Rez O. Lewshun
Save the Profession
- Joined
- Jan 19, 2004
- Posts
- 13,422
"Fundamental Things"
by Rick Drury
Even he had them, thoughts of what could have been, if only things had been different, but now it was beyond all that. This part of his story was about to end. Yes, even Bogart had mixed emotions as Ingrid shed a tear and then walked through the mist to the tune of old round engines as a studio orchestra played to our hearts. Of course, the 'usual suspects' would be rounded up, blamed for everything. They always are. Tomorrow would be another day, a new beginning. What is past is history and we move onward and forward, ideally with positive lessons learned. Wallowing in the mud of what could and should have been is not nutritious fare.
Sooner or later all stories end. And now it is my turn. It has come to this, an old movie fading to "THE END'. I am age sixty and am on my way off stage. So I am now frequently asked, would I like to change that age limit? Absolutely! I wish it were age fifty-five, or less. But that is a personal thing. To explain is to examine the current state of the industry - or 'demise' is perhaps a more apt epithet. It is to briefly express what I miss and why.
When I first joined the 'real' airlines in 1973, we all knew the fellow with the job title of "Chief Pilot'. He was not twenty or thirty years old, but more like fifty, maybe near retirement age. His office was full of aviation memorabilia, photos of the airplanes he had flown with the company - and that meant all of them - in every venue, in every bit of lousy weather from typhoons to the ice and snow of many winters, from props to jets. He had walked the walk over and again, so when he said something about what we did or how we ought to do it, his word carried the weight of not only authority but true line experience. He knew all the fundamentals, because his flight bag carried the scars of 20 years or more of flightdeck life. The stripes on his sleeve were even worn and fading, as the wearing away from thousands of hours doing the real job took the sheen off new gear. In a way, this was a badge of honor.
His office was a fun place to visit. That is if you loved airplanes, because they had been his life. There were models of the company airplanes, and he was an expert in all of them, wall and tables with all those great aviation photos, even some books and magazines on aviation, from history to current times. This place was something like a visit to your grandfather who had done it all, who now resided in some wonderful room of magic, and you were allowed to wander and enjoy. Unless it was your turn to receive his fury because you had done something stupid. Even then, you took it because you knew that he was right and this was not political or windows-dressing nonsense. In fact, he rejected being used in that way. He was real.
In this image, he also had merit above and beyond our respect. He could also let the CEO and his minions - plus the FAA - know when they were wrong, or that something they proposed was dumb, or that their demands were preposterous. He was in a position of honor, gained by years of line service covering every aspect of the flight operations of the company. He stood up for the troops and we knew it. When his type retired, another from the same mold would be there, an anchor in our aviation careers. But those guys are long gone. And I miss them.
The corporate replacement philosophy was simple. A seasoned veteran who speaks up was unacceptable. They wanted someone who would sell his soul for particular financial arrangements, a special retirement package, the opportunity to not fly except on little jaunts of their choosing on pleasant days to enjoyable places, for the illusion of power and prestige, and who would sing the political slant no matter how ludicrous or harmful or even dangerous. Their personal mantra was the invidious, "Up yours, I got mine'.
So the old offices were cleaned out and the new breed moved in. A breed that also perpetuated themselves. At one time, you could never be an instructor of any sort unless you had flown the line for many years as a captain and knew every nuance of life on the line. All that went by the wayside with the New Age. Knowing someone 'in the office', whilst having no line experience and never being a seasoned captain, was inexperience and ignorance to be rewarded. As the Samurai sword-maker says: "All the blades are hidden within the metal." Yes, and the character of the blade certainly depends upon the quality of that metal."
I miss a time when the words 'in-flight service' was not an oxymoron. We once had - and this is true - such people as 'Stewards' and 'Stewardesses'. Food was served on plates with real silverware. Stewards poured champagne or mixed drinks. Stewardesses were charming, bright, and helpful, catering to the passengers' every need and whim. And the food was superb. Passengers even wore decent clothes, actually dressed for the occasion, and were well-mannered and civil.
