How Did You Get Into Flying?

First of all, I have to apologize for not posting in quite a while. I have been busy training to fly a new airplane. I am transferring off the Boeing 757 & 767 and moving to the Boeing 737. I have really enjoyed flying the Bigger Iron, but I am ready for a new adventure. I have loved exploring the world, especially when it's not on my dime, but I'm ready to once again see what my country has to offer. I have been so buried in preparation and then involved in the training, that I neglected this site. I have also brainstormed some ideas on what to write about, so I should have a few fun and interesting topics to babble about over the coming weeks.

Now, on to the topic of today's post: How did I get into flying? That is one of the questions that I get asked most often. In my case, it started pretty early. I know it sounds cliche, but I knew what I wanted to do by the time I was 5 years old. I came to this realization after sitting through the takeoff of a Delta L-1011. The L-1011 was a GINOURMOUS airplane, or at least it seemed that way when I was so young and little! I was sitting in that seat, right behind the wing, because my family was on our first vacation. We were flying from Chicago to Washington, DC for the United States bicentennial celebration. It was 1976 and I was only 5 years old. I couldn't believe that something that big got off the ground! I couldn't believe the power and the way it pushed you into the back of the seat. As I gripped the armrests with glee, I'm sure the person in front of me didn't enjoy my feet firmly planted in the backrest of their seat. Never again would I have to imagine what kind of view birds had...I now knew.

On one of the days in DC, we went down to the National Mall, where they had helicopters, tanks, and jeeps lined up that you could climb all over. I remember sitting in the cockpit of a US Army UH-1 Huey helicopter, flipping switches and pushing buttons to my heart's content. I think that joy has remained with me all my life. I still enjoy flipping switches, so it's a good thing I am now going to fly the 737. There are ample opportunities for me to flip switches on this airplane.

As I sit here, I see that February is fast passing me by. I am reminded of the passing of my brother Kevin two years ago this month. He died at the far too early age of 42. I bring up my brother, because he was probably responsible for reinforcing my desire to fly. I told this story at his memorial service, and I now share it with you, because you might then understand why pilots are so fanatical about flying and aviation in general.

When I was 7, and my brother Kevin was 11, we were living in Evanston, IL, a suburb on the North side of Chicago. Kevin and I would have our mother take us to the YMCA in downtown Evanston for a day of fun. Being the busy mother of 5, she would drop us off for the day, while she took care of other errands and responsibilities. Kevin an I would walk inside, then turn around and watch for my Mom's van to pull away. Once we were sure of her departure, we would walk right back out the door. We walked to the Orrington Hotel, about a mile away, where they had a Coach Bus service to O'hare airport. The cost of the bus was $6.50 each, so we had saved up our allowances for about a month to be able to do this. When we got to the airport, we would walk around and get "cockpit tours" all day. Remember, this was before security and metal detectors! Nobody questioned where our parents were. I'm sure they just assumed they were at the next gate.

We did these trips 4 time over the next two years. One of my fondest memories of these trips was when we walked up to a gate, where a United Airlines 747 was parked outside the window. We looked up from below the level of the counter and politely asked the gate agent if we could get a tour of the cockpit. He wasn't really in the mood, but he relented at our saddest puppy-dog faces and called down to the airplane. The Flight Engineer was doing some pre-flight work for their trip to Hawaii in a few hours and agreed to show us around. I just about died, when I realized we would have to climb a spiral staircase to get to the upper deck. That was like the next best thing to a Tornado Slide. I sat in the Captain's seat and Kevin sat in the Co-pilot's seat. I swear, by the time I was 8, I thought I knew how to start every airliner. After a few minutes in the cockpit, the Flight Engineer told the gate agent he would take responsibility for us. He took us on the pre-flight walk around, outside and under this massive plane. Do you remember how things looked so much bigger when you we young, than they do as you get older. Well, they still seem big to me, so imagine how big it looked to me then! We spent close to two hours going all through that airplane with the Flight Engineer. He may not know it, but it's experiences like that that kept telling me I had to fly! It is also why I never turn away the opportunity to return the favor. If a child, or adult wanting to feel like a child again, asks to see the cockpit, I will always let them. Their parents better have the camera out as well, as they will get a picture of their child sitting in my seat.

Now, getting home was always a little more difficult than getting there. You know the luggage carts that you pay a buck for? (At least, they were a buck back then). When you returned them, you would get .25 cents back. In the 70's, they didn't have people employed to retrieve those carts from the parking lots like they do now. We took advantage of that loophole and would return carts until we had enough money to get home. If we were motivated, we would return a few more, getting enough money to buy a late lunch of sub sandwiches of even better, chili dogs! We would then take the bus 20 miles back to the Orrington Hotel. After walking the mile back to the YMCA, we would call our mother to come pick us and drive us home. When we climbed into the back seat, she would ask how our day was, and we would always tell her we played basketball, dodge ball, and went swimming. I'm not sure if she ever noticed that our swimsuits were never wet and the towels were never used. We got away with this for two years, until one day, Kevin went by himself and most likely ended up eating too many chili dogs. He no longer had enough money to get home. When he called my mother for a ride home, she was a little surprised to hear that he was not at the "Y", and was instead alone, at the busiest airport in the world, at the age of 12. That ended our little adventures to the airport, but I will always be thankful to Kevin, and his penchant for adventure, for taking me to the airport for "cockpit tours."

As I said, I told this story as his funeral service. I also said how my parents had both been fortunate to ride on my airliner, when I was at the controls. Kevin had always wanted to, but never got the chance. I somehow knew, that on my next trip across the Atlantic to Europe, that Kevin would somehow get his chance to come along. A few days later, I was on my way to Paris. It was during the middle of the night and I was halfway across the ocean, looking at the stars and how the moon was reflecting off the clouds below. Normally, I'm not one to believe in such things, I looked out the window and had feeling that Kevin really was right there beside me. I think he enjoyed the ride!

Until next time...Flight Attendants, please prepare the cabin for arrival.