By Ellis M. Chernoff

January 1985 began with a recall from Air Cortez. The FAA had revalidated their operating certificate upon approval of their tie-down nets, weight and balance program, and other details. I was told to report to Denver Stapelton Airport, where one of the F-27s was in position. Weeknight runs with cargo from UPS operated Denver, Casper, Billings, Great Falls, and return through the same airports. This was a dusk-to-dawn operation in the dead of winter.

If there was snow at any of the airfields, it would surely be at Casper, Wyoming. However, the stopover was brief, and if it was snowing, it was dry powder. No deicing equipment was available, so we had to expect the snow to blow off the surfaces. Air Cortez expected the pilots to “help” offload and load cargo at the stations other than Denver. I was not too keen on this heavy exertion while also being fit to fly a tight schedule.

The basic Fairchild F-27, as I have previously mentioned, used pneumatic pressure to operate the landing gear, brakes, and nose wheel steering. In modern planes, pneumatic air is taken from the engines themselves. But in the ancient systems of this aircraft, a four-cylinder mechanical air compressor was mounted as an accessory to each of the Rolls-Royce Darts. These compressors were like shop air compressors, and they charged up a series of three compressed air bottles. One for the landing gear operation, one for the normal brakes, and one for the emergency system.

Again, in modern aircraft, conditioned air to pressurize the cabin comes from the aircraft engines. But in the F-27, there were dedicated “Roots” blowers. These were the type of accessory found in older piston airliners. These blowers were also mechanical devices run by the Dart’s accessory section. Pressurization is designed for a maximum of 4.16 PSID, or an 8000-foot cabin at FL250. But the blowers were so worn out that barely half of that pressurization was available. In addition, the “choke valve” that was designed to
enhance cabin heating in the original production had been removed by prior operators who had this aircraft in the tropics. The cockpit was darned cold, and the main source of real heat came from the lights and electronics in the cockpit itself. The modest amount of pressurization barely kept the cockpit at freezing.

During the month that I was in Denver, I had three different ships, and none was in very good condition. Logbook write-ups of mechanical issues often caused a flight to be cancelled. Following the FAA suspension, UPS was not too happy with the reliability of performing the schedule.

One of the planes had issues with weak engine ignition. During every engine start, fuel would pool in the exhaust, as well as drip onto the tarmac, and when the engine would finally light off, a flame would extend all the way to the tail and light up the whole airport. It was truly spectacular.

The engine-driven air compressors were also worn out. The system was designed to operate at 3000 psi. This ensured rapid retraction of the landing gear. The pressure tank provided a reservoir of air to operate the gear and brakes and was recharged by the compressors. The pressure should be at 3000 psi at preflight, but there was a lower minimum for flight. On one of the planes, the mechanics had to charge the bottle on the ground. One night, I idled the engines for 45 minutes just to get the pressure up to the minimum for takeoff. The poor mechanics had little experience and few parts.

On a different night, climbing out from Billings, a side window shattered, causing the loss of even the modest pressurization. Normally, the young man who had driven the cargo van to meet our flight would have left the airport. But he stuck around to phone his girlfriend. Thankfully, he was still at the airport when we made an emergency return.

Contemplating being locked out, I had figured we would have to burn the freight to survive the cold night. But since the guy was still there, we were safe and able to get to a local hotel in town. Once in a warm hotel bar, I telephoned the boss in Las Vegas. He wanted us to return to the plane and ferry it unpressurized back to Denver.

No way I would do that. The route had minimum altitudes between 7,000 and 9,000 feet. It would be insane, not to mention highly dangerous, to fly two-plus hours back to Denver with no heat or supplemental oxygen in the middle of the night.

The following day, I reluctantly agreed to the ferry flight. By the time I contacted Denver Approach Control, hypothermia had set in. We were given holding instructions due to the amount of arrival traffic. It was snowing. I refused the holding instructions and told the controller we had no heat. He asked what other problems we might have. We had plenty, including almost no pressure in the pneumatic tanks. I was pretty sure that we could extend the landing gear, but steering and braking would be limited at best. We were assigned an inactive snow-covered runway, and this assisted the deceleration after landing. The pressure gauge read zero upon shutdown at the ramp.

More cancelled flights and another replacement junker plane. On my last flight for Air Cortez, I had to write up 21 items in the logbook. Upon arrival in the morning, the boss met the flight on the ramp. While the prop was spinning down, he motioned for me to open the window and hand him the logbook. His face turned red, and he shouted, “You’re fired!” I replied from the cockpit, “Thank you, sir. I’ll live longer.”

Air Cortez had originally been issued their Air Taxi (FAR 135) certificate many years ago. They had operated charters mainly to Mexican resorts and fishing destinations using light twins. When they acquired the Fairchilds, their certificate had been upgraded to a Supplemental Air Carrier (FAR 121), but clearly, the FAA had not demanded of them the more detailed manuals and procedures mandated by those rules. The family that owned the airline was really nice and were well-intentioned people. But, lack of competent and experienced staff and lack of FAA oversight were responsible for a sub-standard
operation.

