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     At 5:A.M., on 21^st January, 1978, I slipped into the left seat of a PAN AM B-727 simulator at Miami, Florida.

     A couple of months before, while making an exploratory expedition on her days off, Val stumbled across a new airline called Air Florida and met with the chief pilot at Miami. 

     I followed up - making two separate trips - for interviews with the chief pilot and the manager of flight operations – requiring me to fly back and forth from L.A. to Miami on my own nickel.  This particular morning was my third interview – hauling my tired butt out to Miami again – whereby they sprung this B-727 simulator on me to determine whether or not I could handle a jet airliner.

     As you shall discover, dear reader, acquiring airline flying jobs consists of happenstance, pure dump-fuck luck, and stumbling onto the right situation at the right interval.  For example:  The previous summer - while finishing up my flight engineer’s training in a Continental Airlines’ B-727 simulator – by sheer accident I got plopped down in the left seat and acquired four hours doing takeoffs and holding patterns, plus instrument approaches and landings.  It inadvertently prepared me for the Air Florida interview.

     Val happened to have a few days off, so she made the trip with me to Miami – which turned out to be another piece of luck.  When we arrived at the PAN AM B-727 simulator, the Air Florida Chief Pilot and the Manager of Flight Op’s had screwed up.  They didn’t have a flight engineer to work the engineer’s panel for the check-rides; requiring them to scrub this interview.  Being a qualified - and by this time experienced – flight engineer, Val jumped right in and saved the day – working the engineer’s panel for all three check-ride  interviews.

     Valerie saving the day for the check rides – working the Flight Engineer’s panel on the B-727.

I made all of my instrument approaches and landings at the unfamiliar Miami International.

     I was required to perform takeoffs, ILS and VOR approaches and landings.  Thanks to those four hours I accidentally acquired last summer in the B-727, I nailed the check-ride and was hired that morning as a first officer on the Douglas DC-9-10(14).  The downside was: I’d have to serve another year’s “probation” at $900 per month (once again chump change) before the state and IRS raped my paycheck.  The upside was: the Teamsters were no longer stealing $25 from my paycheck in return for nothing.  As of yet the Air Florida pilots weren’t unionized.  Rather, we pilots signed individual contracts with the company, which proved to be not worth the paper they were written on. 

     Two days later I found myself in Pittsburgh – up to my rump in snow – receiving ground school and simulator training from Allegheny Airlines on the DC-9.  After passing an FAA oral and type-rating check-ride in the simulator, I was shipped back to Miami for my FAA check-ride in the actual airplane.  This I also passed and had a brand new DC-9 type-rating on my Airline Transport License to add to my DC-3 rating.

     Now the “fun” part began: line training.  Capt. Douglas (Cap’n Dougy) Pilkington was my training captain, and we got along quite well, as I learned the ropes hauling passengers on Air Florida’s regular routes.  At that period, they had five DC-9s zipping about the state of Florida from Miami to: Ft. Lauderdale, West Palm Beach, Orlando, Tampa, Daytona Beach, Gainesville, Jacksonville, Tallahassee, Panama City and Pensacola; with occasional charters to the Bahamas and the US Virgin Islands.

     As for the DC-9-10(14)...wow!  Even though they were tired, older aircraft previously operated by Air Canada, still, what a “Pocket-Rocket!”  It had a max takeoff weight of 87,500 lbs., hauled 90 passengers, was 104 feet in length (nicely compact), and was propelled by two Pratt & Whitney JT8D-5 turbofans, at 12,250 lbs. of thrust each, mounted on the jetliner’s tail.  These gave it a rate of climb at 4,000 feet per minute, which really took my breath away, with an economy-cruise speed of Mach 0.74 or 436 kts (500 mph)! 

     Remember, dear reader, I was coming off the dinosaur Twin Otter, which loped along at an average cruise speed of 150 mph.  My abrupt introduction to the DC-9 jet-age was strictly Buck Rogers stuff!  Darwin proposes: “either adapt or die” - so I left the dinosaurs behind and quickly adapted to these new speed regimes.

     Being a West Coast boy – transplanted to the Florida East Coast – I was required by my fellow pilots to pick up their vernacular when classifying our passengers.  For example:

           Cracker Rednecks (Native Caucasian Floridians)

           Saltwater Niggers (Cuban Refugees)

           Semi-Holes (Seminole Native Americans)

     In order to sell tickets, all airline pilots are required to put on a “politically correct face” for the public.  Except when the cockpit door closes – all that respectability is chucked out the side window.                   

     As I was once again on “probation” - doing a lot of standbys with few days off - Val and I agreed it might be wise for me to stay put in Miami, while Val commuted.  She had finished her year’s probation with Western, shared a “crash pad” at L.A. with another lady pilot, and took advantage of her free airline passes - since Western had a daily DC-10 nonstop flight to Miami.

      Western’s daily DC-10 to Miami.

