By Ellis M. Chernoff

Dolphin Tails, Part Two

In 1982, the fleet expanded one plane at a time. For each aircraft delivery, a crew of two pilots was sent down to the factory in São Paolo, Brazil, to ferry it to Tampa. However, the Brazilian government required the pilots to obtain visas for entry, and that required proof of round-trip airline tickets! Despite bringing more than $1 million with us to purchase the plane, the government still required us to provide proof of a return ticket.

On one occasion, I left my house in the pre-dawn hour to find the air warm and unusually moist, like putting my head inside the mouth of a lion. It was a 20-minute drive to the office at Tampa International Airport. By the time I arrived, the wind was blowing a gale, and deep water was accumulating on the ground. 

This particular morning, I was to drive a rental car with my first officer to Sarasota, where our first leg of the day would originate. It was a harrowing ride as the rain was torrential and the winds were gaining strength. Arriving in Sarasota, the agent advised that we inspect the aircraft VERY carefully. The overnight winds had moved it across the ramp several yards.

Finding no damage through our preflight inspection, we boarded a few passengers for the short first leg to Tampa. The winds aloft were still quite strong, and while being vectored for an approach to runway 18R, the approach controller instructed us to “reduce speed to 250 knots.” This was amusing since the Bandeirante’s maximum red line airspeed was less than that, and we were operating even slower due to the turbulence.

One of the advantages of turboprops, such as the PT-6 and TPE-331, is that they have a BETA range where blade angles can be pilot-controlled to less than flight idle through zero pitch and even reverse pitch. This allows precise ground handling for turns and speed control without constant use of wheel brakes. However, sand and other particles will cause erosion and pitting of the tips and leading edges, which requires frequent attention by maintenance technicians.

Not long into our operation, the director of maintenance complained to our chief pilot that the pilots were using too much reverse. OK, so we will use less BETA and reverse and use more brakes. You can guess the next complaint from the maintenance department; the darned pilots are burning up the brakes, and they cost a lot to replace. When confronted by management, my response was, “What do you want me to do; throw out a grappling hook?” If you want to save money flying airplanes, just park them.

At some point during the year, I was brought into the chief pilot’s office on another issue. We were going to lease a couple of Piper PA-31-350 Chieftains until more financing for Embraers could be found. Why me?  Well, I had a lot of experience with the type, and I would not only be asked to fly them but to teach the crews and act as a check airman. More piston time was not why I came to Dolphin, but I would help out as requested. If they were going to get these planes, I recommended late-model ones with pilot doors, full commuter options, and modern avionics comparable to what we had in the Bandits. That’s not what they got. Instead, they were early production high-time ships that had operated for years in the UK and had been re-imported.

A group of pilots was selected from the seniority list to operate the Chieftain on the TPA-SRQ-MIA route, and I gave them the necessary training, technical materials, and checklists. I soon discovered that the plane had problems, especially with the turbocharging system. In fact, the operation of the Lycoming TIO-540-J2BD was far more complex and demanding than the turbine PT-6. It is a reliable engine provided it is operated consistently and within very defined limitations and settings.

Not to get too technical, but the turbocharging system on this engine operates full-time. Rather than ambient air, the engine is fed compressed air from a compressor driven by an exhaust-driven turbine. The speed of the turbine and compressor is determined by the amount of exhaust gas directed through it or bypassed by the waste gate. The waste gate, in turn, is controlled by two factory-set regulators. If either the wastegate is stuck or the regulators are leaking, the engine will not operate as designed. 

Normally, a power setting is made by the pilot, and the regulators maintain that power setting during climb and descent. If the exhaust waste gate does not function, as intended, the engine power goes into what is termed “boot-strap mode,” where HP varies up with increased RPM and down with lower RPM.  This was happening with our Chieftan, and maintenance personnel did not understand my repeated write-ups. They also refused to go on a flight where I could demonstrate the abnormality. 

