By Phil Brooks

I’ve always loved the film “Airport,” a 1970 American film written and directed by George Seaton and starring Burt Lancaster and Dean Martin. It is the first and, in my opinion, best of the series of four such “disaster-drama” films. It was adapted from Arthur Hailey’s 1968 book, Airport. If you haven’t seen it, I urge you to do so; it’s very well done. 

The plot involves a suicide bomber on a Trans Global Airlines Boeing 707 to Rome, and a snowstorm’s effect on a large airport. I never saw the 1970 film in a theater, but saw it later on TV. It was probably “uncut” since it was “Rated G” and there was nothing too controversial in it. 

Being an airline enthusiast, I own the DVD, and my wife and I have a tradition of watching it every winter, since it takes place on a snowy evening at the fictional “Lincoln International Airport,” near Chicago.  The exterior scenes were actually filmed at the Minneapolis-St.Paul International Airport (MSP).

All the characters are wonderfully cast, especially the TWA senior mechanic named Joe Patroni, played by actor George Kennedy.

The cigar-chomping character was based on a real person, Roy Davis, who was Trans World Airlines’ Director of Maintenance at Chicago O’Hare.

Arthur Hailey spent time with Mr. Davis while conducting research for his book. George Kennedy also became friends with Mr. Davis. After the filming, Davis and Kennedy kept in touch. Kennedy attended Davis’ TWA retirement ceremony in 1981. Roy Davis passed away in Tucson, AZ, in 1998, and George Kennedy left us in 2016.

Roy wanted to be a pilot for TWA, but was instead offered a mechanic position in 1942. Roy served in the US Army Air Corps during World War II and eventually became Director of Maintenance for TWA at O’Hare. He received a special Federal Aviation Administration Certificate of Recognition for his contributions to commercial aviation during his time at O’Hare. In 1999, Roy Davis was enshrined in the Arizona Aviation Hall of Fame.

Clarence Copping, a Boeing 787 captain at my airline, fellow airline enthusiast, and World Airline Historical Society member, contacted me one day and told me that he had heard that Davis’ grave was in a small town cemetery in “downstate” Illinois.  He said, “Let’s go look for him!”

I’m always up for a trip like this, so I coincided it with a visit to the TBM Avenger Reunion at Peru, IL (VYS) on May 16, 2021. My friend Pete and I flew our flying club’s Cessna Skyhawk there from Eagle Creek Air Park in Indianapolis, IN (EYE). Traveling with us was Jim, another aviation enthusiast friend.

We enjoyed the event for a couple of hours, and then Clarence drove us south in his car. He had heard Davis was buried in the town of Minonk, about 35 miles south. We had a nice lunch (broasted chicken!) before visiting the town’s two cemeteries. After much walking around, we had no luck finding Davis’ grave. We had been unsuccessful when we tried looking on findagrave.com.

Clarence remembered that one of his daughters had a subscription to ancestry.com, so he “phoned a friend” and learned that Davis’ gravesite was actually twelve miles further south, in the town of El Paso!  Off we went, and after a few minutes of walking the grounds of Evergreen Cemetery, we found his final resting place.  

Clarence and I said a few words in his memory and placed our business cards on his grave. I’m sure he would have appreciated that we found him.

Roy Davis is interred next to his wife, Iona Kingdon Davis, who was a stewardess for TWA. Her entry on findagrave.com has a wonderful picture of her in her uniform! Roy Davis was hired at TWA in 1942, served in the Air Transport Command in WWII, and returned to TWA after the war. He and Iona married in 1949.

Roy Davis’ gravesite. Photo by Phil Brooks.

I discovered that we would have found him on findagrave.com if we’d known his middle name was Spangler. After returning home, I posted a comment on his page, stating that my friends and I had visited his grave. I suggested his interesting story needed to be told, as there was just a basic entry. Not long after, I heard back from the person who had posted the data and photo. She told me that since I had an interest in Davis, I was now the administrator of his entry! I don’t know if Mr. Davis has any living relatives, but I am proud to have that responsibility.

Mr. Davis was a significant person in both airline history and in popular culture, thanks to a wonderful performance by actor George Kennedy. I hope others will visit his grave and pay their respects.

By Ellis M. Chernoff

Following rounds of flying the three SoonAir Lines Volpar Turboliners on contract schedules for Purolator Courier, Federal Express, and Emery Air Freight, I was to transition to the Swearingen SA-226TC Metroliner. Soonair operated three of these aircraft as well, with one early production Metroliner I that was converted from a corporate Merlin IV, a second early Metro I, and a single Metro II that had
previously operated in Alaska. The outward distinguishing characteristic of the Metro I vs. Metro II was the passenger cabin windows. Early Metro Is had round windows, while later versions and the Metro IIs had conventional airline-shaped windows. The early Metro I also had an electric nose steering system controlled with a tiller to the left of the captain’s seat. Later production changed to a hydraulic system controlled through the rudder pedals. More on that later.

As was the case with my Volpar training, my transition training was limited, consisting of a single two-hour flight in mid-January 1980. These planes were equipped with excellent radios and flight instruments, but no flight directors or autopilots. In fact, the entire Metro was more of a scaled-down airliner than a scaled-up general aviation light aircraft. The systems and structures were certainly air transport
grade, including pressurization, wet wing fuel tanks, de-ice and anti-ice systems, and the flight controls. However, with a maximum gross weight of 12,500 pounds, it was certified under FAR Part 23 and did not require a type rating.

The engines were similar to those installed on the Volpar, but were the more powerful TPE-331-303 of 840 shaft horsepower. Unlike later versions of the -331 line, these were rated as above at sea level and standard temperature of 59 degrees F. To achieve the rated power, the engines had to be advanced right up to the turbine temperature limit of 923 degrees Celsius at and above standard conditions. If it
were colder, the power limit was reached at a torque limit value; I don’t recall the exact number but it was around 2,200.

My short training flight was uneventful, with the exception that I noted something strange about the engines on the Metro II. With fuel flow and ITT temperatures matched on the two engines, the torque reading on one engine was much lower than the other, requiring me to adjust the rudder trim as the thrust/power was not matched. However, if I matched the torque indications, I could center the trim, but
the other parameters were uneven. I brought this to the attention of the chief pilot, who was conducting my training. He answered that this plane had been this way since they received it after it had been in an accident in Alaska. Since the offending engine only had seven hours at the time they got it, SoonAir chalked it up to an indication error. I didn’t see it that way.

In fact, an FAA inspector was aboard the following day for my checkride.  Once we were established in cruise condition, he got into a heated discussion with the chief pilot while I just flew the plane and stayed out of the argument. Of course, aerodynamics don’t lie, and since the airplane was in trim when the torques matched, clearly there was something amiss with an engine and not just an indication. The FAA inspector terminated the ride, ordering us to land at the nearest airport and let him off. He called his wife to pick him up, and my chief pilot got back on board the aircraft and closed the door. “We will finish the checkride and I will sign you off,” was the answer to my question.