The first officer who had shared most of my experiences for that month in Denver would also later be a pilot with FedEx. We would often share our recollections of those flights and mutual respect for the decisions we had to make.

The night I packed up to depart Denver for home, I received a phone call from my parents. They were relieved that I had been let go from this operation. But they also informed me that they had received a phone call from a former Dolphin Airlines colleague who had been trying to locate me. This information would ultimately lead to my next gig.

By William Demarest

All of us have our own stories on how we became addicted to collecting memorabilia and learning about airline histories. My own interest started in the early 1970s when my father went on a business trip to Japan and brought home a postcard of a Japan Air Lines 747 – which I still have to this day!

From there, I worked as a travel agent during high school (CRS systems were in their infancy – we manually wrote all tickets and used paper tariffs) and eventually had a 20-year career with United Airlines.

In the 1970s, I started writing to airline executives asking about their job roles and their thoughts on the airline industry. Remember, these were the days before email and the internet. Surprisingly, I received many replies from several well-known figures in the airline industry who, much to my surprise, took the time to respond to a nerdy teenager in Connecticut.

Here are a few of the responses to share with you. I don’t recall exactly what questions I asked in my letters, but you will get the gist based on their responses.

Let’s go. Happy reading!

Edward Carlson was chairman of United Airlines from 1971 to 1979, after UAL Corporation acquired Westin Hotels. Can you imagine a CEO nowadays taking the time to compose a 4-page letter? Unfortunately, I only have a copy of his response to me – the original letter disappeared during one of my many relocations over the years.

After I joined United Airlines in 1986, I dug out Mr. Carlson’s response from 1976 and sent him an
updated letter along with a copy of his original letter. What a wonderful reply!

Bernard Sweet started with Wisconsin Central Airlines in 1944 and stayed with the airline, then known as North Central Airlines, up through the merger with Southern and Hughes Air West before retiring in 1984.

Stephen M. Wolf was better known as the Chairman of United Airlines (Allegis Corp), 1987-1994, but before this role, he was president of Republic Airlines from 1979 to 1984. I must have experienced a good flight on Republic. I wonder if Mr. Wolf was aware that he was giving drink coupons to a minor?

Of course, everyone knows PSA Pacific Southwest Airlines!

Arthur F. “Walt” Kelly started with Western Air Lines in 1944 and ended his career as Chairman of the airline when Western merged into Delta Air Lines in 1986.

Braniff International. Unfortunately, Harding Lawrence didn’t respond to my request, but I did receive a nice letter from C. Edward Acker, BN’s President.

By far, the one CEO who really made my day was the two-page personal reply from Eastern Air Lines’ Frank Borman. You may know his name from his earlier career soaring around the world in space with NASA.

I received responses from the CEO Charles C. Tillinghast, Jr., and President F.C. Wiser of TWA Trans World Airlines in 1976 and 1974, respectively.

From American Airlines, Albert V. Casey was CEO and President from 1974 to 1985. Mr. Casey went on to become the US Postmaster General under President Ronald Reagan.

The stationery used by O.F. Benecke from Alaska Airlines was just as colorful as the airline – even in the 1970s.

Unfortunately, I didn’t receive a personal response from Louis Bergman “Bud” Maytag, Jr.,  of National Airlines, but Robin M. Mattel, VP of Public Relations, was kind enough to reply on his behalf.

Frank W. Hulse, President of Southern Airways, extended a personal invitation to visit their facilities in Atlanta in his letter dated January 8, 1975. I was never able to take him up on his offer. Frank Hulse was the founder and former chairman of Southern Airways from 1944 until the airline’s merger with North Central Airlines in 1979 to form Republic Airlines.

Lastly, I received two letters from Delta Air Lines. One in 1974 from David C. Garrett Jr., President of Delta Air Lines, and a letter from George E. Shedd, Assistant VP of Public Relations.

Hopefully, you’ve enjoyed this reading trip down ‘Executive Lane’ from the major carriers of the
1970s!

Editor’s Note:
As you can see above, we had our unique ways of gathering information from airlines back in the days before the modern technology at our fingertips today. Letters were written, and you never knew what kinds of goodies you might get in return. The letters shared above are priceless as they represent a time when airline executives took the time to answer them at length or with just a few lines. Little did they know the impact one letter to a budding enthusiast might have.

Today, that probably wouldn’t happen. As a collector myself, back in the mid-1970s, I picked up the telephone and called the airlines’ toll-free reservations lines. It often resulted in packages of treasures containing anything from airline schedules to brochures, postcards, photos, and a variety of other items that their public relations department had on hand. To this day, I still have some of those materials.