I arrived one afternoon, and the plane was in the hangar to address the problem. Several days later, I again arrived to hear the engines at full throttle on the engine run-up pad. I asked what was going on and was told they were “adjusting the newly installed regulator.” I asked, “To what setting? They are supposed to be factory calibrated.” “49 inches of manifold pressure” was the answer I received. I ran to the chief pilot’s office to explain that these folks were going to ruin the engines. I had the Lycoming manuals that clearly showed the maximum manifold pressure for the conditions in Tampa would be 43 inches; 49 inches would only be correct at high altitude on a hot day. 

A day later, two of my Chieftain pilots took a load of passengers from Tampa to Miami via Sarasota. On their next takeoff from Miami, the engine finally melted, resulting in an emergency landing. The excessive manifold pressure caused detonation through excessive pressure and temperature. This was predictable and preventable, and luckily did not cause a fatal crash. But too often, some folks cannot accept that a mere pilot might know more than they do with their A&P certificate. In my case, I had worked my way through my pilot training by working on airplanes and engines. I also had a full library of technical materials.

By the end of 1982, I relocated to the new Jacksonville crew base and got back to flying the Bandeirante. As a bonus, I got distance from the maintenance department, who were none too happy that I didn’t make them look good.

One of the enduring issues with commuter airlines was the capacity of the planes to carry full loads of passengers and their baggage. From my first airline, I had learned that the FAA allowed airlines to use average passenger and baggage weights of 160 pounds per person in the summer and 165 pounds per person in the winter. This number was considered to include coats and incidental carry-on items such as purses, attaché cases, and tote bags. We would use 23.5 pounds per piece per checked luggage item. While this might be a valid average for a hundred-seat airliner, it would rarely be accurate on a 6-to-10-seater or even an 18-passenger commuter plane. Yet in the FAA charter, from 1958, they were charged not only to regulate aviation but also to promote its success. So commuter airlines all used these figures and would get away with overloading the planes unless there was an accident, in which case the investigation would reveal the actual total weight aboard.

Dolphin had a couple of long routes. Quite often, the fuel required for these flights necessitated restricting the load, and so either confirmed passengers were bounced or their checked luggage would be left behind and go on a later flight to be delivered by a taxi cab. The stations involved in denied boarding and delayed baggage were disadvantaged by negative statistics. This created a situation where a motivation to cheat and lie evolved. Passengers at the counter would be advised to take their luggage through security to the gate rather than check it. The manifest would show two checked bags, yet the large baggage compartment would be full. Sometimes, adults would show on the manifest as children. Station agents do not fall under the supervision of the chief pilot, nor are they certified by the FAA. The Pilot in Command bears full responsibility for the safety and legality of the operation. Again, I had to get involved in this.

To be continued…

By Ellis M. Chernoff

Having packed up and returned to California, it was back to sending out resumes and applications to all of the airlines and scanning classifieds for pilot jobs. Sun Aire Lines, in Palm Springs (PSP), invited me for an interview. I had tried previously to gain employment with this commuter airline, but they rarely had openings, rarely expanded their fleet, and required experience with the Metroliner.  This time, when they had an opening, I had the required flight experience. I was issued a non-revenue pass to ride from LAX to PSP. Sitting in the rear of the cabin, I was to experience something somewhat shocking. The plane made a steep approach from over the mountains, west of PSP. There was no curtain blocking the view of the cockpit, and looking forward from the rear, it looked to me like we were pointed straight down.

I interviewed with the Director of Operations in his office, took a short written exam, and we headed out to fly N1006L, a beautifully painted Metro II. This flight, which lasted less than an hour, was my checkride, and I was hired as a first officer to replace one who had gone to a major airline. Sun Aire, as well, didn’t waste money on training!  Soon after, I was flying the line on their routes that included Los Angeles, San Diego, Burbank, Imperial County, Yuma and Borrego Springs.

I interviewed with the Director of Operations in his office, took a short written exam, and we headed out to fly N1006L, a beautifully painted Metro II. This flight, which lasted less than an hour, was my check-ride and I was hired as a first officer to replace one who had left for a job at a major airline. Sun Aire didn’t waste money on training! Soon after, I was flying the line on their routes that included LAX, San Diego, Burbank, Imperial County, Yuma, and Borrego Springs.

