in the bird bath, swinging on the bird feeder, flying into a window. A bright sunny day in Eau Claire, Wisconsin. Beautiful summer afternoon. We load up and taxi out to the runway. All checklists complete, we start our takeoff roll. As we are about to reach rotation speed I notice a few birds in the grass by the runway. As we rotate, these few birds turned into a gigantic flock of small birds, Starlings or something, who all decided at once to takeoff, right in front of us. Oh crap! We blast through this dark cloud of feathery friends, maybe ten or twenty feet above the runway. They hit the plane like baseballs, a rapid fire banging all around us, so many I can't even begin to count. My God, we decimated them. Those two eleven foot diameter propellers were like two bloody blenders. We sat there, like a boxer waiting to dodge the next punch. Except it doesn't come. Past the end of the runway the ground drops off to the river below, and I was fully expecting two engines to quit and we'd "glide" across the river into that dirt field beyond. But everything keeps humming along. All gauges normal. All controls, um, controlling. Back in Minneapolis we looked it over. A small red smear on top of the cockpit, that was all. Not a dent, nothing. Not at all like that big sea gull we hit before. He left blood and guts all over the side of the plane, so much that maintenance had to wash it off. It was a smelly, gory mess.
     Some people have a seriously bigger fear of birds. One night we were to ferry a plane down to Sioux City from northern Minnesota so maintenance could fix it. It was a pressurization problem so we'd be at 10,000' the whole way. The First Officer, he refused to go. He swore we'd run into a flock of geese or ducks, or something just as deadly. I finally had to tell him to either call scheduling and refuse the trip or get on board. Quit being such a pussy. I really wasn't worried. Our front windows are literally bullet proof. We replaced a window once and the mechanics took it home, fired a .38 round into it. Nothing. So the other mechanic (with some alcohol encouragement I'm sure) fired his 44 magnum at the same spot. Still no penetration. They were so impressed that they brought it back to the hangar and hung it on the wall. Some airplanes though are not as well equipped. Late one night a Great Lakes Beech 1900 took off from Sioux City and flew towards Sioux Falls, a short flight away. Their windows were not bullet-proof. They were at around 4000', doing 250 knots, when they ran into a flock of birds. One went through the left windshield, striking the pilot square in the face. Another followed behind the first one, traveled the length of the cabin and blasted the back wall. Still another hit the engine intake, after going through the propeller, hard enough to hit it like a sledgehammer. Yet another hit the leading edge square on, went right through and into the fuel tank. The copilot landed back at Sioux City and the Captain spent three days in the hospital. Pretty lucky, all things considered. I got to see the plane in our hangar. I asked the mechanic what kind of birds they were. He said he wasn't sure, but it smelled a lot like roast duck.
Some day I'm going to find myself at the Pearly Gates and Saint Peter is going to say, "Dave! Welcome! Come on in!" But off to the side a group of glaring birds will raise a wing and say "Wait a minute..."      