-Gary C. Orlando, Editor, Captain’s Log.

By Ellis M. Chernoff

It turns out 1984 still had more in store for me. Following the sudden shutdown of ConnectAir, I needed to find employment quickly.

Pilgrim Airlines in New Groton, CT, was looking to hire a captain, and I held a type rating in the F.27. I got an airline ticket to New York La Guardia Airport, where a pass was waiting for me at the Pilgrim Airlines ticket counter for a ride to Groton-New London, CT. This was my first flight on a Twin Otter.

In addition to the de Havilland DHC-6-100 fleet, Pilgrim also operated several early production Fokker F27-100 aircraft. The cockpits of these were different than the Fairchilds I had been flying, but that was of little concern. Also, the Rolls-Royce RDa-6 Darts were lower power than the RDa-7 versions I had been operating. Neither was an immediate issue since my type rating covered all versions.

When I arrived, the chief pilot was out flying the line. I was invited to self-tour the maintenance hangar and anything else I wanted to see while I waited for the evening flights to arrive, when I would be able to meet the chief pilot. I was impressed with the maintenance department; everything looked well-maintained and professionally run. However, as each flight arrived at the end of the day, each crew removed their insignia and proceeded to the airport terminal bar. Chart bags were lined up at the entrance, and all of the pilots gathered for drinks and hangar talk. This included the chief pilot. Clearly, this was a daily ritual. It struck me as less than professional for a whole bunch of pilots to hang out in the airport terminal bar drinking in uniform, albeit sans rank insignia.

The following morning, I had my interview with the chief pilot and rode jumpseat on a round-trip flight to Washington National Airport. The flight operation was professional enough, but the overall impression I got was that this was a loose operation that I didn’t care to move all the way across the country to join. I respectfully declined the employment offer and got a pass to return to California.

Soon after I arrived home, another F.27 position presented itself. This was with Air Cortez International. I had been familiar with this firm when they were operating Beech 18s and other light twins out of Ontario Airport. However, now they were operating from Las Vegas. When I went to interview with the Director of Operations, I was surprised that they were looking to hire a captain off the street. They had planes and first officers, but most of their captains were gone. The other thing that had changed was that while they set up operations in Las Vegas to fly tourists over the Grand Canyon, that business had dried up. The planes were stripped of their passenger accommodations and were now flying cargo on behalf of UPS.

I had many questions about their operations specifications, procedures, and manuals, but those were deflected and deferred until I met with the chief pilot who was flying the line out of Dallas. I was given a ticket to go there, and the following morning, I met the guy who would accompany me on a scheduled run to San Antonio while he gave me my line check-ride. I was shocked to find that there were at least four different printed checklists in the cockpit. All different.

In preparation for the walk-around inspection of the plane and preparation of the takeoff performance, I asked about the quantity of water-methanol on board. The chief pilot didn’t have an answer to that question. In all of my prior F-27 flying, water-methanol was used for nearly every takeoff.

The cargo was loaded by UPS personnel, and I was given the total weight of the cargo loaded. However, there was no information about how it was distributed, and the weight and balance document had only a single place to enter this vital information. So it was assumed that it would be evenly distributed. But this is contrary to acceptable preflight preparation. As expected, the acceleration down the runway was sluggish, but even more than I anticipated with the un-augmented power. The climb performance was equally poor. Arriving in San Antonio, I requested that UPS weigh the offloaded cargo as I suspected that it weighed more than they had documented out of Dallas. UPS refused to do the offload scaled weighing.

The return flight in the evening was similar to what was experienced in the morning, although I paid closer attention to the cargo weighing and loading. At the end of the day, I was signed off and good to assume regular scheduled flights for the remainder of the week. The next morning, I was met by a first officer who also didn’t seem to know anything about water-methanol injection. He conducted the preflight inspection while I supervised the cargo loading. The flight to San Antonio was routine. However, upon arriving at the ramp, there were several men in suits to meet this flight.

Even before the props had come to a stop, they had opened the cargo door and came into the cockpit, making demands. I told them they could exit the plane, and I would meet with them as soon as I had completed the post-flight checklists and briefed my first officer. These men were an FAA SWAT team of inspectors who demanded the flight manifest, maintenance documents, checklists, and, of course, my certificates. Evidently, this sting operation was weeks in the planning, and I was unlucky enough to be the Pilot In Command today. They claimed the Air Cortez checklists, weight and balance procedures, cargo tie-down hardware, and more were not approved, and the intention was to execute an emergency revocation of the company’s operating certificate. No wonder Air Cortez was in such a hurry to hire me and send me out on the line. Even I could see that the operation was barely adequate as a FAR-135 operation with light twins but totally inadequate as a FAR-121 carrier.