I finally got out on the line with the chief pilot flying a revenue trip. Approaching the first stop, the Tower reported the runways closed with snow removal in progress. My right-hand man was working the radio communications and insisted we could not wait a significant time for them to finish. So what was negotiated was that the equipment would clear the runway and I would land on the cleared portion, which was not in the center of the runway. 

All of my Soonair Lines Metroliner flying would be on two routes for Purolator Courier with nightly hub operations at Port Columbus, Ohio (CMH). Operating this type of plane was great since it could carry plenty of fuel and cargo, and was pressurized and heated. The ice protection systems were certified for flight into known icing as well. The engines were reliable, but the only concern was getting them started.  The Garrett is a single-shaft design that has an automatic start sequence. A great deal of electrical power is required to get the thing started, and trying to do that on internal battery power alone is dicey, especially in cold conditions. A ground power unit was essential.

On more than one occasion at an intermediate stop, the local operator could not get their ground power unit to start, so I had to keep an engine running while the cargo was off or on loaded. This had to be anticipated as they would not fuel the plane with the engine running.

Other cold-weather experiences included not being able to get the propeller blades on the start locks during shutdown. They must have frozen in the release condition during flight. So when the engine shut down, the blades went to feather. It is not possible to start this type of engine with the propeller in feather. The normal remedy is to use a device (we carried one) to manually twist the blades back to the proper flat angle, and the locks should engage. We tried it and they didn’t move. After conferring with the boss by telephone, I came up with a novel idea: I would use the manual unfeathering pump to return the prop to the start angle, and while there, would initiate the start. This had to be done before the oil tank was depleted. It took all four hands in the cockpit, but I pulled it off.

On another occasion, I made an intermediate stop in Olathe, Kansas, in a blizzard. During the crosswind landing, the snow was blowing across the runway from right to left, creating a strange visual apparition. But the landing and taxi to the ramp were uneventful. However, while I was inside on the telephone to get weather updates, my first officer came in telling me that the engines had seized. In just the few minutes since the engines were shut down, snow had blown into the inlet, melted, and then froze inside.  It looked like an old freezer that had not been defrosted in months!  The flight cancelled and we were stuck there until the next afternoon. Lesson learned: always cover the engine inlets.

A few months had gone by, and Soonair, on advice of a consulting firm, reconfigured one of the remaining Metros back to passenger configuration and was setting up to launch scheduled passenger service between Tulsa and Dallas Love Field.  One day, I was called into the office of the Director of Operations. I had guessed they would want me to operate the passenger flights since I already had plenty of that type of service. But no, I was instead informed that due to recent first officer upgrades, I could either be laid off or accept rehire as a first officer. What a shock, especially since I had raised this issue during my initial interview and was assured that this would not occur. So now, with no notice, my choice was half pay or no pay.

A couple of days later, I would head out in the right seat with a newly minted captain who had previously been my co-pilot. Adding insult to injury, I was expected to supervise him and give him training and operational experience. As a professional, I would do this, but I informed my new captain that he would get to fly all of the legs, not only to find out what it’s like to be in charge, but to experience the fatigue and conditions he could expect flying with less experienced co-pilots. On a minimums approach into St Louis in the middle of the night, he nearly landed on the grass when he looked up from the instruments, tensed up, and ruddered the plane away from the runway. I grabbed the controls and got things back in order.

Another one of these new captains made a poor choice when faced with in-flight icing and strong headwinds. He thought he could descend out of the icing and get less headwind rather than climbing out of the clouds. The result of this error had us at 3000 feet using full power and barely maintaining flying speed. The de-icing systems could not cope with the very heavy ice we were accumulating. Were it not for flying out of the clouds into clear air, we would have ended up a wreck out in some field.

One day, one of the pilots now flying the Volpar into Portland, Maine, encountered the same FAA inspector who tried to intimidate me. However, this time the inspector succeeded, and the captain called the Director of Operations to say that he could not operate the next scheduled departure on threat of losing his pilot certificate. The D.O. told him it was nonsense; his job is to fly. Faced with two ultimatums, this pilot resigned, and all of the other pilots at Soonair, including me, supported him through mass resignation. 

It was time to pack up and move again.

By Ellis M. Chernoff

With a newly added Flight Engineer-Turbojet certificate in my wallet, I again set out with an updated resume and submitted applications to all of the airlines. But my expectations of getting a seat in the cockpit of an airline were dashed following the crash of an American Airlines DC-10 at Chicago in 1979. I returned to California to scour the pages of “Trade-A-Plane” and other sources for potential pilot employment information. Meanwhile, local efforts to gain a position with the three airlines based at LAX (Western Airlines, Continental Airlines, and Flying Tiger Lines) did not amount to anything. Neither did my attempt to get an entry-level position with Golden West Airlines or Sun Aire Lines. Golden West required pilots to go to Toronto and buy training at the factory for the DHC-6 Twin Otter. Sun Aire had no openings; even if they did, I wasn’t competitive. They required currency in the Swearingen Metroliner just to be considered.

Finally, I spotted a “pilot wanted” listing for an operator in Tulsa, Oklahoma. After a quick phone call, I bought an airline ticket and went for an interview with the Director of Operations. He was impressed with my experience. He was offering a captain position, which would entail two weeks flying plus a week of flight following duties each month for a salary. Soonair Lines operated six turboprop airplanes: three Volpar Turboliners and three SA-226TC Metroliners on cargo contracts with Purolator Courier, Federal Express, and Emery Air Freight.

I was a bit concerned about one issue: as I was being hired as a captain, what would happen when the existing first officers gained sufficient time to upgrade? I was assured that my position would always be captain. With that, I returned home to once again pack my car and drive to Tulsa.

While getting oriented with new company manuals and employment details, I quickly set up an apartment and other necessities of starting a new job. One other new captain had also been hired, and the two of us met with the chief pilot one night to get checked out in the Volpar.

In the mid-1960s, there weren’t many commuter or regional aircraft types. Mainly for the Allegheny system, the Volpar Company at Van Nuys Airport took surplus Beech 18/C-45 airframes, added some wing area, stretched the fuselage, added their STC nose gear package, and replaced the P&W R-985 piston radial engines with Garrett TPE-331 turboprops. These engines increased the power from 450 to 620hp each while also reducing frontal drag. As an early commuter passenger plane, it offered 12-15 seats. Increased speed and payload were added benefits. As the Volpars were replaced with Beech 99 aircraft, they were stripped of passenger fittings and converted to freighters.

During the single night of flight training, we did all of the usual maneuvers with the added test of full takeoffs under the hood (zero-zero). However, since the other pilot went first, only he got to actually start the engines. But my FAR 135 proficiency check was complete with an authorization for reduced minimums.

