Published in Pro Pilot Magazine, March 2005
as

"Getting It All Together"

Position & Hold (Op-Ed)

Each of us works in an environment that challenges us daily. It’s a blessing of our profession that we’re compelled to learn something (perhaps many things) on every trip. The flip side of this is the funda­mental knowledge that our individual or collective fail­ure to embrace this philosophy may have some egre­gious consequences—at least compared with more ter­restrial professions.

When Pro Pilot proposed the idea of my writing an occasional editorial piece, I was both grateful and ner­vous. The past dozen years of my career, I have discov­ered (and consistently attempt to convey) that “we have more in common than any of us ever had at stake.” If we’re able to see issues clearly, it’s because we stand on the shoulders of those who came before us—and often paid the ultimate price for their vision. Our acuity also attests to the fact that we share our failures as readily as we share our successes. And it’s this shared experience that, hopefully, prevents us from having to learn the hard lessons that others have already experienced.

I am concerned with aspects of our interaction with each other and with the increasingly near-animate sys­tems we are tasked to manage within an infrastructure that grows steadily more dynamic and complex. I try to remind myself of my own limitations and remain open to the possibility that I may not have a monopoly on sit­uational awareness. To underscore how appropriate this is, let me throw the calendar back to the mid-1970s.

I was all of 23 years old (going on 1 7) and flying my first business jet. It had taken all my limited mental powers to cope with my second type training in 6 months—not to mention the doubling of speed and leapfrogging of technology. Our Dassault Falcon 20E was based at JED (Jeddah, Saudi Arabia), and the Middle Eastern summer was living up to its reputation. It was also one of the first flights for a new young cap­tain, and our passenger was very late.

Our Falcon was unusual in that it was equipped with thrust reversers, which made the flightdeck look much like that of a small airliner. Having completed the pre-start checklist earlier, our fledgling FO (yours truly) began futzing with switches and levers. One of our mechanics, a sagely and affable Okie named Hoot, subsequently reminded me that the latter should prop­erly be pronounced “leavers” (as in “leave ’er alone”).

At long last, the passenger showed up and we got on with the business of departure. Perplexingly, neither engine would start despite several attempts. Our lead mechanic joined the rapid-fire troubleshooting and we (in the full press of battle) determined the need for a double starter generator change.

This was long before FedEx or any international parts depots or forwarding. Since we existed at the back of beyond, we had created our own depot—a 20-ft trailer that had enough parts for a second Falcon (apart from the airframe). Our passenger was dispatched with the national airline and we embarked on the determined dual generator change.

It was barely eight in the morning, yet the temperature and humidity were already staggering. It was hot enough that I cooked my catering omelette on the wing of a friend’s black Learjet parked next to us. After 20 minutes it was hot enough to burn my tongue.

I tried to make myself useful as a mechanic’s helper— not yet having fully acknowledged that I was unquali­fied to operate dangerous machinery, like screwdrivers and wrenches. After a sweaty, burning and sometimes bloody attempt to help with the first generator change, I scurried back to the refuge of my office-cum-sauna and laid my hands on the throttles/reverser levers—and finally realized that they were in the “flight idle” rather than the “cut-off” detent (required for start).

In years of urban and wilderness hiking, I’ve never known any walk as long as the one from the front of that Falcon to the left nacelle. My candor was not immediately appreciated and it earned me a single, well-worn boxing glove, offered for my use in the cock­pit along with the admonition to “only touch the shiny switches.”

We don’t always have the right answers at the right time. Sometimes we have incorrect insights or take exactly the wrong actions. What is crucially important is that we balance our knowledge and perception of “what is” with that of our co-workers. On any given day, the answer could evade any of us more easily than we imagine.