CHAPTER 6

         Los Angeles International Airport

              California      

        Friday, 21^st October, 1977

     There were two events that had worn me out this evening: the fact that I had recently turned thirty-five, and that I had flown seven legs for Golden West Airlines today. 

     Because of my flight hours in helicopters - coupled with the fact I wasn’t under twenty-five, lacked a college education and military jet time - none of the major American airlines were even remotely interested in interviewing me.  In short, I was an “over-the-hill aviation leper” in their eyes.  For a ragged-assed helicopter pilot, such as myself, to get on with any airline was a colossal miracle; a condition which only added to my fatigue. 

     But as you shall see, dear reader, the God in charge of such aviation miracles had apparently taken pity on me.

     It was approaching 10:P.M. when I entered the lobby of the Marriott Hotel, at the entrance to LAX on West Century Boulevard, in Los Angeles. 

     Golden West Airlines, or “Goldy” as it was affectionately known among aviation circles, was a short-haul “commuter airline,” based at LAX, and serving various cities in Southern California.  They operated the DHC-6 Twin Otter, or “Twatter,” and serving as first officer (co-pilot) I found it to be an amazing machine - literally fun to fly.

     Coming from work I was in uniform and, upon entering the coffee shop, I spotted my “pals” who had staked out a large oval booth.  Removing my service hat and dropping it on a shelf, I slid into the booth and warmly greeted my flying buddies: Rick, Julie and of course Valerie – who squeezed my hand and followed it with a kiss.  Valerie was in her Western Airlines uniform, having also come from work, prompting me to quip: “Is it appropriate for a flight engineer to k-kiss a first officer in p-public?”

     Rick, Julie and Val smirked at my remark.

     “No...it’s not appropriate,” Val fired back, and then planted another kiss on me.  Rick and Julie laughed.

    Boeing 727.

     Flight Engineer Valerie working the engineer’s panel on the B-727.

     This illustrates the difference in the size of our aircraft.

     It was one of those rare, perfect evenings, dear reader, shared with good friends that you genuinely respected...and loved.  Please indulge me...as I give you a rundown on my dinner companions.

     Rick Ames was your average ex-US Naval Aviator, having flown A-7 Corsairs - a subsonic light attack jet aircraft - for Uncle Sam.

     The Navy calls them “aviators,” dear reader, since they’re not good enough to be “pilots” – this was a running gag that always got Ricky’s hackles up.

     Average height, sandy hair, blue eyes and a pleasant, even disposition rounded out Rick Ames.  Thanks to his wife, Julie Clark, and her contacts at Hughes Airwest, Rick was hired by them and flew as first officer on the DC-9.  This night he was consequently in civvies; as it was his day off.

     Julie Clark-Ames, on the other hand, who also flew for “Goldy” as first officer on the “Twatter,” was likewise in uniform, having just finished her flight duties. 

     In fact, this cute, little pixie was the instigator of our meeting here at the Marriott.  While flying our various legs that night, and monitoring a common frequency that airline pilots use for personal messages, Julie called me up and thanked me for the Dristan tablet I had “loaned” her.  Previously, we had crossed paths at “Goldy’s” Terminal, prior to launching from LAX, whereby she complained of a headache.  Evidently the Dristan had done the trick – her headache was gone.  Valerie then cut in on frequency to say “Hi.”  She was in a Western Boeing 727, flying as flight engineer, somewhere up the coast, and had subsequently been monitoring this frequency.  She and Julie chatted a while and - when Julie learned we were all getting back to LAX about the same time - she came up with the idea of meeting at the Marriott.

       Rick, Julie, Me & Val at Mt. Charleston Lodge, outside Vegas.

     Julie was a twenty-nine-year-old, five-foot-three bundle of dynamite; she had it all – a petite, athletic figure from gymnastics in high school – silky brunette hair in a page-boy cut, with sparkling blue eyes setting off striking features.  Her bubbling, positive personality created a pixie-magic in her that all three of us recognized and loved.