My first line flight would occur on November 2, 1979, with a positioning flight from Tulsa to Little Rock Adams Field. The boss came out to make sure that I could get the engines started! This would also be the last time I would ever operate an airplane “solo,” although there would be times when I might as well have been alone.

Those familiar with the Garrett turboprop probably think of the latest versions that have all sorts of automatic features. The Volpar had the earliest version, TPE-331-101, which was not flat-rated nor did it have any automatic limiters. The only automatic feature was the start sequence. The Turboliner did not have nose wheel steering but was very easy to handle on the ground by deft use of the propellers. Engines are started with the propellers in flat pitch, and the power levers move forward to go forward, and aft to produce BETA, or negative thrust to slow or help with turns.

It was a real rocket ship, but exceptionally loud in the cockpit. That nose was like an aluminum bullhorn amplifying the prop noise to the cockpit. Temperature control was a challenge, too. As the season was already autumn, only heat was needed, but the original heat distribution plumbing had been removed.  Two needle valve knobs opened raw hot bleed air to respective pilot floor outlets. Your socks could be melting while your thighs were freezing.

The Purolator runs were from Little Rock non-stop to Columbus, Ohio, where the sort occurred. Offload and loading crews handled the cargo there, but the pilots and copilots had to do the work at the out stations. The return flight was from Columbus to Memphis, TN, continuing back to Little Rock with arrival around dawn.

The Volpar Turboliner had good space for bulk cargo. Loading was facilitated with a large door on the left rear of the cabin. A tail stand was attached to the tail tie-down fitting, and as long as it hung above the pavement, without touching the surface, the load would be within balance limits. Pilots entered the cockpit via a pilot door, but the flaps had to be fully down for a step to access the wing to allow pilot entry.

Following days off and flight following duty in my apartment in Tulsa, I was given an airline ticket to Boston.  Before I departed, I had a meeting with the director of operations (D.O.).  He informed me that my plane would park and layover during the day in front of the FAA office at the Portland, Maine airport (PWM). I could expect an FAA inspector to meet me and challenge the airworthiness of our aircraft. I said that didn’t worry me; I had a lot of experience with the FAA. The D.O. had been impressed by not only my professionalism, but he could tell that I was not easily intimidated.

So it was that I took the Soonair Volpar, full of Federal Express packages, from Boston to Portland on the morning of December 1 and was met by the FAA on the ramp as soon as I arrived. As expected, he demanded the aircraft logs and challenged the airworthiness of the airplane, with specific attention to the de-icer boots. My reply to him was that as pilot in command, it’s my responsibility to determine that the plane was airworthy and legal to fly and that I was not a suicidal maniac. Perhaps the plane looks like an obsolete junker, but everything functions. I never saw that inspector again.

Operating flights for Federal Express was a bit different than for Purolator. One of the essential duties was to phone in a flight closeout ASAP after each flight. Federal Express had established times for every flight that included block out, takeoff, landing, and block in. So, I phoned in my first report after arriving in Portland a few minutes early.

“What was your delay, Captain Chernoff?” 

“Huh?”

“Your delay, sir. You blocked out three minutes late.”

“But I arrived early,” I said.

“Why did you block out three minutes late and take off 1 minute late?” 

From then on, I understood how the “Purple Air Force” worked.  It would serve me well years later.

The Portland run was simply to fly PWM-BOS and then spend the entire night in the FBO at Boston. When the big purple plane returned from Memphis, the cargo would be transloaded and we would fly back to PWM, where the company provided one motel room for day use for the two of us pilots. The glory of building turbine time 45 minutes at a time.

By Ellis M. Chernoff

Everyone remembers their first kiss, first date, and other special occasions. For most World Airline Historical Society members, we recall our first flight in an airplane. And so it is for me. In 1960, when I was seven years old, my parents planned a week of summer vacation on Catalina Island off the coast of Southern California. At that time, you could either take the SS Catalina ship or you could fly on an amphibious Grumman Goose seaplane.

It was eventually our turn. I seem to recall that my father got the co-pilot seat, my mother and younger brother (he was a babe-in-arms) sat in the next row, and I was closer to the rear.  Passengers’ baggage was loaded into the nose, as well as into another compartment behind the passengers. 

Finally, the door was closed, engines started, and we waddled out to the runway. This was all so exciting! Soon, with lots of noise, we took off and headed south. I loved the view of not only what was below, but also the view of the wing and pontoon. That pontoon was supported by struts and cables. 

The entire flight was only about 15 minutes. When we reached Catalina, I watched the wing flaps extend as we descended to the water. I was somewhat shocked at the sound of the water on the keel as we gently skimmed the surface of the ocean. Settling onto the water after a few skips on wavetops, my view was completely obscured by water, just like riding in a car through a car wash! But within moments, that all cleared, and we water-taxied to the dock. 

I was mesmerized by not only how blue and clear the water near the island was, but also by the dual wakes of the Grumman’s hull and the pontoon. When the Goose alights in the water, it’s with one pontoon in and the other out of the water. In fact, the pilots plan the fuel balance so that arriving at the dock, the left pontoon will be up and out of the water so it can pass over the floating dock. The dock boys quickly lashed the plane (as you would a boat) so the passengers could deplane, and the baggage was unloaded onto a cart.

From the water level ramp, you proceeded up some inclines toward the end of the pier and the Avalon Air Transport ticket booth to retrieve your luggage before heading on to your hotel. That one quick flight had me hooked!

While the week was full of beach time, glass bottom boat and flying fish tours, food and salt water taffy made before your eyes, my main fascination remained with the activities of the seaplanes arriving and departing.

In addition to the Gooses, Avalon Air Transport also operated a single Sikorsky VS-44A flying boat. That plane was the sole survivor of only three built. It was brought to California from the Amazon in 1957 by Dick Probert, the airline’s owner. With a high wing and four engines, it was a grand flying boat reminiscent of the Golden Age. Watching it come and go was even more exciting than the little Gooses.  The big Sikorsky was fondly nicknamed “Mother Goose,” but she was a true seaplane. To ride on her, you had to drive down to Long Beach Harbor, which we did not choose to do..

The return flight at the end of the week was even more thrilling than my first ride!  However, being the smallest passenger (in my own seat), I had to wait until everyone else had boarded. Getting into the Goose from the floating dock was a bit tricky for a landlubber. The dock and the plane both bobbed in the swells. There was a step inside the hatch at the left rear, and once everyone was boarded, the seat back was raised, and I could sit down there and fasten my seat belt as the hatch was closed. It wasn’t unusual for a little water to come through the gaps.

As the engines started and we cast off from the dock, I again enjoyed the view of the water and the wake. As soon as the captain applied takeoff power, I could again see nothing but water out my window. It was a combination of being in a car wash and a submarine. I could both feel and hear the slapping of the water on the hull even over the din of the Pratt & Whitney R-985 engines. But all was instantly smooth as we rose into the air and headed back to Long Beach Airport.