The pay scheme at Sun Aire was unusual in that rather than pay for block time, they paid by the leg. The routes were categorized as Short, Medium, and Long legs. The company view was that they did not want to provide an incentive to operate slowly and get behind schedule. In truth, not so bad; I made more money at Sun Aire as a first officer than I did as a captain at SoonAir. Easy duty as well. Ties and jackets not required, nor did we have flight bags to carry. There was a set of navigation charts in each airplane, and the company supplied a David Clark headset. I only had to bring the headset and a flashlight to work.

The Sun Aire fleet consisted of only four Metros when I started there. A single Metro I, the previously mentioned N1006L a Metro II that they had bought new, and two former Scenic Airlines Metro IIs. All of these were equipped with the Garrett TPE-331-303 engines that produced 840 HP at sea level standard day. The aircraft had a maximum weight of 12,500 pounds. While the plane had wet wing fuel tanks that could take the plane nearly 2,000 miles, on our short-haul routes, we would trade fuel for passengers and baggage. In fact, normal fuel at departure to operate between Los Angeles and Palm Springs was only 800 pounds.

One of the responsibilities of the first officer was to plot the takeoff weight and balance. This was made easy with a custom plotter to include the fuel load, number of passengers and weight of the baggage.  The ramp crew was tasked with loading the baggage and providing a number. Miraculously, we never took off overweight. The plane had a large baggage compartment and door in the rear that was pressurized. There was also an unpressurized compartment in the nose.

The Metro IIs also had a water-methanol injection system to add 100 hp per engine during takeoff. With the hot ambient temperatures typical on our route structure, use of this was necessary to obtain the required initial climb performance without reducing the passenger and baggage load. Similarly, the Metro I had an emergency water-methanol system that would augment the thrust of one engine in the event the other failed during takeoff.

We later acquired additional Metro IIs, and a few were equipped with a JATO bottle in the tail. Much lore about this rocket exists. While the water-methanol injection improved initial climb performance at high weights and in high temperature conditions, takeoffs with both high temperature and field elevations were an issue for some operators. The idea of the JATO rocket was to keep the plane from settling back onto the runway if an engine failed before the landing gear was retracted.

What a concept; maximum takeoff weight, and engine fails just at liftoff, and even with 940 HP on the working engine, the plane could only remain in the air if the JATO was fired. But it was not automatic; it had to be armed prior to takeoff, and a button pushed to fire it. But the Metro was a real handful with an engine out on one side. It took lots of rudder and two hands on the yoke. The other pilot had to carefully handle the very sensitive thrust levers to keep the working engine at maximum power without over-temping it and melting it. So, how does one also punch the JATO button? Thankfully, Sun Air deactivated them, so I never needed to!

Flying right seat to the captains at Sun Aire was an enjoyable experience. Once I got familiar with the routes and destination airports, I could fly as aggressively toward landings as any of them. One captain I flew with regularly had earlier in his career been a pilot at Catalina Airlines, flying the Grumman Goose.  I enjoyed sharing experiences and my affection for that vintage airplane. This particular pilot did not particularly feel comfortable flying in instrument conditions. This was in spite of his being a designated pilot examiner. So on foggy and cloudy days, I might find myself flying nearly all of the legs on our schedule.

On one occasion, I was flying between San Diego and Burbank for the entire day. Starting up in San Diego, one of the engines refused to light off. The passengers were sent back to the terminal, and the captain said he was going to call maintenance in Palm Springs for assistance. I volunteered that I knew how to deal with this issue from my prior experience with SoonAir. He said to go ahead. I had to take out my seat to access the electronic speed switches. Having done so, I could use the good one to start the right engine and then switch it to the left one. I reinstalled my seat, and with the passengers once again on board, we were able to start the left engine. We avoided cancelling the flight with minimal delay. I was the hero of the day, although today I would not be allowed to do this type of hands-on work.

The Director of Operations made up each pilot’s schedule and it would be a weekly scheduled until there was a need for a change.  Typical duty would be four, ten or twelve legs per duty period.  Rarely would my schedule involve a layover hotel. The planes were well maintained, the company was profitable, and life was good.

