* * * * *
I swore to myself, dear reader, no matter how tough it got adapting to the States, I had to give it at least a year. No prematurely jumping ship. This was my final shot at making it with a US air carrier.
Harold J. (Hap) Pareti, formerly an executive with People Express Airlines, broke off on his own, got backers, and formed Presidential Airways on 10th October 1985.
When I joined them, in April of 1986, they had a fleet of eight Boeing 737-200s servicing these cities: Atlanta, Boston, Detroit, Indianapolis, Miami, Montreal, New York, Orlando, Portland, Sarasota and Savannah.
Presidential at this period was a dynamic, low-cost, and rapidly growing airline. They were also cutting a deal for a bunch of BAE 146s to expand their fleet.
The BAE 146.
They had built their own low cost terminal at Washington-Dulles International, with the intent of making Dulles their main hub, where their headquarters were located.
Washington-Dulles International.
I met Mr. Pareti a couple of times, dear reader, and determined him to be a genuinely “nice guy.” Upon each occasion it made me wonder how a gentleman of this caliber was going to make it in the dog-eat-dog airline business. Remembering the old adage: “Nice guys finish last.”
Presidential’s slick paint scheme consisted of midnight-blue on the bottom of the fuselage – extending all the way up the tail – chalk white on top the fuselage - with a stylized white eagle’s head logo and stars on the tail. The flight attendants wore dark blue, three piece suits, with tailored skirts or slacks, and long-sleeved white shirts with ties. They reminded me of a team of New York legal interns.
For living quarters, I shared a three-bedroom townhouse with two other pilots, at the picturesque, Revolutionary War era village of Leesburg, Virginia. It was situated 33 miles west-northwest of Washington, D.C., along the base of Catoctin Mountain and adjacent to the Potomac River.
The twenty-minute drive to Dulles – going to work to catch my flights – was quite pleasurable, especially with the top down.
For during that spring and summer, I passed rolling, lush-green hills – dotted with farms and forests – that reminded me of the English countryside.
A far cry from driving to work through the flat Saudi desert, littered with trash, wrecked cars, body parts and Pepsi cans.
For “wheels” - since I was flush from my six-year sojourn with SAUDIA – I fulfilled a childhood fantasy. Stepping inside a Ford showroom at Alexandria, I spied a black, 1986, Mustang convertible. Plopping down me bucks – I pointed at it – telling the stunned salesperson, “I want that one!” Afterward, literally driving it off the showroom floor!
I sincerely hope, dear reader, that you also experience the thrill, pleasure and satisfaction of such an episode. You owe it to yourself at least once in your lifetime.
* * * * *
Comments
Post a Comment