Just 15 minutes later, we made a smooth landing and waddled to the ramp. I was first off and marveled at the plane on the ramp. The next summer, our family would take another trip to Catalina with some added experiences. I could hardly wait!

With this trip, my love and fascination with Grumman amphibious airplanes had begun. It’s a love that has lasted throughout my life.

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If you’re interested in learning more, about the Grumman Goose, check out Grumman G-21 Goose (June 2021) in The Captain’s Log and this YouTube posted by Ken Butz with excellent footage of a Goose flight from Long Beach to Catalina.

By Ellis M. Chernoff

Like all of my peers flying for small commuter airlines, we aspired to fly the big jets. Since about 1964, nearly all of the major U.S. airlines were flying fleets of the Boeing trijet. Serving as a second officer, or Flight Engineer, was the usual entry level for new hires. Very few airlines were hiring new pilots in the mid-1970s. To be competitive, at a minimum, an applicant must have passed the FAA Flight Engineer-Turbojet written exam. This exam was based on the Boeing 727 systems, limitations, and procedures. To be truly a standout applicant, a pilot needed to have the full FAA certificate. The airlines took advantage of the glut of potential applicants and expected pilots to purchase their own training rather than have the airline provide it upon employment.

Countless books and articles have been written on the history and characteristics of the classic Boeing. I need not repeat it here other than to say that I rode on my first one, a Northeast Airlines B727-95 from Montreal to Boston in 1967. My first jumpseat ride was on a United B727-22 from Charlotte on a multistop flight to Los Angeles in 1977.

Like most people, I prepared for the written exam with a study guide and attending a quickie weekend ground school. Only the very basics were explained, and many test question answers were pure rote memory.

By 1979, the airlines were finally hiring aggressively, and there was a rush to complete the full training and receive the certificate to land that coveted airline job. Since the course would be several weeks, it would not be possible to complete it on a vacation, so it was necessary to resign from one’s current employer. That came with the consolation that one’s dream airline job could be just weeks away!

So it was that I left Air Carolina and their fleet of Pipers and enrolled at Flight International in Atlanta. They operated a full school with classroom instruction, a cockpit procedures trainer (CPT), and a fully functional simulator based on the Delta Air Lines Boeing 727-232A version cockpit. It was a non-motion and non-visual simulator strictly for training flight engineers.

The classroom systems instructor really knew the plane, having retired from Pan Am on their Boeing 727s. The handouts and system boards were excellent for preparing for procedure practice in the CPT. This also built toward the required FAA oral examination. Finally, pairs of students were assigned to a “flight instructor” to learn to operate the systems in the normal, abnormal, and emergency procedures. I learned to know what every switch and gauge did and how to identify the results of every action.

Some procedures, such as Hydraulic Leak/Loss and Electrical Fire of Unknown Origin, were drilled again and again so the student flight engineer could isolate a fault in a system and restore as many functions as possible. Real system knowledge stuff. Strut overheat and Lower Aft Body Overheat were other classics drilled again and again.

Each student was scheduled for their closed-door oral exam with the FAA. This spread much anxiety as many guys did not pass or spent many hours being grilled and barely getting a pass. Not to brag, but when my turn came, the inspector gave me a performance problem first and then began the questions. In about 20 minutes, he asked a question I had never encountered before. He said, “I know they didn’t give this to you, but how do you think it works?” Before I could even answer, he told me I had the oral in the bag. I postulated an answer to his technical question, which was correct. We chatted for a few more minutes so it would not appear to the next guy that I had finished so quickly.

Since the simulator did not “fly”, it was necessary to do one more thing to finish up the exams. A Federal Express B727-22QC was rented in Memphis and six of us would go there and get 20 minutes each in the seat. Before the flight, we would receive a “differences“ training class and a walk-around preflight on the ramp. I would start an engine, run the after-start and before-takeoff procedures and checklists, the
pilots would fly once around the pattern, and after landing, I would restart the APU and do the after-landing procedures through an engine shutdown. The cost of this little ride worked out to $920.00 of the total tuition.

With another temporary FAA Airman certificate in hand, I could again start the process of applying to the airlines and hopefully land an airline job and start that long-planned for dream airline career. But that would not be how it turned out.

On May 25, 1979, American Airlines 191, a DC-10, took off from Chicago. The #1 engine detached from the wing, resulting in loss of control and a crash. All 271 occupants on board were killed on impact, along with two people on the ground. It remains the deadliest aviation accident to have occurred in the United States. The FAA subsequently grounded all DC-10s in service, resulting in nearly all airlines cancelling hiring and new hire training classes.

For now, my Flight Engineer-Turbojet certificate was useless paper in my wallet. Having given up my prior employment, I returned to my parents’ house and began again to look for any flying job I could get. Hopefully, I would get something where I could log turbine time. I already had plenty of PIC and Multiengine time. It seemed every interviewer would talk about what I didn’t have and not give me much credit for the experience and potential I did have.

For now, my Boeing 727 materials and knowledge would be stored away for another nine years.

Stand by for Round Two.

Air Carolina, Part 3

By Ellis M. Chernoff

Photo credit as noted.

Flying the line for Air Carolina was a full-time job. For our salary, we were expected to cover scheduled flights six days per week and at least three round-trips per shift. Flying extra flights and a seventh day were not uncommon, but, did get pilots some extra pay. My preferred shift was the afternoon, giving me the morning to get personal stuff done. I also enjoyed night flying. When flying the Piper Navajos and Chieftains at night, you could see the glow of the exhaust system through a cowling grill. You could almost tell the fuel mixture and exhaust temperature by observing the brightness of the glowing pipes.

I also enjoyed hanging out with the night maintenance crew after I completed the last flight of the night and locked up the small airline terminal. With my prior experience working on general aviation planes and engines, I spoke the language of the technicians, and they enjoyed my company and insight into their work.

In addition to the fleet previously described, we also acquired an early production Britten-Norman BN-2A Islander. This plane had the same pilot plus nine passenger seat capacity as the Chieftain, but instead of two 350 HP engines, it had two 260 HP Lycomings like the Cherokee Six did.  A fat wing gave it plenty of lift, but it had fixed landing gear and was not much faster than the Cherokee. It was also cramped and loud, and did not have air conditioning. Waiting for takeoff clearance one hot summer afternoon, a lady in the back called out, “Hey Mister Pilot, turn on the air conditioning!”  She thought I was being cheap and not running it. I replied the plane didn’t have air conditioning, and she should be able to see that I was soaked in sweat just like everyone else. The Islander was generally on the Hickory-Charlotte run, so I only flew it occasionally.

We also acquired a late-model PA-34RT-300 Lance II. It was brand new on lease and had six very plush seats. Its handling characteristics were a bit strange compared to a Cherokee Six or older Lance models due to its “T-tail” configuration. Takeoffs were particularly tricky.

