Throughout the nation there has been a long tradition of evangelicals raising tents to welcome the public. Their intent is to comfort the believers while providing an opportunity to encourage newcomers to the flock. It’s been a largely successful program, unregulated and largely independent as it is.
Aviation shares a common thread with these religious events. We hold air shows and fly-ins and pilot association gatherings. We gather the faithful to commune with our common interests. We share stories and insights unique to ourselves, but familiar to those around us.
All in all, we are the embodiment of the expression “preaching to the choir.”
As of 2020 there were just shy of 700,000 pilots in the United States. That number includes airline transport pilots, student pilots, and every certification level in between. Those pilots fly airplanes, rotorcraft, gliders, weight-shift control aircraft, and more.
We are legion, but we are not the majority by any means. In fact, participants in aviation make up a very, very small minority of the population.
Pilots account for roughly 0.2% of the overall number of Americans. A&P mechanics are even fewer. The number of air traffic controllers is so small they barely register with the public.
Yet these can all be satisfying career options that pay well, or hobbies that participants consider to be profoundly rewarding.
Aviation is an interesting endeavor that attracts all types. But it’s not easy to get started. Not as a hobby. Certainly not as a career path. The majority of us who found our way onto a grass strip or the ramp of our local airport got there because of a connection to someone who was already involved in some way.
That’s a problem disguised as a blessing.
Fortunately, the method of bumping up those numbers — creating an ever-larger body of aeronautical users and gaining political clout along the way — is well within our reach. We simply have to commit ourselves to being zealous advocates for general aviation.
It’s not hard, believe me. There are no entry requirements, no dues to pay, and no organized meetings to attend. Unless you want to.
In that case there are plenty of options, each one packed with folks just like you who have found a more fulfilling existence by including aviation in their lives. There’s probably a donut, a slice of pizza, or a burger waiting for you, too.
For those who do catch the bug and set out to become active participants in aviation, a disquieting percentage of them quit. Long before they complete their training, the strain of jumping through so many unfamiliar hoops gets to them. They drop out. Their efforts wasted. Their dollars gone. Their enthusiasm for flight diminished.
We can change that. You and me. Together or separately, we’ve got tools at our disposal that can turn those numbers around, increase the success rate of new entrants to the field, and give us a sense of value at the same time.
To paraphrase Tyrion Lannister, arguably the most heroic character from Game of Thrones, “I fly and I know things.”
One of the most annoying and dispiriting things I’ve encountered over the course of my career has been this: The experience of meeting one of a long line of young men and women who have pondered the idea of becoming certificated by the FAA in some way. They’re serious. They’re motivated. But they’re totally ignorant of the process, so they do what any ambitious young person would do. They turn to someone they trust for advice.
Sadly, with only 0.2% of the population being pilots, and even fewer knowing a Cleco fastener from a pair of safety wire pliers, the advice they get is often wrong. It’s generally negative, too.
The well-meaning adult is too insecure to say, “I don’t know much about the subject. Let’s take a ride to the local airport and ask people who do this stuff every day.”
By the way, that’s you and me. We’re the experts they seek. If anyone in this scenario should be wearing a cape that denotes superpowers, it’s us. Whether you’re a sport pilot who only flies on the weekend, or an A&P who spends Saturday mornings drinking coffee with old dudes gathered around the FBO counter, we know stuff.
How many young people would find their way through the fence to become active participants if they had someone like you to guide them? Locally, that might be a small number. But with thousands of airports across the landscape and hundreds of thousands of airport regulars committed to making a difference, we could easily double our overall numbers in just a few years.
Your ability to introduce a new curious face to the folks at the local flight school would be a great start. Sharing a lunch table to talk about how flight training works would have real value. Telling the story of the almost indescribable freedom you enjoy as you launch off and go whenever your schedule and the weather permits, that would open some eyes.
Of all the amazing, memorable, soul-enriching experiences I’ve had in the general aviation industry, none has come close to the satisfaction I have gotten from helping someone get started. Those smiling faces fill my memory and tug at my heartstrings.
Occasionally I get a little emotional thinking about them. All were unsure of themselves. Most had been told they couldn’t become pilots, or aircraft mechanics, or air traffic controllers for some oddly imagined reason. Yet they did. Because they came to believe in themselves and their potential. They grasped the process and committed to it.
They won. Not surprisingly, I came out ahead, too.
I can only hope you will choose to extend a helping hand one day, if you haven’t already. The warm sense of satisfaction you’ll get will be worth whatever effort you put into the task. You won’t be sorry.
