Being airborne isn’t an experience everyone dreams of. That seems peculiar to me, but it’s true.
My flight training adventure started at MacArthur Airport in Islip, Long Island, New York. Like so many flight students I was excited, a bit nervous, and completely over my head. While I’d taken a formal ground school course and passed my initial private pilot knowledge test with a blistering score of 72, I didn’t have all that solid an idea of what was happening.
Still I was motivated. By taking the position that learning is a lifelong pursuit, I was confident that I could learn what I didn’t yet know. I’d develop skills and judgment and confidence along the way. That seemed reasonable to me. So I persisted.
One day while waiting in the FBO for my instructor to show up for our scheduled lesson, I witnessed two couples heading across the ramp. I assumed they were headed for an airplane with the intention of flying on a sunny Saturday morning.
The first couple was unremarkable to me. They were young and fabulous as so many New York yuppies appeared to be. “Yuppies,” by the way, was a common descriptive term in the 1980s. It means Young Urban Professional. It generally wasn’t meant as a compliment.
Had it not been for their traveling partners I probably wouldn’t have taken notice of the first couple at all.
The first couple strode with pride and confidence across the ramp. They carried no baggage, so it was reasonable to assume they were making a local flight. Not some epic adventure over the horizon to unknown lands.
The second couple was a different story altogether. They were impossible to miss. The female was being dragged across the ramp on her butt, screaming for all she was worth, “No, no, no!” She struggled for her feet to find purchase on the blacktop, potentially saving her from making forward progress. Alas, her efforts were in vain.
Her counterpart maintained a firm grip as he persistently tugged her over the ground, ever closer to the airplane. One riotous foot at a time.
Even at that tender young age, before decades of life helped transform me into the cranky old man I am today, I wondered; Why would anyone want to force an unwilling passenger into an airplane for a leisure flight?
At the time I wasn’t thinking of the seriously detrimental distraction a panicked passenger brings into the cockpit. Nor was I considering the potential for that passenger to do something truly hazardous, like grabbing the controls, randomly flipping switches, or just generally freaking out in a small, crowded space that doesn’t lend itself to fits of passion.
No, I was just curious as to why anyone would torture another person by forcing them to do something they clearly feared with all their heart and soul.
Now on reflection I have to wonder why the first couple didn’t revolt and refuse to board the airplane with the quarreling pair.
Maybe some people should just stay home. And maybe those of us who love to fly should let them. No shame. No animosity. Aviation isn’t for everyone.
That sounds like blasphemy, I know. But it’s true — very much so.
A flight attendant recently told me the story of a recent run-in with a passenger who didn’t want to be a passenger. She was in her jump seat. The crew was all buttoned up and ready to go. The airplane was on the taxiway headed for the hold short line, when a frazzled young man leapt from his seat and bolted for the entry door.
Two female flight attendants were able to release their safety harnesses and intervene before the panicking passenger could open the door, pop the slide, and make a real hash out of a flight that was already delayed. Not to mention causing the airline to incur the additional cost of repairing the airplane.
I have no idea why someone who is afraid to fly to that degree would buy a ticket and board the airplane. But they do.
Go figure.
My greatest sense of pride as a pilot has been taking nervous first-timers aloft where they find they are far more capable than they dreamed might be possible. It makes no difference to me whether they’re a teenager with dreams of an aeronautical future or an anxious wife who wants to get past her fears to fly with her spouse.
I flew with a gentleman from town once who just loved the experience — so much so he started talking about buying an airplane and taking lessons. His wife was less enthused. She was terribly afraid to fly. Yet she remained open to the idea, at least partially because of her husband’s unrestrained level of enthusiasm, I’m sure.
At the time I had two T-hangars that faced each other across a taxiway. One held a pristine C-152. The other housed an AirCam. One hangar also contained a red leather couch. It was a place to nap or kill time on those days when the fog didn’t lift, or the rain didn’t stop, or to entertain a guest.
My prospective passenger sat on that couch for a long, long time. She inspected both airplanes with great care. She went home to think about her options. Eventually, she came back, ready to go but visibly uncomfortable. She chose the AirCam.
As we taxied out to the runway she did deep breathing exercises. Her anxiety was in control, but it was clearly evident in her shaking voice and trembling hands. Until we took off. As soon as the wheels left the ground she let out a joyful shriek, pumped her hands in the air and screamed “This is amazing!”
We had great fun flying together, on that flight and subsequent jaunts. She fell in love with aviation. As I did. As you did. But it’s worth us remembering that not everyone does. And that’s okay.
Sometimes, it might be best to just let folks sit on the couch, think about the opportunity, and let them decide when they’re ready — if they are ever ready.
It sure beats dragging your significant other across a dirty ramp to force feed them an experience they just flat out don’t want to participate in.