My first officer and I went to the hotel dayroom, and I started my round of phone calls. Thankfully, I had a lot of prior experience with the FAA and compliance. My honesty and credibility saved my pilot’s license. Usually, the FAA cannot take action against a company without also taking legal action against a pilot. But today, I obtained a compromise. The FAA would issue a ferry permit and allow me to return the plane empty to Dallas. It was an exhausting day, and the next day, I had an airline ticket back home.

The date was December 7; I was now on furlough. So ended 1984.

The numeric-alpha grid becomes the norm, with variations

By Fons Schaefers

INTRODUCTION

Following the June 2025 crash of a Boeing 787 in India, seat 11A was proclaimed on the internet as the safest seat on board commercial airplanes. This was because the sole survivor of that accident occupied that particular seat. The fact that seat numbers vary between airplane types and between airlines was omitted by the posters. Also omitted was the fact that each accident is different and that seat location is not a good “survivability indicator.”

The link between a seat’s number and its location on board is indeed loose. To illustrate that, I examined the location of a selected seat number. That seat number is 21J, the number I chose when writing the first part of this short series, published in May 2023. On a recent trip from Europe to South Korea and Japan, I looked for seats numbered 21J. More on this at the end of this second, and final, article on airline seat designations.

As readers of the Captain’s Log are well aware, in each airliner, signs are placed above seats to help passengers identify their assigned seat. In the first part of this series, I introduced the term “numeric-alpha” for the seat designation method that became common in the late 1950s. The numeric element (the numbers) indicates the rows. The alphabetic element (the letters) identifies the seats within a row. It generally looks like this:

The example is for a narrow body airplane with six seats abreast, three on each side of the single aisle. For a widebody airplane, the same concept is in use. The only difference is an extra aisle and more seats across, and thus, letters.

All airliners, be they single-aisle or twin-aisle, essentially have the same basic arrangement of rows of adjacent seats. This grid pattern makes the seat designation system predictable. The location of each seat is defined by two axes (longitudinal and lateral) as in a table. This determines its numeric-alpha identification. But the day-to-day practice is tougher. Initially, it took some iterations before it became stable. And once stable, it turned out that airlines still apply many variations. This part discusses both the historic development and the current variations.

EARLY ITERATIONS

United’s pioneering use of the numeric-alpha method in its Boeing 377 around 1950 was gradually followed by airlines.

In Europe, Sabena and SAS were early adopters. They realized that the new system required some explanation to passengers. Hence, they added a cabin layout with seat numbers to their boarding cards. Below is the neat embarkation card for Sabena’s “Super DC-6” in a first-class-only cabin. It was used for a flight in September 1954 from Brussels to Africa. While perhaps confusing to present readers who are accustomed to a nose-up layout, contemporary users may not have had difficulty with the tail-up orientation, as any form of presentation was new at the time. The assigned seat, 13A, was in the last row, on the left.

BOAC used the numeric-alpha method on its Comet 4 in 1958, as evidenced in a book on the airline’s history by Charles Woodley. It shows two different layouts: a 56-seat first class cabin and a 16/43-seat mixed class cabin, reproduced here. Both begin with row number 1 and end with row 15 and 14, respectively. Seats across were labelled A to D in first class and A to E in tourist class.

Air France is also known to have introduced it around 1958. Replacing the system in use in 1957 (see part 1) a boarding pass for a Constellation flight in May 1959 allocates the first class passenger to seat 14D. This was a seat to the right of the aisle in the 14^th row from the front (or perhaps the 13^th, if row number 13 was omitted).

When introducing the new jets in 1959, United Airlines remained committed to the numeric-alpha grid that it had pioneered in 1950. However, the seats in the lounges at the front and rear of their DC-8 were numbered  F1 through F8 and R1 through R5, respectively. F meant forward; R meant rear. The “Mainliner” name, introduced in the 1930s, was still in use in the early 1960s.

Continental Airlines adopted a hybrid version. A 1962 seating diagram shows that on their new jets (Boeing 707 and 720), they used the numeric-alpha grid for first class. This stretched from the forward boarding door to about midship. But coach class passengers, boarding aft, had to navigate by means of an alpha-alpha grid. It started at the rear with seats AA and AB and extended to row MA-MF, which was overwing (on the 720, even OA-OF on the 707). Forward lounge seats were identified as L1-L6, yet row L was in the coach section.

Continental still used this row numbering method in 1965, as can be gleaned from the CAB report on the non-fatal 707 accident at Kansas City on July 1. By then, they had added a third class, called economy, with 3+3 abreast seating. Such a seating arrangement was formerly in their club coach class. That name was now used for a new 3+2 abreast arrangement in the center of the airplane. Its rows were numbered rather than lettered, so boarding was likely via the front.

Continental’s Viscount was yet different: numeric-alpha in both first (aft) and tourist class (forward), except for the first two rows of club seating. Here, F and R meant forward-facing and rearward-facing. The illustration suggests the forward row was forward-facing, but actually, it was rearward-facing.

