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Flag of the U.S.A.

State of California

Los Angeles, California, U.S.A.

     After passing the International Date Line, dear reader, droning on in the night until the sun rose, blinding our sandpaper eyes, I found it difficult to accept that I was reliving yesterday, the 12^th of December 1987.  In other words I was reliving the same day I had left Japan.

     Tracking on G 215 at our final cruising altitude of 37,000 feet, we made landfall at the Mendocino VOR on the West Coast of California.  

     The problem with the INS (Inertial Navigation System) is that after a long transpacific flight such as this, it tends to drift between three to five nautical miles to the left or right of track.  Prompting us, as soon as we receive a strong VOR radio signal, to switch our autopilot to VOR radio navigation; it’s the only way we can maintain the airway’s centerline.

     Traveling southeast to the Point Reyes VOR on airway J 143, I began to pick out San Francisco Bay.  Drawing closer, as we traveled down the coastline, I perceived the sun reflecting off an impressive, white fog bank offshore about to swallow up the city.  In fact, eventually once again I spotted that familiar, gigantic finger of fog flowing through the Golden Gate Bridge, with its beautiful city glittering along the south edge of the bay.  Another impending foggy night in Frisco was approaching.

     The airway we were now following, J 88, took us inland to the Salinas VOR, and afterward we broke off on J 6 to the Avenal VOR. 

     Upon arriving over the VOR two important events occurred: Firstly, we were entering the FIM 4 Profile Descent to LAX.  

     Secondly, we immediately reached our TOD (Top Of Descent).  Cruising at 37,000 feet, we needed to start down 111 nautical miles from LAX, in order to maintain a proper three-degree descent angle.

     Upon our request, it was at this point LAX Approach Control commenced handing out lower altitudes to us, as we tracked southeast to the Fillmore VOR.  When passing Fillmore, we then tracked outbound on the 148° radial to the SADDE waypoint, and intercepted the 261° radial out of the Santa Monica VOR; tracking it inbound on an easterly direction.

     According to the FIM 4, we were restricted to a speed of 250 knots and an altitude of 10,000 feet.  For noise abatement purposes we had to cross the VOR at this height, before we could slowdown and go down.

     If ever you visit L.A., dear reader, do so between the months of November to April.  This is when the rains and stiff winds off the Pacific arrive; driving away the usual brown blanket of smog the L.A. basin is so famous for.

     Today being winter, I was presented with clear, unlimited visibility; giving me a spectacular view of L.A.  The midafternoon sunlight reflecting off the sea’s whitecaps, as its deep blue-green water assaulted the beaches, was just as I remembered it.

     Ahead lay the city of Santa Monica, and I could easily make out the single runway of its airport, with the VOR station on the end of Runway Three (030°/210° magnetic, NE/SW), which we were currently homing in on.

     And at that point a flood of memories rushed in on me, dear reader.  For this was the airport I had soloed my dad’s Cessna 180 at, on my 19^th birthday, in 1961.  And I remembered that gangly kid sweeping out a shop at Gunnell Aviation, on the south side of this airport, dreaming of one day flying the “Big Iron” for the airlines.  Fully understanding that operating a push broom was my first step in pursuing a career in aviation.  So here I was, 26 years later, droning over that same shop in my 747.  Making me wonder whatever happened to that kid?

     Illustrating once again, dear reader, that dreams and time are bedfellows.  No matter how improbable, or how long it takes, hang onto your dreams.

     Beyond Santa Monica spread a coastal basin surrounded on three sides by mountains that in places rose to 10,000 feet.  As far as the eye could see, this basin was filled with buildings.  For this was Los Angeles, dear reader, which in Spanish means “The Angels,” the second most populous city in the U.S.; also known as “City of Angels” and “La-La-Land.”

     Crossing the Santa Monica VOR at 10,000 feet, we then tracked outbound on the 068° Radial, which set us up for a perfect downwind approach to LAX.  Chopping power and throwing out some speed brakes, later followed by flaps, we also started an “elevator descent” to 2,500 feet.  Off to my right I could easily pick out the four, massive, parallel runways at LAX; the premier "Gateway to the Pacific Rim."

     The sight of which induced another flashback, dear reader:

     January 1966; I was a green helicopter pilot, the ink not yet dried on my commercial and flight instructor tickets, when I received my first charter flight assignment.  Phil Glickman, a heavyset, bearded writer for the L.A. Times, was doing a piece for the Sunday Supplement, entitled: “Around the World Without Taking a Step.”  He had conned Pan Am into literally flying him around the world in a wheelchair; anything for publicity.

Bell 47D-1 on wheels – Santa loved riding in it.

     I was piloting a Bell 47D-1 helicopter on wheels, one clear winter morning, and landed on the helipad at the rear of L.A.F.D. Fire Station #108, on Mulholland Drive.