Flying between Los Angeles and Palm Springs, I had some interesting passengers. Among some of the famous people who were on my flights were President Gerald Ford (post presidency), Bob Hope, Howard Cosell, Arthur Ashe, David Hartman, and Eva Gabor. Unlike today where the pilots have no contact with the passengers, we did greet each boarding and deplaning.  In the case of President Ford, the secret service always made a big deal of exactly when we would arrive at the destination.  I had to be clear that we were NOT Air Force One and had zero control or priority with air traffic control.  I could merely assure them that we would arrive X minutes after takeoff.

During my first month of employment, my prior efforts to get a job at a major airline paid off: I was invited to interview with two airlines! Of course, I had to confess this to the Director of Operations, as he would schedule my time off.  He expressed encouragement as he would have liked a major airline career earlier in his life.  But this sealed my prospects with Sun Aire. Ultimately, in that round, I did not get a job offer from the majors, and, knowing I had loftier aspirations, this sealed my prospects with Sun Aire: I would never upgrade to captain.

The Sun Aire Metroliners were just a bit different than the others I had flown. While they were equipped with the same engines and propellers, they had been tweaked to settings that produce less idle power and more drag than manufacturer specifications.  This facilitated the standard Space Shuttle-type approach we did in Palm Springs, as well as the high-speed approaches we did in places like LAX and SAN.  In fact, we could approach at the 248 knot redline to nearly three miles from the runway and suddenly slow, drop the landing gear and flaps.  It was fun to race other planes on parallel approach paths and watch Boeing and Douglas jets appearing to be going backwards.  ATC would often as us to maintain maximum speed which we called “Warp Factor Nine”. However, you did not dare reduce power to idle until the wheels were on the ground. Landing with power on was a must. 

On one occasion, I was with a captain who misjudged his height while landing at night in Yuma, AZ. He thought he had touched down, yet was still a good six feet or more in the air. As the plane fell to a very firm contact with the earth, all the passengers could hear him yell, “OH NO!”

Sun Aire was a subsidiary of a San Francisco-headquartered conglomerate corporation. Unusual for a regional or commuter airline, the little airline made money and was in the black. I actually bought some stock in the parent corporation and received the annual reports. Yet, mention of the airline was little more than a tiny picture and footnotes in the financials. I truly enjoyed working there and the lifestyle of living in Palm Springs.

Life and love threw me a curveball, and toward the end of 1981, I would be considering yet another airline and a start-up at that. There was an expectation that I would finally be flying a jet airliner, too. Great expectations.

By Phil Brooks

I can’t remember when I first heard the story of the November 24, 1971, hijacking of a Northwest Airlines Boeing 727, in which a middle-aged male parachuted from flight 305’s aft airstairs over the Pacific Northwest of the United States. The man wore a business suit and parachute and carried $200,000 in twenty-dollar bills when he jumped. I’ve always been fascinated by it.  

The hijacker extorted the money from Northwest Airlines in exchange for the release of all 36 passengers and two of the three flight attendants. He demanded two parachutes and two reserve parachutes, but only the hijacker jumped out of the aircraft, while it was cruising at 10,000 feet, unpressurized, in the dark, en route from Seattle to Reno, Nevada.

The hijacker has never been found, but some bills (identified by their serial numbers) were found along the Columbia River in rural Washington in 1980.

When I was in junior high school, I bought a 1974 paperback work of fiction called “The Parajacker” by Jeremiah Jack. That was probably when I first became interested in the actual hijacking. The striking color photo of a Braniff 727 on the cover with its airstairs extended sure got my attention!

In 1992, I heard about “D.B. Cooper Days” in Ariel, Washington (located near the route the airplane took, southbound from Seattle), and decided to attend the event that year, held on November 28. The events were held at the Ariel Store and Tavern and featured live music and “Cooper” themed contests.  I use quotes because the name the hijacker gave to the ticket agent (no ID was required then) was Dan Cooper. Through some misreporting, the name made it into the media as “D.B. Cooper”, the name by which the mystery man is known to this day.

I was interviewed that day by the PBS television station in Vancouver, Washington, either because I had traveled the farthest (from Indiana), or I was the only one sober enough to be interviewed!

After its service with Northwest as N467US, serial number 18803 flew for Piedmont (as N838N), and finally with Key Air of Las Vegas, Nevada (as N29KA), where for a time it operated to and from “Area 51” in the Nevada desert.