Wednesday, October 12, 2016

Technically Run Back

     In ground school at Northwest Airlink, they taught us to activate the propeller deice whenever an ice accumulation was detected, i.e., on the wing or the wipers (at night you can't always see the wings that well, but the wipers are 14" in front of your nose). Sounds simple enough. In actual practice, it doesn't work too well. 
     To understand it, you need to know how a prop deices. Simple- centrifugal force. The outer two thirds of the propeller are turning fast enough so that centrifugal force needs no assistance. Ice builds up and presto! It flings off. The inner third though is not turning fast enough for centrifugal force to work. For this area there is an electric boot. When the prop deice is activated, the boot heats up, melting the underside of the ice accumulation. No more adhesion and so presto! It flings off.  So in icing, always put the props to max rpm for greater centrifugal force.
     This works great on metal propellers. On a composite propeller though, not so great. Apparently the metal blade is heated up to some degree (partially by the boot and partially by friction) and prop ice that melts and runs back on the metal blade just evaporates or runs off. Remember, it only needs to be 33 degrees or better. A composite blade though does not heat up. Herein lies the problem. When the boot heats up, the ice melts. If there is only a small amount of ice accumulation, then the entire amount of ice melts, not just the underside. Centrifugal force then causes the melted ice to run back onto the propeller. Like water drops running down your windshield, it runs down a line and refreezes. This line runs down the length of the propeller at an angle, not straight back. The prop deice is on a timer, so every three minutes it heats up again. If the ice has not accumulated enough, the boot will heat up, the new ice accumulation will melt again and run down the same line the previous melted ice made. This creates small ridges, which totally ruins your thrust. Remember, props are just wings mounted sideways. These little ice ridges act the same as spoilers do on a wing. As the ice ridge builds, it will do so unevenly from blade to blade. This makes the blades unbalanced and so the shaking begins. First it's a low hum that won't go away. Then over time it builds until everything is vibrating slightly. If you're still in the ice then things start to vibrate more. You can't take a sip of coffee without spilling it on your clean white shirt. Oh the humanity! Eventually the oxygen mask, hanging on a hook behind you, starts rattling on the wall. An experienced Saab 340 pilot knows to wait until the mask rattles before turning on the prop deice. As the boots heat up, the accumulation is flung off and all the vibrations cease. Now the key is to wait until the mask rattles again, so you need to turn off the prop deice as soon as things smooth out. Problem is, this is contrary to every airline's Standard Operating Practice in icing conditions. It's also contrary to what Saab recommends in the Flight Manual.
     Winter, around 1992. We're flying the DME arc to the localizer back course approach to Hibbing, Minnesota. Yes, it wasn't that long ago people actually flew DME arcs and back course approaches. So there we were (ah, such a classic line), at 3000' in the clouds, in moderate icing conditions. The landing gear is up and the flaps are up, and we have full power set, yet we're only getting 160 knots indicated. We should be doing 250 plus. The plane is vibrating like crazy too. The prop deice is operating and doing a great job of creating run back on the propellers. The only way to get rid of it of course is to fly into air above freezing, and that isn't happening until we get pulled into the hangar tonight, assuming we make it that far. I discuss with the First Officer my doubts about being able to hold MDA with gear and flaps down. He agrees and we figure that something like 650 fpm should give us a 3 degree descent angle. So we'll hold that and at MDA if we don't see the runway we'll just retract everything and go vibrating our way to Duluth. So down we go, using lots of power to hold 130 knots with gear and approach flaps set. Full flaps felt like it would be too much. Nearing MDA we get the runway in sight and land. 
     Ten years later. I'm working as the Program Manager for the Saab 340 at FlightSafety International. As such, I get to attend the Saab Operators Conference being held in St Petersburg Florida. That was amazing. Let me digress a bit to say that every morning they had a gigantic buffet set up, with every kind of breakfast food you could imagine, and giant, fancy coffee urns filled with Starbucks coffee. Lunch was out on the grass using tables with white tablecloths, like a wedding almost. Dinner was on the beach, under a big tent, where they had a stage set up and some sort of lively entertainment. It was in a word, amazing. Those Swedes can sure party.
     Well I've been selected to give a presentation to all the flight departments. I spent weeks preparing for this, and brought my kick ass PowerPoint presentation along with a stack of reference material. At the conference, the typical presentation was just a review of some system or operating practice. Some were interesting but most were pretty dry. After lunch on the appointed day, with my wife taking a break from snorkeling on the beach, they announce "And now a presentation by David Reed, Program Manager for the Saab 340 at FlightSafety International from the United States." All eyes, experienced people from airlines all over the world, turn and look at me. Dear God don't let me fuck this up. I take a deep breath and launch into my discussion on why the current Saab endorsed propeller deice procedure is wrong. I give a few nervous glances to the Saab representatives but they
haven't pulled out the blow darts, yet. When I was done I got a few questions and thank God, nobody stood up and called me a complete idiot. Actually, it was kinda controversial and challenged the current convention, and to my surprise I got a LOT of people coming up to me later and saying things like "I'd never thought of that. You know, you really hit on something there," or "I smiled when you mentioned the oxygen mask. That's exactly what I do!" Not to toot my own horn too much, but it's really neat when you give a presentation to a large group of highly qualified people and get kudos afterward. I remember my boss, Mike King, told me "I thought those Saab guys were gonna hang you, but when you're right, you're right and I think they agreed with you." That was it, my fifteen minutes of fame. Now, where are those chocolate-creme filled Swedish croissants?