Snaking Mulholland Drive.

     Two firemen made a bench out of a pair of axe handles, and carried Phil to my helicopter as I kept the engine and blades running.  Getting him strapped in, and waving off the firemen, I popped the bubble-Bell to a hover, and then dove off the edge of the helipad; as we were atop a ridgeline.  In that cold, dry morning air, my chopper immediately hit “translational lift,” and we climbed out as smooth as silk. 

     Twenty minutes later, landing on the Pan Am ramp, was my first expedition operating an aircraft to LAX.  Two Pan Am gate agents were waiting for us with a wheelchair, so once again I didn’t have to shut down.  The last I saw of Phil, as they wheeled him away, he looked over his shoulder at me, waved, and flashed a huge “bullshit-eating” grin.

     This flashback gave me a large chuckle as I descended in my 747, and observed the beautiful, snowcapped mountains to the east and north of L.A.  A storm out of the Pacific had rolled through here a couple of days ago; leaving the snow in its wake.

     From the chatter on the radio, and the occasional glints to the east, I also gradually became aware of the heavy airline traffic daisy-chained on a “straight-in approach,” miles out, for LAX.

Everyone and their uncle and dog uses LAX.  Virtually an ATC nightmare.

     Approach Control radar vectored us onto base leg, and then final, deftly slotting us within this endless stream of air traffic.  Upon intercepting the Localizer for Runway Two Four Right (240°/060° magnetic, SW/NE), we switched to Tower Frequency and were cleared to land.

     After touchdown and deceleration, we exited the runway on the high-speed turnoff at 75-V, and held our position.  Switching to Ground Control, we were cleared to cross Runway Two Four Left.  During the next five years, I’d land on the Right, an 8,925-foot runway, and takeoff on the Left, a 10,285-foot runway.

     Upon entering the “Uniform” taxiway, that paralleled both runways, we began the long, backtrack sojourn to the International Ramp.  When reaching it, we entered the ramp and were assigned Gate 121, on the north wing of the terminal.

     I hadn’t operated an aircraft into LAX, since flying for Golden West Airlines in 1977.  Apparently a lot had changed here in the last ten years.  For imagine my surprise as we edged gingerly to the gate – following the docking guidance system - when I finally realized we were parking where Golden West once had their expandable trailers, acting as their passenger terminal and lounge, before going bankrupt in ‘83.  In other words, ten years ago, I was operating the tiny Twin Otter where I was now parking my mammoth 747! 

1977: Golden West Airlines Terminal – before it became the International Terminal at Gate 121.

The 18-passenger DHC-6 Twin Otter.

1987: Taxiing my 400-passenger 747-312 to Gate 121.

     Jesus!  The passage of history can really pull strange stuff on a pilot, dear reader, especially if a pilot isn’t paying attention.

     As for the layovers at L.A., in a word they were the best.  The flight attendants were put up at a Ramada Inn, but the Pilots were billeted at the Marina del Rey Marriott, an excellent, boutique hotel. 

     The first order of business was renting a convertible.  Why?  Because, for the Tokyo – Los Angeles run, SIA always crewed a half-dozen Japanese Flight Attendants for these trips.  The Japanese girls I found were wonderful; adventurous, clean, neat, polite, dressed with style and possessed an amazing sense of humor.  And of course, due to the airline’s recruiting system, they were all university graduates and drop-dead gorgeous.  In addition, they were nuts about sightseeing (smile...click!).

                       
     So I’d load up the convertible with Japanese girls (they hardly took up any space) and I’d conduct “Uncle Pete’s” tour of L.A. and Hollywood, with the top down for better snapshots.  

Walt and Mickey at Disneyland.

The Space Shuttle piggyback on a 747 “buzzing” Hollywood.

Once my attorney even invited us up to his home in Bel Air for dinner.

The Japanese girls got him laughing so hard, he collapsed.

     If the weather was good, I’d sometimes even run them up the coast to Solvang.  

The Hollywood version of Scandinavia: Solvang.

     I never had so much fun with young, intelligent, beautiful women. 

    It always felt as if I was the “prodigal son” returning home, in the words of the songwriter, Randy Newman, “I Love L.A.”.

Departing LAX in my 747 for Tokyo.        

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     Between Saudi Arabian Airlines and Singapore Airlines I spent seven years in the cockpit of the 747.  

     This was my “office,” and it proved to be a “magical office” that transported me to exotic locations worldwide.  The 747 proving itself to be the most reliably-safe and thoroughly enjoyable aircraft I’ve ever flown. 

     In 1992 I wrapped up my five-year stint with SIA, and never flew an actual 747 again.

     And this, dear reader, concludes my impressions of all the cities I operated to for Singapore Airlines.  

     I sincerely hope you enjoyed the “quick and dirty” tours.