As mentioned in part 1, another early adopter of the numeric-alpha system was TWA. A July 1960 passenger layout drawing shows the Boeing 707 and the Lockheed L-1649 Starliner. The latter was marketed as “Jetstream” although it was piston-engined. The L-1649 had first class in the rear, near the main entrance door, and economy class at the front, with a separate entrance door. The economy class cabin started with row number 3, first class had rows 16, 17, 20 and 21.

TWA’s Convair 880s featured a regular 4-abreast first class and a 5-abreast coach class cabin. But, interestingly, it also had a 12-seat lounge at the front. The first class section started with row number 4, and the coach class section with row 17. The lounge had no row numbers, but its seats were individually numbered from 1 to 12. A later cabin layout (reproduced) shows the lounge being reduced to six seats, on the right side only, with more traditional seating and the omitted row numbers now included.

The United Kingdom’s BEA followed the numeric-alpha method, but with a quirk. It counted rows from rear to front, as shown in this layout of their Trident 1C (which is used for mass and balance calculations and lacks seat letters). On their Vanguards, there was a double quirk. In addition to counting from the rear, they stopped with row 5, just aft of the rear entrance door. This was because only the first class seats could be reserved and thus needed numbering. They were the furthest away from the noisy engines.

Indian Airlines changed from alpha-numeric (see part 1) to its reverse when introducing the Fokker F.27 around 1961. They also started counting from the rear, where the boarding door was.

Around 1970, the numeric alpha system was in use by most airlines, but not all. In the UK, some charter airlines did not assign seats at all. Consequently, they had no signage for seats. According to a letter by UK tour operator Clarksons, this led to the infamous “tarmac scramble” to board aircraft. Passengers keen to have a good seat made sure they would board first, overtaking others. This practice was arrested by introducing seat numbers. But rather than adopting the signage method then common with the scheduled airlines, they used a simple system of consecutively numbering all seats from front to back. I found examples from Court Line and Dan-Air.

These airlines folded in 1974 and 1992 respectively.

British charter airline Britannia Airways had yet another method. They divided the cabin of their 1960s Britannia 102s into three sections, identified as B, Y and R. These were color codes that matched the color of seat covers. Within each section, they followed the other charter airlines’ practice and numbered the seats consecutively.

Gradually the UK charter airlines began to adopt the numeric-alpha system. Dan-Air’s Comet G-BDIX, preserved at East Fortune in Scotland since 1981, still shows a quirk. Its seats are numbered 1A through 24E from front to rear, so seemingly normal. But the lettering, uniquely, was from right to left. A was the starboard window seat; E the port window seat. (www.airhistory.net/photo/237045/g-bdix).

CURRENT VARIATIONS

Now, to fast-forward . . . How do airlines apply the numeric-alpha system nowadays and what variations are there? I approach it from two angles: the longitudinal axis, composed of numbers, and the lateral axis, composed of letters.

Longitudinal Numbering

All airlines start counting rows at the front and end at the rear. At least, in single-deck airplanes (double-deckers are discussed below). But not all numbers are used. A well-known interruption in the Western world is the omission of row number 13. This number is regarded as unlucky. The idea is that passengers do not want to sit in this row because they fear an accident. This is, of course, pure superstition. Plus, in the unlikely event of an accident, it will affect the passengers in all the other rows as well. It is interesting to find airlines that do not give in to this superstition. British Airways and Southwest Airlines are just two examples.

In China, superstition with numbers works in two ways: there are unlucky numbers, but also lucky numbers. Four (4) is seen as unlucky, 8 as lucky. This may explain row sequencing as employed by Chinese airlines. Here, it is not unusual to find the first row numbered as 11 or even 31. Or there is a first or business class section of only 2 or 3 rows (so obviating row 4) and then a jump to number 11 or higher for economy. Or it starts at 6, thus omitting rows 1 to 5 but including the 8.

What is the fewest number of numbered rows? A search of the airline seating websites (seatmaps.com; seatmaestro.com, etc.) reveals that this is likely to be 4, on the Learjet 31 of the Italian carrier Air Vallee (now defunct). There are several King Airs with 5 numbered rows.

The lowest row number obviously is 1, but what is the highest? The candidate airline type for that is the Airbus A380. A quick search discloses this as row # 99, on Lufthansa’s A380. But this does not mean it has 99 rows. Rather, it is 65. The A380 configuration with the highest number of rows is the 615-seat version of Emirates, which has 79 rows: 15 in business and 64 in economy.