In 1978, I was tasked to be a charter manager in addition to my line flying duties. I would take phone calls and quote and schedule on-demand charters. Most of these flights were within the Carolinas and occasionally to Atlanta Hartsfield Airport. We had one pilot whose job was to fly these flights, which were often spur-of-the-moment affairs.

One day in October 1978, I was called in before my regular afternoon/evening runs to fly an extra section to Charlotte. For this flight, I drew the T-tailed Lance. After shutting down the engine in Charlotte, I would normally deplane the passengers and transfer their baggage to the connecting airline. Instead, I was met by a pilot who said a phone call had come in that the plane was needed back in Florence ASAP for a charter. So I flew the empty plane back to Florence as possible. 

Arriving back at home base, the boss jumped up and opened the door and said, “How would you like to make a quick hundred bucks?  We can’t find the charter pilot, and we already told the customer the plane was on the way to pick up cargo in Henderson.” While this was going on, the mechanics were removing the seats in the rear of the plane. I was told the cargo was going to Owasso, Michigan.  Charts were being brought to me and I had no time to plan anything. I fired up and took off toward Henderson, and arriving there, the cargo was waiting. “What took so long? What time will you get to Owasso?” While I started off in the direction of the destination, I had to figure out the routing while flying. And the weather was deteriorating, so changing from VFR to IFR was necessary.

Landing in Owasso, I was again greeted with “What took so long?  Here’s your return load, and when will you land in Henderson?” By now it was dark with hours remaining to fly. Again, I had to fly through a weather front with clouds and rain. At around 10:30pm, I broke out to clear skies with partial moonlight.  The aircraft, still with less than 300 hours total time, was running perfectly.

Over West Virginia, I left radar services with ATC and was now in the airspace of Pulaski Airport and their control tower. Still operating under Instrument Flight Rules, I made a position report a few minutes past 11pm. Suddenly, the noisy fan up front went to a whisper. It only took seconds for me to realize that there were no indications on the instruments of engine trouble, and I had not done anything to cause the engine to suddenly quit. Of course, there are emergency procedures to perform and get the airplane to a stable glide.

Slowing to the prescribed glide speed, the automatic extension system for the landing gear activated, greatly increasing my descent rate. Piper provided an emergency override that I used to get the landing gear back in the retracted position. I had been cruising at 7000 feet, and by now I had declared an emergency with Pulaski approach control. They seemed stunned to hear my call and cleared me to 6000 feet, the lowest altitude they could assign given the Appalachian Mountains below me. My reply was “That’s nice, I’m out of 5 and a half.” I couldn’t maintain any altitude and was sure death was only a few minutes away.

When I did get quite low to the ground, I spotted an open farm field. I had continued in vain to restore power from the engine. I turned on the landing light and set the plane down on its belly. But I did slide beyond the barbed wire fence and through some trees, stopping just short of a steep hill leading down to a creek. The strobe lights were still flashing and I could still hear static in the headset. But there was also a strong smell of gasoline as three of the four fuel tanks had ruptured. While I felt no pain, I had a bloody open cut on my chin from the broken windscreen.

I got out and assessed my situation. As there was no fire, I went looking for the first aid kit that should have been in the cabin. It had been removed along with the seats that afternoon in Florence. My Boy Scout training told me not to wander off, but to stay with the wreck; I hunkered down for the night, expecting to be rescued sometime soon.

Without going into detail, many people dropped the ball that night and as a result, no rescue effort was underway. In fact, everyone except me had a full night’s sleep. Even the control tower staff filled out their paperwork, closed up shop, and went home. I had filed FAA flight plans with emergency contact information, but no one thought to look for that when I went down after declaring the emergency.

Things were better for me the next morning. I was taken to a local hospital. I had a phone conversation with my employer and they said they were sending a plane to get me. The FAA and NTSB sent investigators to the crash site, and I also went to the site to assist in my own accident investigation. The following day, I was given a hero’s welcome and all of my fellow pilots expressed the thought that I was probably the only one among them who could have survived a night forced landing in the mountains.

The technical investigation did not reveal the exact cause of the engine failure. But off the record, the NTSB investigator did admit there had been other occurrences on this aircraft type with the particular ignition system that was unique for a single-engine type. More disturbing was that had I been killed, they would have ruled it was pilot mismanagement of the fuel. That would have been totally false. Since there were no fatalities, no official cause was determined, and my crash became merely a hull loss statistic. The insurance company replaced the airplane for the owner with a used one and a check for the difference in value. He was happy.

Other adventures occurred during my two years with Air Carolina, but I will close out this retelling. By mid-1979, the major airlines were hiring again. Since they had not done so for quite some time, a cottage industry had developed where pilots seeking airline jobs would have to purchase their own training for a flight engineer certificate. Most airlines at that time operated the Boeing 727 with the flight engineer written exam based on that type. To be competitive, a prospect needed to not only to pass the flight engineer written exam, but also to complete the entire training course and pass the FAA check-ride in that crew position. Most of the pilots senior to me had left to pursue that path, and ultimately, I did the same.

Air Carolina, Part 2

By Ellis M. Chernoff

All Photos by the Author

Air Carolina, along with a number of other “Commuter Airlines”, entered into marketing agreements with major trunk air carriers. While some adopted the branding of the major, such as Allegheny, others retained their independent identity. Air Carolina offered ticketing and baggage on connections with all of the carriers operating at Charlotte Douglas Airport (CLT), but the closest relationship was with Eastern Airlines. Over ninety percent of Air Carolina’s passengers would be making connections with Eastern.

At the time, Eastern operated five banks of flights to and from major cities from a regional hub at CLT.  Oddly enough, these arrival and departure times dictated the published schedules of Air Carolina flights from Florence, S.C., and Hickory, N.C. The minimum connection times for a published connecting flight was 30 minutes. Therefore, the Air Carolina flight must be scheduled to arrive 30 minutes before the first departing Eastern Airlines flight. Likewise, the Air Carolina departure from CLT had to allow for 30 minutes after the last arrival of the Eastern flights. As a result, the published flight times had nothing to do with the actual flying time between the outstations and Charlotte!

At the time I worked there, the Air Carolina fleet consisted of PA-31-350 Chieftains, PA-31-310 Navajos, a PA-23-250 Aztec F, a PA-34-200 Seneca I, PA-32-260 Cherokee Six’s, a PA-28R-200 Arrow, and a PA-28-180 Warrior. Later a BN-2A Islander was added. 

There was no internet back in the 1970s, so telephones were used in the reservation department.  Reservations for each flight were handwritten on pages in 3-ring binders. The “reservation center” consisted of a small room in the hangar with a large glass window that looked like a fishbowl. We had four ladies who took the calls and booked the seats in the binders located on a lazy susan. Usually, two or three reservations agents were on duty at any given time.