Saturday, October 8, 2016

Laura

Laura Brooks. We worked together at FlightSafety. Laura was young, in her early thirties, and taught basic indoctrination classes for airlines at FlightSafety in St Louis. She wasn't glamorous or outgoing. A plain Catholic girl from a Catholic family in Belleville IL. In fact, her mother was a Catholic nun. She was friendly and a great person, and she had the same aspirations we all had- to get a job flying airplanes. She did flight instructing at the nearby Scott AFB Flying Club. One day, November 19, 1996, she went along as copilot on a flight in a KingAir 90 to build her multi-engine flight time. The PIC was a retired TWA Captain and Air Force Colonel. They flew to Quincy, picked up some passengers, flew them to Tulsa and later returned to Quincy and dropped off the passengers. Just before sunset on that cool fall evening, while taking off they collided with another plane landing on a crossing runway. Both planes burst into flames. Laura and her pilot tried to get out but only made it halfway through the cabin before smoke overcame them both. And just like that, another good pilot I knew died a violent death. 

July, 1997. Hot as Hades. The temperature at mid-day was pushing a hundred degrees, and the humidity was brutal. I was off from work and had picked this day to go pay my respects to Laura. I'd felt bad ever since she died, bad that I didn't know her better, sad for such a young life to end so harshly. People die every day, but Laura hit close to my heart for some reason. I drove out in the blinding heat to Belleville where she was buried in the Green Mount Catholic Cemetery. I stopped at the 7-11 across the street and got a rose for the grave. Brutally hot and humid. I drove across the street to the office where the nice lady showed me on a map where Laura was. It was a newer section, out in the sun with few trees. I drove down the gravel paths and reached the spot. I climbed the rise and soon I found her marker. Laura Brooks. Died Nov 19 1996. I stood there deep in my thoughts, talking with Laura quietly. Soon though, I came to realize how cool it was. I looked up at the cloudless sky and the bright sun, but the temperature felt like the mid seventies. No humidity either, it was like a cool spring morning. But this was July. I thought a cold front must have moved in, bringing a break to this terrible heat. At last! I stood there in the cool air with my thoughts of Laura. Finally I said good bye, got back in my car and drove to the 7-11 for a cold drink for the drive home. Stepped out of the car and was greeted with the same hot blast of heat from before. Temperature near a hundred, brutal humidity. I got my Coke and then stood outside for a minute, looking back across at the cemetery, searching for an explanation yet finding only one. Only one made sense. Laura had been there with me. 

Still today, when that sixth sense starts telling me something is wrong, I know its Laura, or Buddy, whispering in my ear, "Dave, this isn't right." I sit up and look, listen and check things out. Maybe it's obvious, maybe not. Sometimes I find something, most times not. But I know Laura is near, keeping me awake, aware and safe. I can't believe it's been twenty years already. It's time to go pay Laura another visit and say hello.

Thursday, October 6, 2016

Buddy

Cameraman Brett Snyder, reporter Julie Silvers and Buddy Smith
William "Buddy" Smith was a friend of mine in Jacksonville FL. Buddy and his wife owned a helicopter business at Craig Field, the only helicopter business in Jacksonville. As such, Buddy was kept busy. Considering he was only 34 years old, Buddy was doing pretty good for himself. They owned a Hughes 500C that he had bought and sold some years before. It had been shipped to Australia where it was involved in an accident. It was then shipped back and rebuilt in the US and bought again by Buddy. 