Now that I mention this airplane type, let’s have a look at how airlines go about numbering the double-deckers, of which there are only two types: the A380 and the Boeing 747. The former has two decks along the length of the aircraft; the latter only has an upper deck hump at the front. Do they actually start by identifying the deck and then number per deck, such as is very common in hotels (where room 214 is # 14 on the 2^nd floor)? It appears not. In all cases, both decks share the same numbering sequence. Some airlines start counting on the main deck, others on the upper deck. In some cases, the airline exhausts the numbering on one deck before continuing on the other deck. In other cases, the numbering alternates between decks. An example of that is Asiana Airlines. They start the numbering on the main deck (first class: rows 1-3), continuing with business class on the upper deck (rows 7-24), then economy class on the main deck (rows 30-62), and ending economy back on the upper deck with rows 70-83. This requires some good guidance during boarding.

Lateral Lettering

In the lateral axis, the width of the aircraft and thus the number of seats that fit between the two sidewalls determines the lettering. This number varies from 2 on the smallest of airliners to 10 on the megajets. Although there have been airliners built for all these 9 sizes of seats abreast, currently four of them dominate. The most popular by far is 6-abreast. This size accounts for about 65% of the current passenger airliner fleets, involving only two types: the Boeing 737 family and the Airbus A320 family. Next in line is the 4-abreast size, present in about 12% of the fleets. The types are primarily the ATR and Dash 8 turboprops and the Embraer and CRJ jets.

The third and fourth size groups are those with 9- and 10-abreast, which represent about 6% to 7% each. They are typified by the 10-abreast Boeing 777, Airbus A380 (main deck) and, fast dwindling in numbers, 747. Growing in numbers is the 9-abreast size with the Airbus A350 and Boeing 787 as the most common types, both in production.

In the past, the 5-abreast size group was very common (DC-9/MD-80/717 family, Fokker jets, Caravelle, BAC 1-11, etc.), but this group has significantly gotten smaller. Currently, two 5-abreast airliners are in production: the Airbus A220 (née Bombardier CSeries) and the COMAC C909, in essence a DC-9 derivative. Together with the two leftover types (Boeing 717 and Fokker jets), their 2025 worldwide fleet share is about 3%.

Lateral lettering ranges from A_B (the underscore depicts the aisle) for the 2-abreast cabin to ABC_DEF for 6-abreast cabins. Beyond that, a second aisle is required. With nine seats across, the lettering becomes ABC_DEF_GHJ. While this looks straightforward, in practice, there are many variations. Rather than listing them all, I present some general principles and trends. Initially, the airlines tended to indeed use consecutive alphabetic lettering from left to right. In a 3-abreast cabin, they chose A_BC, in a 5-abreast cabin AB_CDE, in a 7-abreast AB_CDE_FG, and so on.

But gradually different patterns crept in. One in particular was to standardize lettering for aisle and window seats. This was influenced by the popularity of the two 6-abreast family types (737 and A320). In these types, A and F are window seats; C and D are aisle seats. To identify aisle seats on other types in their fleets with fewer seats across, airlines started to omit the letters B and E. This gave clarity to customers as to what to expect: A and F for a window seat, C and D for an aisle seat. Thus, in a 5-abreast layout, this became AC_DEF, in a 4-abreast AC_DF, and so on. But also in the business class sections, where wider but fewer seats fit, they use this designation method.

When the first widebody (the Boeing 747) entered the market in 1970, the airlines added an extra aisle and three more seats across. Consequently, three more letters were used: G, H and J. With a 3-4-2 layout this worked out as ABC_DEFG_HJ. See the seating diagram published by Northwest Orient in the early 1970s. This diagram shows the above-wing section. Interestingly, further forward in the cabin, a 2-3-3 layout was used with triple seats on the right labelled HJK.

Soon, the 747 airlines changed from 9- to 10-abreast to increase capacity. They needed an extra letter, so the K became omnipresent.

Later, some airlines added an eleventh letter: the L. Unlike what logic says, this was not for an eleventh seat across. Rather, 10 seats were kept, but one of the other letters (typically the E or F) was skipped: e.g. ABC_DEGH_JKL. The first airline to use this letter is believed to be Air Inter on its 8-abreast Airbus A300. Air Inter was the French domestic airline that was absorbed into Air France in 1997. In June 1990, on a flight from Paris to Toulouse, I sat in seat 4L. They probably introduced this letter in the 1980s or perhaps even earlier, at the inauguration of the type in its fleet in 1976. Air France currently alternatively uses K or L for the rightmost seats. The L is now the highest alphabet letter in use for assigning seats. There are no signs that an M or higher letter is needed soon.

Once the letters G, H, J, K and L were common on the widebodies, they entered single-aisle seating layouts as well. But why is that? The maximum on a narrow body cannot be more than six, so up to F would be sufficient? The answer is that they want to bring consistency between the narrow and widebodies in their fleets. By using the higher letters, they can use the same letters for any aisle or window seat, regardless of whether it is in a single-aisle or a twin-aisle cabin. This brings predictability for passengers. C and D are then always aisle seats, and A and J (or K or L) always window seats. Some narrow-body examples: Royal Jordanian Embraer 170 AB_HJ; Garuda Indonesia ATR42 AC_HK; China Southern A320 ABC_HJK; Ethiopian Airlines Dash 8 Q400: AC_JL.