The agents could book 21 confirmed seats on the five daily departures and return flights from Florence.  I recall the planes had a capacity of between three and nine passengers, depending upon the type. For each flight, there would be a lead pilot, several backup pilots standing by, and a mix of available planes.  The lead pilot would have to determine which plane, or planes, would be used depending upon the reservations in each direction and the passengers who would show up.  If a full twenty-one passengers were expected out of Florence, the first plane to be loaded and dispatched would hold the fewest number of seats and be the slowest. The Piper Warrior might go, followed by two Chieftains. If only 10 passengers were booked in both directions, two five-seat planes or one eight-seater plus a three-seater might go.

All of this made an appearance of a flying circus to the uninitiated passenger. Not only did each of the pilots need to be qualified and capable of flying any plane in the fleet, but they also had to load and unload the baggage and passengers personally. All flights were flown single-pilot, and the FAR 135 rules dictated duty and rest hours as well as weather criteria en route and at the destination, that was more restrictive than the general FAR 91 rules. There were times when no passengers could be carried, due to the weather, but the flights would position for the next scheduled leg. Hopefully, the weather would improve to allow a revenue flight.

Gate agents were only employed at Florence and Hickory. In Charlotte, the pilots manned the ticket counter, selling and pulling tickets, tagging baggage or receiving interline transfer bags, making PA announcements, and escorting the passengers to the plane. Again, for the initiated, seeing the “ticket agent” jumping into the pilot seat must have been a surprise. The Charlotte counter also had a telephone, but it was locked up and unmanned between flights. The company also maintained a P.O. Box at the Charlotte airport.

Flights were generally operated under Visual Flight Rules (VFR). At the time, neither Florence nor Hickory had radar for their approach control.  En route, ATC did not have radar coverage below about 7,000 feet.  While an Instrument Flight Rules (IFR) operation was allowable, it could result in more than doubling the block-to-block time and result in many passengers missing their connecting flights. Therefore, instrument clearances were only obtained when necessary. During many months, thunderstorms prevailed in the Carolinas, and a great deal of experience and expertise was gained visually dodging showers and severe conditions. Only a few of the planes had weather radar. We learned to correlate the radar displayed conditions with what we could observe out of the windscreen. This valuable experience would stand me in good stead throughout my future career. One time, I flew a load of passengers through a hundred miles of tornado warning safely and didn’t even know about the severe weather alert.

During my time at Air Carolina, I endeavored to improve several aspects of the operation. As I described the weight and balance process in Part 1, I considered this totally bogus. This, combined with the standard fuel loading in practice with what I arrived at, resulted in nearly every flight departing significantly overloaded. To reduce the exposure to overloading, I examined the actual fuel consumption and requirements to reduce the fuel burden when conditions were favorable to operating with minimum fuel.  In addition, I produced a series of standard passenger and baggage loading schedules for each individual plane in the fleet.

Another technical aspect that I addressed was engine operation. In aviation, a long-standing practice was for someone to “check you out” in an unfamiliar type. This type of training could result in “rules of thumb” and “procedures” that differed from what was specified by the engine and airplane manufacturer. I obtained my own set of manuals and other documents from the sources and found many of the power settings being used were incorrect. Correct and precise operation of advanced engines, such as the Lycoming TIO-J2BD in the Chieftain, was necessary not only to achieve optimum fuel economy but also service life of the components.

Many owners and operators of these engines, even today, think the way they operate them is more conservative. In truth, running them too rich and too cool can have a detrimental effect on the turbochargers and associated components. Having all of our pilots operate the engines exactly the same way, and as prescribed by Lycoming, resulted in excellent reliability. I could tell just by observing the color of the exhaust pipe if the engine was being operated correctly. The spark plugs rarely fouled, and we had no misbehaving engines.

Previously, I mentioned the ticket counter at the Charlotte airport. Ours was a small counter situated with those of Piedmont, Southern, United, and Delta. Once, a customer approached me at the counter and asked, “When is your flight from Frankfurt arriving?”  I said, “We only fly to Florence and Hickory.”  No flights were arriving at this airport from Europe. This was an example of one of the many times we were perceived as the central information counter. It was amusing as Air Carolina and Wheeler Airlines were two tiny local commuter lines.

On another occasion, I had a couple of customers in line purchasing tickets. A third gentleman was in line, and when it was his turn to be served, he started by grabbing me by my necktie and accusing me of being rude to him. He left the counter in a huff and went to Avis to rent a car instead of taking our flight.  He filed a complaint with my employer and I was called on the carpet to answer. What we concluded was the man’s company had sent him on this trip and booked him with the connection from an Eastern flight. There was no way he wanted to ride on a small plane with a young single pilot.  By making a scene and complaining, he could justify the expense of the rental car to his employer.

Stay tuned for Part 3, Flying the line for Air Carolina.

Air Carolina Part 1

By Ellis M. Chernoff

All Photos by the Author

The year is 1977. It was the year following my graduation from Embry-Riddle Aeronautical University (ERAU). I had returned to California and resumed flight instructing while applying to every airline in the country. During the summer, I bought a bunch of airline tickets and, wearing a nice navy-blue suit, visited the offices of a half-dozen airlines attempting to get my foot in the door. I had a four-year degree, my FAA certificates, and log books full of plenty of hours. Yet, my long-sought goal was not realized. I returned home disappointed that every employer wanted what I didn’t have and didn’t value what I had or my potential.

In September, I received a phone call from one of my fellow university students. Telling him about my recent travels and efforts to get an airline job, he asked, “Do you want a job?” Like a line of ERAU students before us, Lou was flying for a very small commuter airline based in Florence, South Carolina. I couldn’t be choosy at this point and said that I’ll be there as soon as I can drive across country.

I arrived in Florence tired and grubby and was enthusiastically greeted by the executives and staff. Air Carolina was a Piper Aircraft dealer, flight school, and ran a scheduled commuter airline. They also flew on-demand charter, along with a contract with the military. In fact, I was hired to captain a Navajo Chieftain that was in Ohio, operating flights for the US Air Force mainly between Wright-Patterson AFB and Dobbins AFB in Georgia. The passengers were commuting in support of a major modification of the C-5A Galaxy fleet.

Before I could assume my duties on the Chieftan, I had to be trained and certified by Air Carolina on their FAR 135 certificate. I familiarized myself with the operations manual and operations specifications approved by the FAA. Of course, I also studied the manual of the Piper Navajo Chieftain, and I was invited to ride right seat on the scheduled airline flights if an open seat was available. My first opportunity to do this came the second evening with a captain whom I had known at the university. He walked me through the filing of the flight plan, servicing of fuel load, and preparation of the weight and balance form. The process was one I had never seen. It was a series of subtractions from the maximum gross weight of passenger and crew weights, fuel, and whatever was left was considered “baggage”. On paper, we would only carry 20 pounds of baggage, yet we would fill four baggage compartments to the brim. And passengers were all counted at 160 pounds, despite them obviously weighing more than that. This is all “FAA Approved”.