In April 1994, on a Civil War battlefield tour of the South with two friends, I arranged to visit the aircraft part-out facility at Greenwood, Mississippi airport (GWO).  The “Cooper” aircraft had made its last flight and would eventually be parted out for spares.  

My contact there gave us a tour of the aircraft, and was nice enough to give me a Passenger Service Unit from the cabin (containing air vents and reading lights), along with a device called a “Cooper Vane.”  

The vane, a simple device, is air-activated (like a weather vane) and blocks the aft airstairs from extending in flight, due to the air load on the aircraft. It retracts when the aircraft slows down after landing, and allows the stairs to extend on the ground if needed. Installation on 727s (and Douglas DC-9 and Sud Caravelle aircraft types, which also have aft airstairs) was mandated after the NW305 hijacking. It has no serial number, so it can’t be authenticated, and has minimal value (unless you need a replacement part for your 727), but I treasure it!

The Memphis Group, the parts operation, was willing to sell me the aft airstairs for scrap value (18 cents a pound at that time), but the transportation cost would have been exorbitant, and I couldn’t justify it. But, but I called the Ariel Store and talked to the owner, Dona Elliott, to let her know it was for sale. Nothing had transpired when I returned for “D.B. Cooper Days” in 1996, with Northwest Airlines pilot Dan Gradwohl. We were quoted and pictured in the Los Angeles Times in a subsequent story!

The aircraft was scrapped that same year.

In 1999, I contributed to an article by Mike Machat in Airliners magazine about the crime, and Dan and Sara Gradwohl and I attended “DB Cooper Days” in November 2000.

Time marches on, and the mystery remains: what happened to Cooper?  There were several “copycat” crimes, but the Federal Bureau of Investigation didn’t connect those hijackers to the original event.  I personally doubt that he survived the jump, being at night in the winter, in improper clothes.

I regret that I never flew on the airplane, but I do have a great souvenir and conversation piece!

Sadly, Dona Elliot died in 2015, the last remaining flight deck crew member from Northwest flight 305 that day, William Rataczak, died on October 22, 2025, at the age of 86.

Dan Gradwohl and I will be giving a seminar at Airliners International 2026 in Denver about the hijacking and I’ll have the “Cooper Vane” with me for “Show and Tell.” We hope to see you there.

By Ellis M. Chernoff

Dolphin Tails, Part One

Toward the end of 1981, I found myself in the office of the Director of Operations for a soon-to-be-start-up airline called Dolphin Airways. The appointment had been made for me, but I was interested in the new firm as they planned to launch a regional business-oriented scheduled service in Florida and adjacent states with a new fleet of Fokker F-28 jet airliners. In fact, the D.O. had an artist’s rendering of one of these to-be-delivered jets in Dolphin livery on the office wall. While I expected to interview for an initial cadre captain position, I soon learned their plans had changed. Rather than starting a fleet of regional jet airliners, they instead ordered the Embraer EMB-110P1 Bandeirante.

The two aircraft are quite different: a 65-seat turbojet airliner versus an 18-passenger turboprop. I was obviously surprised. The answer to my question was that they were unable to obtain the needed financing for the new jets. In fact, the startup firm’s financing was novel and somewhat absurd.

The principals would form Master Limited Partnerships to finance each separate aircraft acquisition. Two aircraft were already being prepared for delivery in Brazil. My response was that the Bandeirante was not a good choice, even for an 18-passenger commuter plane, especially compared to the Swearingen Metroliner, an aircraft I had been operating for three years.

The Metro was considerably faster, pressurized, and burned fuel at the same rate, which meant lower fuel costs for a given city pair. The 50 knots speed difference also translated to more revenue seats available per day than the slower option. The Metro also had single seats on each side of the aisle rather than the cramped double seat in the Bandit.

The D.O responded, “Who needs pressurization in Florida? There aren’t any mountains.” My
reply was that the puffy clouds over Florida might as well be mountains. Flying at altitude would provide a smoother ride, and the plane could descend fast in terminal areas, which would be painful in an unpressurized cabin.

Well, they had made up their minds purely based on the Brazilian plane’s lower cost. Despite arguing over aircraft practicalities, I was offered a captain slot in the first class of new hires.