     She also possessed the heart of a locomotive, with drive and determination that overcame obstacles comparable to The Great Wall of China. 

     Let me illustrate, dear reader:

     She was a gymnast in high school, a member of the pom-pom squad and the prom queen – later becoming “Miss San Carlos” of 1966.

     As I indicated before, she was most definitely striking in the good looks department.  So while all the above was going on in high school – Julie’s life was simply peaches and cream – right?  Oh boy, dear reader, hang onto your hat!

     Through no fault of her own, tragedy always seemed to stalk Julie in pair’s.

     When she was fourteen her mother, whom she greatly loved and admired, took a sleeping pill, vomited during the night and choked to death!  Julie, her dad, and her two sisters were devastated.

     Julie’s mom, dad and sisters.

     A year afterward, when Julie was fifteen, her father – Captain “Ernie” Clark with Pacific Airlines – was operating a Fairchild F-27 in May of 1964, when a deranged gunman entered the cockpit and shot both Julie’s dad and his co-pilot.

     Capt. Ernest A. Clark of Pacific Airlines.

      Capt. Clark’s Fairchild F-27, N2770R, on the day of his murder.

     The F-27 crashed – leaving no survivors.  This resulted in the FAA’s “Clark Act” in 1967; requiring cockpit doors to remain locked during all commercial flights.

     In the space of a year, Julie and her sisters were orphaned - then foisted onto an aunt and uncle – who hadn’t a clue on how to deal with three teenaged girls.  It was tough; nonetheless Julie got herself out of high school with honors.  Then landed a scholarship to UC Santa Barbara, where she used her “book money” for flying lessons.

     You see, dear reader, from the age of eight - when her dad slipped Julie inside the baggage compartment of his Martin 404, and then covertly in the cockpit when airborne – Julie “knew” she was going to be a pilot.

      Pacific Airlines Martin 404.

     However, before she could solo, Julie left college in 1968, when she was 20, to apply for an air hostess position with TWA.  Despite the fact she was too short and too young.  By wearing high-heeled hooker boots, under flared trousers going all the way to the floor, she passed the height requirement.  Conversely though, the chief stewardess discovered Julie was six months short of turning 21 - TWA’s age requirement.  Upon calling Julie to her office, and after floods of tears, the chief stewardess bent the rules because Julie was always first in all her classes.  So she admonished Julie: “For the next six months if anybody asks you...lie like hell...you’re twenty-one.”

     TWA Flight Attendants. Gee... how I miss the ‘60’s.

     Following getting checked out on the line, Julie was helping to get the cabin cleaned up in preparation for landing - when a senior stewardess asked Julie to run in back and check an aft lavatory; as it had been “occupied” for a very long period.  This was company policy for fear a passenger had gotten sick in there – or died.  Reaching the lavatory in question, Julie knocked loudly – then asked if everything was okay.  No response followed from within.  Julie tried again – still no response – although she now detected a sort of muffled grunting noise. 

     Slipping out her beer can opener from a jacket pocket (an item carried by all flight attendants) Julie deftly inserted the sharp end in the racetrack-shaped hole next to the word “occupied.”  By sliding it across to “vacant” – she had slid the door’s bolt to the unlocked position.

     Upon opening the door, Julie uncovered a “two-headed beast!”  A young woman was bent over the sink with her dress up around her waist.  While her male companion – with trousers dropped to his ankles – grunted as he rammed her from behind in doggy fashion!   

     Remember, dear reader, Julie was underage for this job and, up to this point, had led a fairly sheltered life.  It took her a full ten seconds to figure out what the “fuck” was going on.  Nevertheless her evolutionary genes kicked in – “adapt or die” – so she adapted.

     With large, stunned blue eyes, Julie gulped, and stated professionally off the top of her head – as both passengers turned to look at her - “You’ve got five minutes!”

     She then took a step back - closed and re-locked the door with her beer can opener – and finished getting the cabin ready for landing.  Had they been aware of her actions, TWA would have been extremely proud of her.