The same authority would allow the airline to train me in a Piper PA-34 Seneca, and that would qualify me to fly any of the Piper twin-engine models. I had obtained my multiengine rating in the Piper Apache, and the Seneca was much more modern and better equipped. Taking my first flight in that plane, something strange was evident. Upon establishing the engines in cruise power, I could only close one cowl flap while the other engine would overheat unless its cowl flap was left fully open. I asked the instructor/chief pilot about this, and he told me that it had been this way since they overhauled the engines.

The next day, my training flight was cancelled because the Seneca was in the hangar for its required 100-hour inspection and maintenance. I gave the plane a good looking over while the mechanics were working on it to be more familiar with its workings. Interestingly, I discovered that the cylinder temperature sensors were not correctly installed. I had worked on airplanes as an apprentice throughout my pilot training years under the supervision of licensed A&P mechanics. I had installed many overhauled engines on multiple types of general aviation planes.

I completed my Seneca checkout but was scheduled for my FAR 135 check-ride in a Piper Navajo B, which I had not yet flown. Again, I was offered a “fly along” the night before, and perhaps the pilot would let me fly a leg if the return had no revenue passengers. I joined Captain Craig in the right seat of N9192Y for the flight to Charlotte on a dark and rainy night. I noticed that he carried no navigation charts and he flew the route from memory.

After delivering our load of mail to the post office at the Charlotte Douglas Airport, we returned to the ramp and he offered me the left seat for the return flight. I started the engines, he worked the radio, and we taxied out for takeoff. I was directed to stop at an intersection of Runway 18. I questioned him about intersection takeoffs, and he responded that they always used that intersection. When I started the engine run-up procedure, he asked why I was doing that. I replied that I always perform a run-up after any engine shutdown.

Cleared for takeoff, we roared down the runway and I selected Landing Gear UP once airborne. Suddenly, the plane swerved to the right. Thinking a throttle had slipped back, I checked that all engine controls were still full forward and they were. About this time, Craig said, “I have it,” and he took control of the aircraft and immediately started a turn to the right. I asked, “What are you doing?” He replied, “Turning back”. At not much more than 150 feet in the air, I was looking through the right side window at the terminal building and the parking lot. Clearly, the right engine was not producing power, and the left engine was trying to flip us over. A turn into the dead engine is exactly what we are all trained to NEVER DO.

I’m looking at the flight instruments as we are in a right bank with speed and altitude decreasing. In this dangerous attitude, we penetrate the overcast and Craig returns the controls to me. Engine out and unusual attitude recovery. Certainly the truest test of my flying. Yes, I get things sorted out, and the Tower asks if we’re having difficulty. Craig says to me, “Look at that!” I asked, “Is it bad?” Of course it was, so I said, “Feather that engine,” which he did. But he didn’t tell the Tower that we had lost an engine, only telling the controller that we wanted to return to the airport. They asked, “What approach would you like?” and Craig looked at me. I replied, “What’s the weather?” The answer only gave the choice for an ILS to Runway 5. The Captain had not brought any charts, so I directed him to set up the radios while I continued to fly.

The approach to Runway 5 was to minimums and I made the single-engine landing. But while taxiing back to the ramp, Craig tried to un-feather the propeller. He didn’t want anyone to see it!

The following day back in Florence, I got a hero’s welcome, but I still had to take the scheduled check-ride. I mentioned that surely my performance the night before, with a real engine failure and single-engine instrument approach to minimums, should suffice to prove my competence. “Did you do a missed approach?” Of course not, so I still had to perform the check-ride.

This was my introduction to big-time airline flying. The next two years would include many more challenges and seasoning that changed me from a pleasure pilot into a professional.

In summary and in reference to the above episode, the Piper PA-31-310 Navajo B is an 8-place executive twin equipped with Lycoming TIO-540 A1A engines that produce 310 hp. The four aircraft of this type in the Air Carolina fleet all had 2-blade propellers. While everyone at Air Carolina assumed the engine that failed on my flight was a high-time engine, in truth, it had recently been overhauled. A piston pin failed and allowed its associated connecting rod to flail in the engine case and punch a hole the size of one’s fist through the top of the case. This resulted in the loss of all of that engine’s oil; the propeller actually feathered itself as a consequence of the oil pressure loss.

Stay tuned for Early Codeshare, Air Carolina Part 2.

By Phil Brooks

As a lifelong resident of Indianapolis, IN, and a volunteer IND Airport Ambassador, when the announcement was made that Aer Lingus would start service on May 3, 2025, between Dublin, Ireland (DUB), and Indianapolis, I knew I had to be on the first flight! Because of my work schedule, and the flight loads, I chose the westbound inaugural flight.

Using my benefits as an airline employee, I positioned myself on my own airline to Dublin, arriving on May 2, where I enjoyed a day in this wonderful city, full of friendly people. This was my first time logging DUB airport.

My overnight stay was at the Carlton Hotel, on the southeast corner of the airport. They have a restaurant on the top floor overlooking the airport, so it was a natural choice!

On May 3, I was traveling on an Industry Discount ticket, so was directed to a staff check-in desk in Terminal 2, where I was presented with a boarding pass and seat assignment. I knew the flight was wide open, but it’s always nice to have that in my hand early. As I was leaving the area, I saw a young lady wearing an Indiana Pacers hat – of course, she was also on the inaugural flight!   

I tried using my Priority Pass card to get into the “Liffey Lounge”, but was turned away, as it was full. It was just as well, as I needed to proceed with the formalities.

DUB has U.S. Customs and Border Patrol pre-clearance, which is a great selling point for this flight, as it arrives in the U.S. as a domestic flight.  Unfortunately, I was directed to the wrong queue, and waited for 15 minutes when I shouldn’t have had to wait, as a U.S. citizen.   

EI83 DUB-IND A321neo XLR EI-XLT Seat 16F

The gate area was being prepared for the inaugural ceremonies when I arrived, and I spent the two hours before departure meeting airport and Aer Lingus personnel, and participating in the event. Also, there were donuts!  

There was a display that passengers could stand in front of for photographs, so I took advantage of that. I made several contacts, including the airport’s Director, Business Development Vice President, and Aer Lingus Sales and Crew Members. This flight crew would have a two night layover in Indy, so the flight attendants were happy to hear my ideas on things to do! The service is four times weekly, and is subsidized in part by Indiana entities.

Several officials made short speeches, and there was a ceremonial ribbon cutting.

I had been assigned seat 10A, but wanted to change to an F seat to stay out of the sun for our Atlantic crossing. Unfortunately, skies were cloudy below us, during the overwater portion. The gate agent told me I could just change on board, since it was a light load (the flight was booked almost full on the return, another reason for me to not try THAT flight). When I boarded, the lead flight attendant, checking his manifest, suggested row 16, as it was empty on the D/E/F side. Perfect! The flight attendants came around to make sure nothing was on the seats for takeoff. I had never heard of or seen this restriction.