Cont...
by Rick Drury
Even he had them, thoughts of what could have been, if only things had been different, but now it was beyond all that. This part of his story was about to end. Yes, even Bogart had mixed emotions as Ingrid shed a tear and then walked through the mist to the tune of old round engines as a studio orchestra played to our hearts. Of course, the 'usual suspects' would be rounded up, blamed for everything. They always are. Tomorrow would be another day, a new beginning. What is past is history and we move onward and forward, ideally with positive lessons learned. Wallowing in the mud of what could and should have been is not nutritious fare.
Sooner or later all stories end. And now it is my turn. It has come to this, an old movie fading to "THE END'. I am age sixty and am on my way off stage. So I am now frequently asked, would I like to change that age limit? Absolutely! I wish it were age fifty-five, or less. But that is a personal thing. To explain is to examine the current state of the industry - or 'demise' is perhaps a more apt epithet. It is to briefly express what I miss and why.
When I first joined the 'real' airlines in 1973, we all knew the fellow with the job title of "Chief Pilot'. He was not twenty or thirty years old, but more like fifty, maybe near retirement age. His office was full of aviation memorabilia, photos of the airplanes he had flown with the company - and that meant all of them - in every venue, in every bit of lousy weather from typhoons to the ice and snow of many winters, from props to jets. He had walked the walk over and again, so when he said something about what we did or how we ought to do it, his word carried the weight of not only authority but true line experience. He knew all the fundamentals, because his flight bag carried the scars of 20 years or more of flightdeck life. The stripes on his sleeve were even worn and fading, as the wearing away from thousands of hours doing the real job took the sheen off new gear. In a way, this was a badge of honor.
His office was a fun place to visit. That is if you loved airplanes, because they had been his life. There were models of the company airplanes, and he was an expert in all of them, wall and tables with all those great aviation photos, even some books and magazines on aviation, from history to current times. This place was something like a visit to your grandfather who had done it all, who now resided in some wonderful room of magic, and you were allowed to wander and enjoy. Unless it was your turn to receive his fury because you had done something stupid. Even then, you took it because you knew that he was right and this was not political or windows-dressing nonsense. In fact, he rejected being used in that way. He was real.
In this image, he also had merit above and beyond our respect. He could also let the CEO and his minions - plus the FAA - know when they were wrong, or that something they proposed was dumb, or that their demands were preposterous. He was in a position of honor, gained by years of line service covering every aspect of the flight operations of the company. He stood up for the troops and we knew it. When his type retired, another from the same mold would be there, an anchor in our aviation careers. But those guys are long gone. And I miss them.
The corporate replacement philosophy was simple. A seasoned veteran who speaks up was unacceptable. They wanted someone who would sell his soul for particular financial arrangements, a special retirement package, the opportunity to not fly except on little jaunts of their choosing on pleasant days to enjoyable places, for the illusion of power and prestige, and who would sing the political slant no matter how ludicrous or harmful or even dangerous. Their personal mantra was the invidious, "Up yours, I got mine'.
So the old offices were cleaned out and the new breed moved in. A breed that also perpetuated themselves. At one time, you could never be an instructor of any sort unless you had flown the line for many years as a captain and knew every nuance of life on the line. All that went by the wayside with the New Age. Knowing someone 'in the office', whilst having no line experience and never being a seasoned captain, was inexperience and ignorance to be rewarded. As the Samurai sword-maker says: "All the blades are hidden within the metal." Yes, and the character of the blade certainly depends upon the quality of that metal."
I miss a time when the words 'in-flight service' was not an oxymoron. We once had - and this is true - such people as 'Stewards' and 'Stewardesses'. Food was served on plates with real silverware. Stewards poured champagne or mixed drinks. Stewardesses were charming, bright, and helpful, catering to the passengers' every need and whim. And the food was superb. Passengers even wore decent clothes, actually dressed for the occasion, and were well-mannered and civil.
Cont...