Interestingly, I found one airline with a 3-abreast airplane as the largest in its fleet to apply this practice as well: Pacific Coastal Airlines of British Columbia, Canada. It assigns seats on the Beech 1900s as A_F and on theSaab 340s as A_DF.

Readers will have noticed the skipping of the letter I. The reason for that is to avoid confusion with rows ending on 1. Seat 11I will undoubtedly lead to trouble. But was there ever an airline that used the I? I did find one: Aeroflot. In their widebodies (Il-86, Il-96, DC-10), they used it, as evidenced in their 1997 timetable. I assume they had translated it from the ninth letter of the Russian Cyrillic alphabet. This is written as И so not confusing with the number 1. Later, they replaced it by the J.

Non-Conformists

Some airlines, either deliberately or otherwise, did not follow the practices described so far.

One U.S. airline assigned seats laterally with numbers, not letters. That airline was TWA. This was when they introduced the 747 in 1970. In a March 1970 folder, they explained how to board the new plane. It shows a cabin layout with numbers for both rows and seats. With a 9-abreast layout, the highest seat number was 9. On the boarding pass, the seat was indicated by 2 numbers with a hyphen in between, e.g. 6-1. (i.s.o. 6A). I do not know why TWA did that, and neither do the folks at the TWA museum in Kansas City, MO. Perhaps a reader knows?

TWA used the same system on other widebodies (L-1011, 767), but kept the traditional assignment method, with letters, on their single-aisle fleet. Later, they added a 10^th seat on the 747. Rather than numbering it as 10, they added the number 0 for the right window seat. So, next to the number 9 came 0, as opposed to next to the number 1. For actual boarding passes with these kinds of seat numbers, see the website of air ticket collector Gklavas Athanasios: www.airticketshistory.com. In Europe, Lufthansa is believed to briefly have used the number-number system as well.

I know of at least one airline having operated aircraft that normally sat 6-abreast to have a layout with only 4 seats abreast throughout. It downplayed the designating as:

      AB_CD

The airline was MGM Grand Air, which ran high luxury service between Los Angeles and New York from 1987 to 1992. The clientele largely consisted of wealthy celebrities in the showbiz world, with commitments on both the West and East Coasts. The seating plans of their 727s and DC-8-62s are shown below. Where the DC-8 plan shows an aisle, the 727 plan does not. This, of course, does not mean there was none. Both configurations featured a bar. The 727-100 had four closed-off staterooms and a “love seat.”

Some airlines with small aircraft find it easier to number all seats sequentially. An example is ATSA Peru with its Beech 1900D. Visitors to the 2011 WAHS convention in Portland may remember having flown on the Seaport PC-12, which also had sequential numbering. While these small airplanes have an aisle, albeit narrow, there is one airliner family without: the Britten-Norman Islander and Trislander. These types are not as well-known as the Airbuses, Boeings, Embraers and ATRs, but actually quite ubiquitous when it comes to connecting islands. The Islander is a small, twin-engine airplane seating 9 passengers in a cabin only 43 inch (1.09 m) wide at shoulder height. One next to the pilot and a further 8 in 4 rows. Its stretch version, the Trislander (so called because of its third engine, in the T-tail), even sits 16, in 8 rows. This excludes the front row where the pilot sits, plus an occasional extra passenger. Passengers enter directly their seat, or rather bench, from the ramp, using one of the five doors. Neither seat nor row numbers are posted in the cabin. Typically, ground staff or the pilot guide passengers to their seats.

Seat 21J

I conclude by coming back to seat 21J. On the Asian trip, I flew on nine airliners. Three were twin-aisle, the remaining six were single-aisle. I found a seat 21J on three occasions: in two of the widebodies and in one of the narrow bodies.

The first was a Finnair A350, where seat 21J is the aisle seat of a double located on the right just aft of the second pair of doors. The adjacent seat is 21L.

The second 21J was found in the middle of a right triple seat located over the wing of an ANA A321neo. It is wedged between an aisle/H and a window/K seat.

The final 21J seat was on a Korean Air Boeing 747-8. It is the window seat in the last row on the right side of the upper deck. Being a well-secluded business class seat exclusively bordering five external windows, it feels like a private cabin.

This small sample shows that the seat number does not give a reliable clue as to its location on board. The only element that gives something away is, in this case, the J: the seat it is on the right side of the cabin (as seen in the direction of flight). To find out where the seat exactly is, one has to consult a seat diagram. These are published by the airline and often pop up as part of the online booking process. Alternatively, they can be found on dedicated websites such as aerolopa.com, seatmaps.com and seatmaestro.com.

Enjoy your airline seat navigation!