     Because she was a company pilot, the DC-10 crews always “bumped” her up to first class – so it was a fairly comfortable commute for her.  And, once again, she was getting more days off than me.

     Western’s DC-10 First Class.

     Therefore we leased a luxury two bedroom, two bath apartment on the fourth floor of a new complex, called “The Fountains,” on the west edge of Miami up against the everglades.  In fact we were the very first tenants – enjoying a magnificent view of a lush golf course that encompassed our building.

     The Fountains.

     Some mornings, dear reader, when I went for a jog on the golf course, I’d stumble across an alligator sunning its self!

     At first this was a bit alarming for a “California boy.”  Once again, it was ether adapt...or get eaten.  Resulting in my running speeds dramatically improving!

      A “slow” jogger?

     As for racing round the state of Florida and out over the Atlantic; that “Pocket-Rocket” blew my socks off!  For the DC-9 opened a whole new world of flight to me – taking me to the top edge of the troposphere at 20,000 to 30,000 feet.  The rarified beauty I was discovering up there was, in a word: startling!  It suited Air Florida’s livery of royal orange and deep blue with white lettering.  For the normally crisp, starch-white thunderclouds, climbing to heights of 45,000 feet against an ultramarine sky in “Thunderstorm Alley” - between Jacksonville and Gainesville – would often change to a similar shade of royal orange at sunset, against this deep blue sky.  I was literally thunderstruck by the beauty discovered at these altitudes (pardon the pun).

     Thank God, dear reader, for the new, color weather radar in our cockpits that allowed us to safely maneuver between these massive, destructive giants.  One never attempts to penetrate an active thundercloud - just as a child pulls wings off a butterfly – so could these giants pull our jet’s wings asunder. 

     It’s simple... stay out of the yellow or red. 

     Unlike California - with its mountain ranges trapping winds from the Pacific that pile up fog and smog along its coastline - Florida is flat as a table - allowing winds from the Atlantic to make a clean sweep across the entire state -  raising air quality to a crystal, pristine brilliance.

     Then there were the charter runs to the Bahamas; passing over transparent waters so richly varied in shades of blue-green they staggered belief.

     Eleuthrua Island, Bahamas.

     However, as the prevailing winds come from the east – there’s a trap awaiting all pilots in Florida.  There being dozens and dozens of airfields up and down its east coast – with runways running east to west – making them all look exactly the same.  In fact, I’ll bet if a survey is ever made, Florida would be the leading state for the number of light, military, and airliner aircraft landing at the wrong airport!

     Nevertheless, there was one particular airfield halfway up the eastern coastline that a pilot – even from 20,000 to 30,000 feet – couldn’t mistake recognizing.

     It was at a place called Merritt Island and was perhaps the largest runway in the world - 15,000 feet in length and 300 feet wide – running southeast to northwest. 

     As most international runways normally measure 11,000 feet in length, and 150 to 200 feet in width, you can appreciate, dear reader, how immense this runway truly is.

     This was NASA’s Space Shuttle Landing Facility and, as it stuck out like a sore thumb, I couldn’t help marveling at its size whenever I zoomed up the coast to Jacksonville.

Landing Facility RWY 15.  Note the “Piggyback” Shuttle; being moved between coasts on the back of a B-747.

     Here’s a capsule of a Space Shuttle Mission:

     Liftoff.

     Launching a satellite over the Bahamas.

Reentry.

Power off glide.

     Power off touch down.

     I was told, dear reader, that the astronauts refer to this runway as the “gator tanning facility.” 

     Because, of the 4,000 odd alligators residing at NASA’s Kennedy Space Center, many loved basking in the sun on it.  And, since the Space Shuttle got shut down, it’s seldom used for anything else - your tax dollars at work.

     In addition to stabbing the top end of the troposphere at a blistering 500 mph – the DC-9 introduced me to another regime of flight, which for me was perfection.  During our descent for landing, both jet engines would be throttled back to “idle.”  While in this glide we’d have to adjust our speed, so that upon punching through 10,000 feet it would be no greater than 250 kts (287.5 mph) an FAA speed restriction.  Upon reducing to this speed it was literally magical: no vibration, no engine noise, no outside air resistance noise.  We’d simply float in and out of cotton-white clouds against a rich blue sky – our sweptwing DC-9 experiencing perfect flight in balance with nature.

     I fell in love with the beauty of Florida’s airspace and with Miami – experiencing the city’s colorful art-deco architecture, Cuban cooking and rhythms, along with “cracker” Key lime pie.

     Miami International Airport.

     Being airline pilots, Val and I took holidays in Hawaii, the Bahamas, the Caymans, Las Vegas, and skied at Vail in the Rockies.  1978 was a very good year for us.

     Despite our “perfect” life, dear reader, my left testicle felt uncomfortable – waiting for the other shoe to drop - as my little airline, Air Florida, had serious teething problems.  Basically, its management was flawed and weak - making me wonder if this “dice-shoot” was going to pan out.  

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