We departed 15 minutes early at 2:30pm, and took off 19 minutes later from RW28R. The passenger load was 16/16 and 91/168. 

During the climb out, the seat belt sign was turned off, so I visited the lavatory before inflight service started. In one of them, the unmounted soap dispenser had fallen into the toilet on takeoff, and one of the flight attendants had to fish it out of the bowl (wearing rubber gloves, of course). The glamour of being a flight attendant!

There are three lavatories in the aft of the aircraft; one on the aircraft’s left, and two against the rear bulkhead. One of them doubles as the back of a flight attendant jumpseat.  Gaining entrance, when the jumpseat is not occupied, requires turning a small doorknob which is not very obvious, and certainly not intuitive.

I enjoyed a Carlsberg Lager and crisps (Guinness was not available!), and then a mid-afternoon lunch (a Mexican beef and rice dish, which was spicy but good). There was a choice of beef, chicken or vegetarian entree. After reading an issue of “Airways” magazine (brought along, as it is required reading on airline flights!), I worked a bit on my laptop until fatigue (or the excitement?) finally overtook me. I didn’t take advantage of the video programming, but had music playing to help me sleep. I did enjoy the moving map display, as always.

I napped off and on for two hours, and then got productive again, typing up this and another trip report. A cold turkey sandwich (cheese was another option) was delivered two hours out from IND. It did the trick, but was unsurprisingly a little dry.  

Service was very good, and every Aer Lingus employee I met was extremely friendly.  

A few notes about the aircraft: The cabin was extremely quiet, so much that I could hear other conversations easily. One thing that disturbed the quiet was when passengers stowed their tray tables. The design of the seat compels the user to slam the tray against the seat back in order to lock it into place, which would be quite noticeable to the occupant in the seat in front. It’s not the type of tray table latch I am used to, which is silent.  Overhead bins are very large. This was my first time on the XLR. It’s always a treat when I log a new airplane type and a new airport on the same trip!

The Captain came on the PA about an hour out of Indianapolis, and a little late, gave us the route of flight. He (this was a two-man crew) thanked us for being on the inaugural flight to Indy. 

I have flown more than 7,000 flights and had previously logged only one other inaugural: ATA’s June 14, 1986, JFK-BQN (Borinquen, Puerto Rico) flight. I was an ATA Consumer Affairs employee and was thrilled to be on TZ61, operated by Lockheed L-1011 N187AT. I did the round trip, returning on TZ60.

Finally, about 30 minutes out, I “shut down” for the rest of the flight.  I needed to recover some energy for 90 minutes of “first arrival and first departure” activity at IND!

We landed on RW05R after a flight of 8:20, and blocked in at 6:16pm local time, four minutes early.  It was cloudy with occasional sprinkles of rain, but that didn’t dampen the celebration.
There was no water cannon salute by the airport’s fire department, but a truck was parked near the gate, for use for that purpose on the departure.  There were, however, many airport and airline employees on the ramp to welcome us!  

We parked at an international gate, A4, even though we were pre-cleared. This facilitated the ceremonies, at it is a large area, with no other activity at that time (other than a Southwest flight from Cancun, whose passengers did not enter the gate area, taking the escalator directly down to U.S. Customs and Immigration). They were probably shocked at the crowd they witnessed!

I let the passengers seated behind me deplane, as I wanted to get some photos of the interior without passengers in view. I finally deplaned, after thanking the crew, and was met in the gate area with applause! It wasn’t just for me, it was for all the arriving passengers, but I thought it was a nice touch. When Delta inaugurated their IND-Paris CDG service on May 24, 2018, the first flight’s aircraft ferried up from Atlanta, so there was no arrival ceremony to coincide with the departure.

My wife Pam, a fellow IND “Airport Ambassador”, was there, recording my triumphant return. I joined her and we watched the festivities, along with our friends Sara and Dan Gradwohl, also there for the occasion. There were speeches given by airport, Aer Lingus and government officials from Ireland, and I had just missed a performance by a local group of Irish dancers, as well as live music.  We were told there are 200,000 people in the Indianapolis area who identify as having Irish heritage.  

I was able to meet and talk with many of the people present- it was a great day for IND, Aer Lingus, and for me!

Enjoy the photo gallery below. All photos by the author, except where noted.

By Charles Dolan

It has been quite a while since I contributed to the Captain’s Log, so I decided to use our forced “time out” at the hands of Tropical Storm Nicole to dust the cobwebs off my collection and share some images. My last writings covered Central and South America, and I felt it was time to put the spotlight on Mexico. 

When I worked at Baltimore Airport (BWI) from 1986 to 2002,, Mexicana operated regular services using Boeing 727s and, at peak times, DC-10 aircraft. Compania Mexicana de Aviacion, S.A. de C.V. had a long history going back to 1921. As I recall, their service was pretty reliable, and the passengers seemed satisfied.

 Winter sun seekers and college (and some high school) spring breakers often flew on Mexican non-scheduled or charter carriers. Some were good, some less so, but we worked them all, and the merry-makers went south to tan and came home to resume their studies.  One airline that sticks in my mind was AeroCancun, which had modern equipment and a set of insignia that I still covet for my collection. Their Jefe de Pilotos assured me that he would bring me a set on his next trip,  but even though we met several times after that, the silver, white and turquoise wings and cap badge never materialized.

 Sad tale over, here are those insignia that I did manage to obtain over the years. Certainly, CMA / Mexicana and later Aviacsa, LaTur, Aeromar Allegro and TEASA passed through BWI, most aquisitions were the result of letters addressed to the main bases of the airlines featured or purchases on eBay.

Enjoy our quick trip south of the border.

Mexican Carrier Insignias

AEROMEXICO – Aeronaves de Mexico/Aerovias de Mexico (AM / AMX)

1934-present. Adopted name AEROMEXICO in 1972. Two versions are shown below.

AEROMAR – Transportes Aeromar S.A. de C.V. (VW / TAO)

1987 – present.

Allegro – LineasAereas Allegro (LL / GRO)

1992 – 2004.

AVIACSA – Consorcio Aviaxsa S.A. de C.V. (GA / CHP)

1990 – 2011.

MEXICANA – Compania Mexicana de Aviacion, S.A. de C.V. – Mexicana de Aviacion (MX / MXA)

1921 – 2010. Three styles of insignia are shown below.

Interjet – ABC Aerolineas, S.A. de C.V., (4O / AIJ)

2005 – 2020.

LaTur – Lineas Aereas LaTur (WC / LUR)

1998 – 1992. Absorbed by TAESA

TAESA – Transportes Aereos Ejecutivos S.A. (GD / TEJ)

1988 – 2000.

Volaris – Concesionaria Vuela Compania de Aviacion S.A.P.I. de C.V. ( Y4 / VOI)

2005 – present.