     Over the year and a half that followed, Julie slogged her way on the domestic runs, getting enough seniority to go international and be based in New York, which she thoroughly enjoyed.  When all at last appeared to be going her way – she hit another setback.  Julie was in a car wreck that tossed her through a windshield!  It left a prominent scar on her forehead.  She transferred to California for plastic surgery operations, and TWA kept her on as ground staff.  When her scar healed and vanished, she was ready to go back on the line as a stewardess, only TWA informed her she was at the bottom of the seniority heap again, and had to take strictly domestic runs.  This really “bummed her out.”

     One night, dear reader, while resting in “Goldy’s” pilot’s lounge at LAX - a crappy, cramped room on the backside of a trailer - Julie showed me her scar and told me the story behind it.  She wore bangs to hide it, except I found it was barely perceptible.  If she hadn’t pointed it out to me, I would have never been aware of it.

     At this point, Julie decided to leave TWA and pursue her dream of being a pilot.  She got her private license in 1969 – then doggedly worked all kinds of jobs to get more flying hours and ratings – once again doing air hostess work for the charter airline World Airways.  Upon getting her ratings, there followed the low-paying flight instructor and charter jobs, which all pilots get stuck with to build flying time and experience.

     Julie diligently paid her dues, until achieving the big break in airline flying, which at this stage in history was strictly a male dominated profession.  She was the first, and sole, female pilot to join Golden West Airlines in 1977.

     I know this, dear reader, as I was hired concurrently and placed in her class – the first class of pilots “Goldy” had employed in ten years.    

     Five months later she received offers from Western Airlines and Hughes Airwest.  Since Hughes Airwest had previously merged with Pacific Airlines – the airline Julie’s dad had flown for – she felt that to join them would resemble a homecoming, as several of her father’s old flying buddies were senior captains there.  And so, Julie entered the ranks of the first twenty women to be hired as pilots for major U.S. air carriers.

     It was a smart and lucky move for Julie, as dime-a-dozen airlines were going bankrupt all around her.  While Hughes Airwest survived by merging with North Central Airlines and then Southern Airlines - to form Republic Airlines - which in turn was bought out by Northwest Airlines.  Happenstance inadvertently securing Julie’s airline career. 

     Oh yes, dear reader, the airline business is truly that flaky.

     During her airline career, Julie flew the Twin Otter, the F-27 (her dad’s airliner), the Convair 580, the DC-9, the MD80/DC-9, and finished up on the Airbus as captain upon retirement.

     Hughes Airwest DC-9.

    

     Northwest Airlines Airbus A320. Julie’s last command.

     Capt. Julie E. Clark Northwest Airlines.

    While all this was going on - in 1980 Julie would launch a second career as an air show performer, in her own Beechcraft T-34 Mentor, and, as of this writing, she continues doing air shows all over the States in her “golden retirement years.”   Earning her numerous awards; among them induction into the International Council of Air Shows Hall of Fame, and the Women in Aviation International Pioneer Hall of Fame, plus the prestigious Aero Club of Northern California.  Thus - according to her air show publicity - making Ms. Clark a “flying legend in her own time.”

      Julie & Rick in the Beechcraft T-34 Julie purchased at auction in Alaska.

      The dog flew with Rick and Julie all the time.

      Julie’s Air Show Poster.

     A girl can’t possibly be expected to “perform” without lipstick. Note the T-34 earrings.

     On the flip side, remember, dear reader, when I said disasters seemed to follow Julie in pairs?  In addition to losing both parents in a year, her flying costs her two divorces, including two fiancés being killed in aircraft - while attempting to keep up with her - which she was forced to witness.  Being a ‘flying Legend in your own time’ has its price. 

      The 6th Annual Living Legend Aviation Awards Ceremony.

      Even so, unlike a lot of male pilots who experience tough breaks and hide in a bottle – Julie always took it on the chin and soberly stood her ground – not giving up an inch.  In my book she’s a ‘legend’ alright - in bouncing back from the rotten deals life dealt her.

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