Ground school commenced in-house and before any planes had been delivered. Once an aircraft had
arrived, I received some flight training in it. The first two ships were limited to a maximum weight
of 12,500 lbs, just as the Metroliners I had been flying. Their PT6-34 engines were 750 HP (less than the TPE-331), but with a fat wing, the plane performed well. Surprisingly, it handled even better than the Metro on a single engine. The free turbine PT-6 was reliable and easy to start, even on battery power alone. The planes were brand new with good avionics and a well-laid-out cockpit. Subsequently delivered examples were certified at 5900 KG/ 13007 lbs, which required a type rating for all captains.

As the startup date for the airline was quickly approaching, management realized we had more
captains than were needed for the small initial fleet. Due to my substantial regional operations experience, I was asked to take on flight following until we could hire and train full-time employees for this function. As part of this preparation, I also developed some standard loading profiles to simplify weight and balance as well as a route book that would provide a quick reference for each scheduled city pair, the normal fuel burn, alternates, and the additional time and fuel when needed, and other information to adjust for wind and temperature variations. I performed all of these calculations longhand with a calculator and legal pads. At the time, personal computers were still rare and there were no online services or apps for flight planning.

Our airline would be operating under FAR 135, which did not require a dispatcher, and each pilot was responsible for determining compliance with fuel requirements and pre-departure review of weather and other matters. But as a convenient tool and aid to the pilots, this printed guide was carried in each plane. I also used it as I assisted with flight planning as we began scheduled operations. One of the other people involved as an initial pilot owned both a home computer and a printer (dot matrix) and assisted me in reducing my hand-done calculations to print.

On the first day of scheduled operations, all flights originated from Tampa International Airport (TPA). As
the principal flight follower, I was equipped with pads of paper, a long table, and a multi-line
business telephone. My list of the day’s flights included the crew names and the aircraft assigned to each flight. I started early, calling flight service to obtain all the weather information each crew would need, and then I calculated their initial fuel loads and where downline they would refuel. By the time each crew arrived, I had a briefing sheet and had filed their flight plans by telephone.

As you can imagine, this job was hell on the first day. Each station and each executive kept calling
me for the status of every aircraft and flight. I could hardly prepare for the next flights, while constantly
being interrupted by phone inquiries. Finally, put a stop to those interruptions by insisting I would call
if there was a problem. Thankfully, soon full-time staff were hired and trained, and I could finally
go fly the line.

The passengers were not too impressed with this commuter plane. Dolphin Airways was advertised as “a business person’s airline.” We served Tallahassee, Florida’s capital, as well as Tampa, Jacksonville, Orlando, Fort Lauderdale, West Palm Beach, Panama City, and Pensacola. Service extended to Savannah and New Orleans.

The narrow double seats made for uncomfortably close contact of two adults, and the cabin ventilation system was either too hot or too cold. In fact, ice pellets would spit out of the air outlets and hit the passengers on the head. Sometimes the main duct would become detached in the tail section, and no air would come through at all. Cabin temperature was controlled by a toggle switch on the co-pilot side, but there was no position indicator or temperature gauge for the air in the distribution ducts, so it was a bit of guesswork and required finesse.

As in all turboprop aircraft, the cabin was noisy. Being unpressurized, passengers often had a bumpy ride in the warm thermals of Florida. Flying at higher altitudes might have provided a smoother ride, but our lack of pressurization or supplemental oxygen limited how high we could fly. Pilots had to descend at about 500 feet per minute to minimize passenger ear and sinus discomfort. The outstanding pressurization system of my trusty old Metroliners allowed routine descents at 1500-3000 feet per minute. The slow descents we had to fly for Dolphin were a challenge to mix with the traffic at the busy airports.

After some time, we had acquired a good-sized fleet of aircraft, and the company name changed from Dolphin Airways to Dolphin Airlines. But, executive management abandoned the airline, and for many months, we were an airline operating with only an operations department, maintenance, and little else. In this state, the pipeline of willing investors for limited partnerships soon dried up, and the next set of new aircraft could not be delivered.

To be continued . . .

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. Most World Airline Historical Society members 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.