Buddy had a great sense of humor and fellowship. In 1984-1986 when I knew Buddy, I was struggling with a faltering flying career that seemed to be going nowhere. Being broke most of the time, I was often invited over to Buddy's home where he would grill steaks for his group of friends. It was a time of sunshine and Supertramp. After work we often found ourselves at the local Applebee's drinking beers at the bar. I was struggling along with a charter operator called Capricorn Aviation, doing part time charters and flight instruction while stationed in Mayport on a Navy frigate, when we weren't at sea that is. Good times, uncertain times. 

The owner of Capricorn was a guy named Cliff Baggett. Cliff bought a newer Isuzu pickup truck and one day he called Buddy wanting to borrow his VW van to go pick up some parts. "Why don't you use that new pickup truck of yours?" Buddy drawled. Cliff explained that the parts were very greasy and dirty and he didn't want to mess up his new truck, whereas Buddy's VW was already pretty greasy. So Buddy being the nice guy that he was said OK. That night Buddy and his friend Dave (owner of Northeast Aircraft Maintenance) were messing with their radio controlled race cars when they got an idea. They hooked up a servo to the ignition on the VW bus. The next day when Cliff drove off with the VW, Buddy threw the switch. The van died. Cliff is cranking it and trying to figure out what's wrong. Buddy throws the switch. The van fires up and Cliff drives off. So Dave and Buddy jump into Dave's car and head off to follow Cliff through town. Every so often they threw the switch and the van would die. Cliff would be looking under the dash, under the hood. Then it would fire up and off he'd go, only to have it quit again. At one intersection a state trooper was in the opposite lane going east while Cliff was going to turn left in front of him. When Cliff got the green arrow he started to go. Buddy killed it and it stopped right in front of the trooper. The light changes. The trooper is wanting to go. Cliff is sweating bullets, so he jumps out and pushes the van out of the intersection. Hops back in, vroom! Starts right up. 

Went for a ride in the Hughes once. We lifted off with the low fuel light not just illuminated but flashing. "Is that important?" I asked nervously. "Oh that's fine, we're just going around the pattern once," Buddy said reassuringly. About three minutes later we were back on the ground. Not a big helicopter fan.

One night at the bar Cliff is bragging about his newest purchase, an old Piper Aztec. He's bragging about all the money he's going to make with it and you just watch, I'm gonna get rich! "I already got a charter in it! I'm taking the bankers to Tampa at 7am tomorrow! So there!" Finally Cliff staggers off home to get a few hours sleep. Drunk as skunks, Buddy and Dave stagger to the VW van and drive to the airport. Dave slides into the Aztec Cliff has just bought and fires it up. He taxis it to the far end of the airport and parks it out of sight. Dave and Buddy go home giggling. Next morning, Cliff races into the airport, late as usual. He's got about 15 minutes until the bankers arrive. No plane. He scrambled from one place to another, totally stumped as to what had become of his airplane. Finally he finds it, taxis down to Capricorn just as the bankers arrive. Everyone climbs on and Cliff heads off the Tampa. He said later "I didn't even have time to add gas. I was lucky to make it to Tampa with what I had." 

Buddy got a contract with the local TV station, Channel 12, to use his helicopter exclusively for news and traffic reporting. So he painted it purple and they put a big 12 on the side. Three weeks later, June 16, 1986, Buddy and his TV crew are doing a live traffic report from his helicopter. His traffic reporter was a young woman named Julie, fresh out of college and scared to death of flying. As she described the traffic on I-95 live during the morning news, the image suddenly starts spinning. The tail rotor shaft had sheared, and this was bad. The helicopter went straight down and exploded. The cameraman was critically injured, but Buddy and the young reporter died. Our sunshine was gone. In an instant our lives changed forever. I'll never understand why the nicest people are always the first to go. We had a funeral for him in Atlanta. He'd worked briefly with the Atlanta PD for a while and at the funeral they did a flyover with several helicopters, and one peeled off as they came overhead, the Missing Man formation. There wasn't a dry eye in the place. I really miss you, Buddy.