---

Fons Schaefers

f.schaefers@planet.nl

December 2025

By Ellis M. Chernoff

Rolls-Royce

1984 had already started with my sudden and unexpected unemployment. A long-time friend convinced me to get involved in another start-up airline, but this only benefited me by getting me to move back to California. I spent several fruitless months once again applying to all of the airlines. Still, I could only get an interview with a start-up airline in Santa Barbara, CA (SBA) named ConnectAir.

ConnectAir was operating two Fairchild F-27J planes leased from Champion Spark Plug Corporation and converted to a 40-seat airline configuration. My meeting with the chief pilot went well until he offered me a first officer position with a salary well below anything I’d made in years. As I was preparing to walk away, he said the magic word: “Captain.” Even that salary was less than I had previously earned in years. His justification was that I would be getting a type rating on my pilot certificate. How valuable could a type rating for a 1950s plane be in 1984?

I did need a job, so I signed on and reported for initial training. The technical training, classroom, and flight simulator would be at US Air in Pittsburgh, as they had the only flight simulator for the Fairchild. Specifically, it was a model FH-227, but it was really no different than the ones ConnectAir was operating.  One could call the Fairchild a “Jurassic Plane.” The basic Rolls-Royce Dart engine dated back to the earliest turbojet engines designed by Sir Frank Whittle. The systems were archaic, with a large number of different sources and types of electricity. The type was pressurized and air-conditioned but used mechanical blowers rather than bleed air, which is used in modern planes and engines. Instead of hydraulic-operated brakes and landing gear, the Fairchild used compressed air provided by four cylinder mechanical air compressors driven by the engines.

The cockpit was also very old-fashioned with vintage instruments, no annunciator panel or master warning system, and, of course, no autoflight systems. Warning lights were scattered all over, and a pilot had to continuously scan all of the panels lest one warning light be illuminated and not observed.

The Dart engine, with its Dowty-Rotol propeller, has different operating procedures than the Garrett and Pratt & Whitney powerplants I had experience with, but it was easy enough to learn. The one big difference is that it did not operate in reverse pitch or “BETA” mode. It did have a flight idle pitch and a ground fine pitch with an array of lights and levers to monitor and limit the propellers. The ground fine mode was fine for taxi and was sufficiently efficient to slow the airplane if used immediately after touchdown. In fact, it was important to select that mode since leaving the propellers in flight idle, on the ground, could result in an engine fire.

The author at simulator training in Pittsburgh. Photo from the author’s collection.

After ground school and several simulator training sessions, FAA oral and proficiency exams were scheduled.  All went well, and I returned to Santa Barbara for a final airplane checkride with the FAA and chief pilot.

ConnectAir operated scheduled daily service between SBA and LAX, as well as SBA and LAS, and a third route between SBA and SJC.  By the time I was regularly flying the line, summer had brought high temperatures and often towering cumulus clouds. The Dart engines had a water-methanol injection system to maximize takeoff thrust, but it had to be shut off shortly after takeoff. From there on, the climb to altitude was not spectacular. Passenger loads were almost always full, and just one flight attendant provided cabin service.

ConnectAir had intentions of growing its fleet and adding destinations. As a result, they trained more captains than first officers.  Occasionally, two captains were assigned to a flight and one would serve as first officer; we had to be proficient in both roles.

Sending all of the pilots to ground school at US Air in Pittsburgh was expensive. The chief pilot approached me to begin constructing ground training materials so that we could conduct that portion of the training in-house in Santa Barbara. I took hundreds of detailed 35mm Kodak slides for this purpose. I also took other detailed slides of each of our routes to be used in route orientation.

Another project was to prepare to add Sacramento as an upcoming new destination. This city is the capital of California, and it was expected that we’d fill our flights with many business people and state government employees. I participated in a sales blitz with several other employees. We visited travel agencies and offices in Sacramento to inform them of our soon-to-start service.

On October 9, 1984, I ferried one of our two planes to Sacramento in preparation for the inaugural flight scheduled for the next morning. In the middle of the night, I was awakened in my hotel room by a phone call from an executive of our company instructing me to get my crew assembled to check out of the hotel immediately. The reason would be explained on the ride to the airport.

It seems that during the night, a plane and crew of Champion Spark Plug had flown out from their company headquarters to repossess the ConnectAir planes! ConnectAir had been flying them on lease contracts for months, but Champion had not been paid. Our first revenue flight from Sacramento was cancelled, and I was instructed to return the plane to Santa Barbara.

After arriving in Santa Barbara, all of the employees were gathered and informed that the airline had ceased operations and filed Chapter 7 bankruptcy. It turns out that not only did the airline not make payments to lease the airplanes, but they also did not pay their phone bills, office rent, airport facility fees, or even their payroll tax withholding. We were issued our final checks and ran to the bank, only to find out they, too, were worthless. 

My second airline bankruptcy in one year.

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 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.