Back in 1986, I decided that I’d had more than a stomach full of managing an FBO. One of the factors that pushed me to my decision was a conversation I had with a former student of mine, who had purchased an interest in the FBO. He told me that he’d heard complaints that I was “too demanding” of my students. “It’s important not to piss off our customers, Yars.” I replied that I thought that it was more important not to KILL our customers. Shortly afterward, I resigned.
Not long afterwards, management hired several flight instructors, to pick up my personal workload in that activity. Within two weeks, one of the new guys had soloed a couple of dozen students. Clearly, management’s assessment of me had been vindicated. Until it wasn’t…
I had come into the FBO to give my bladder a break. On my way back out the door, I saw a Tomahawk pitch up so steeply that I anticipated a non-renewable outcome. Stunningly, the plane pitched downward just as rapidly, and erratically made its way overhead.
I dashed into one of the briefing rooms, to call the control tower. No need to. As I reached for the phone, it rang. I picked up the handset. “Yars – did you see that?!?”
“What happened,” I asked.
“He flew through the 4,000 feet remaining sign. Completely shattered it. I’m closing the airspace. You’re cleared for takeoff.”
I grabbed the keys to something with wings, fired up, and took off from the ramp and adjacent taxiway.
The controller and I agreed to do business on the Tower frequency, because we were concerned that asking the student to tune another frequency could be the proverbial camel’s-back-breaking straw.
I established a radio rapport with the student, who was certain that he could not land the plane, and was going to die that afternoon. I assured him that he was not. By this time, we were orbiting the aerodrome at pattern altitude. I carefully examined his aircraft from all aspects. It appeared to be intact – our second piece of good fortune (the first being the absence of a smoking hole at the site of the former sign, which was constructed of two-by-sixes and 5/8- inch CDX plywood).
In the minutes that followed, I gained enough of his confidence to permit me to talk him through configuring the airplane for an approach (yes, it was just a Tomahawk, but the poor guy didn’t even know what the trim wheel was) and then flying to a successful landing with me 30 feet off of his left wing. When he achieved a favorable position-to-land, I had him close the mixture simultaneously with the throttle. He wasn’t going to die that afternoon.
All of the students the instructor had endorsed for solo were grounded, pending a review of their paperwork and readiness. The FAA was not amused. The instructor lost all of his certificates. For the FBO and the students, it could have been much worse. All’s well that ends…well?
The student continued his flying lessons. I’d like to report a happy ending, but…
A couple of months later, the 19-year-old student was killed when the motorcycle he was riding got T-boned by a speeding motorist on a local street. He never had a chance.
Sometimes, being “a hero” just isn’t very satisfying.
-YARS