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November 3, 2007
Many
excuses are made as to why one person leaves another person. Usually, the
leaving is done at ground level. One person decides he/she no longer wants
to be married to another person, and the decision is made for one or the
other to depart the fix. However, when a man is flying an airplane and his
air traffic controller decides to “leave him” because of “standard operating
procedure” the decision can cause dire effects. Thus begins the story of
Jack.
If any
readers of this story know anything about Kodiak, Alaska, they will
understand what TJ (I write in third person) writes. Kodiak is the most
beautiful, gorgeous, marvelous, grandiose, maternal, interesting, loving,
giving, forgiving, and fascinating place in the Universe. She was TJ’s
world. Not only was she TJ’s world; but She was the world of the aviators
who made Kodiak home. Unfortunately, as Mother Nature often shows just who
exactly is in control, Kodiak, at times, is a callous, mean, stormy,
fog-infested, and turbulent chaotic totally out of control bitch.
This
story takes place during the early 70’s. At that time, there were no RCO’s
that worked properly. The communication resource between the airplanes
flying from Point A (being Anchorage - ANC) to Point B (being Kodiak - ADQ)
was Anchorage Center (ZAN) and Kodiak Tower. The FAA can try and
substantiate all day and all night long about how much advanced the air
traffic system is today. The days of HF radios were the days when the FAA
shined its brightest. Trust me, deterioration because of technology is the
main factor in problems in the air traffic control system. No amount of
money or technology can take the place of the emotional relationship between
a controller and a pilot.
Let TJ
diverse a bit. TJ has a habit of wandering along a particular airway often
not on an assigned heading. Besides, there is only one way to get to know
TJ and that is for her to explain to the readers this very strange creature—TJ.
If the opportunity presents, she will relate the story of how she became a
tower controller in the first place. Suffice to say, pilots and only pilots
taught TJ to talk to airplanes. Of course, according to one of many of TJ’s
theories, in order to be an air traffic controller, the controller has to
have the gut instinct and dedication to do the job. Money doesn’t matter
only the profession matters. A controller’s job is to assist a pilot on a
flight from one point to another point in the safest, most expeditious, and
most comfortable manner possible. If the pilot’s ass arrives at his point
of destination in one piece usually the passengers, airplane, and freight
also arrive in one piece. Now, as the passengers depart from the airplane
they may all line up for the nearest bar where each can get the strongest
drink possible (even Mormons), but at least their asses are in one piece.
Jack,
dear, dear Jack had piercing eyes. TJ has talked to lots and lots of
airplanes and had personal and professional relationships with lots and lots
of pilots, but Jack’s eyes could literally put the fear of God (if TJ
believed in whatever God people believe in; she, however, believes in
Alaska) into their souls. When Jack looked into a person’s eyes he
literally looked into that person’s deepest being.
The
night was stormy. The time of year was spring. The weather included a low
ceiling and below minimum visibility. The wind shear was formidable. The
turbulence was beyond belief. The icing was heavy, wet, and thick. Jack
was flying from ANC to ADQ. He departed ANC after dark but about an hour
and 20 minutes before the Kodiak tower closed at 10 p.m. After leaving
Homer (HOM), he was able to communicate via radio with TJ in the tower or
with ANC Center. At a particular altitude he lost communication with ANC
Center. He was basically on his own unless TJ stayed in that tower waiting
for him.
Jack
called about 20 miles north of Kodiak. TJ had an inbound strip on him and
his ETA was going to be close. Really close. She gave Jack the weather and
the wind and altimeter information. He said, “Roger.”
Now TJ
knew (after all she has the gut instinct of an air traffic controller) that
Jack is thinking TJ is going to stay there until I get this flying piece of
shit on the ground at Kodiak. Unfortunately, TJ’s personality and
dedication to duty to her pilots had caused a particular difficulty the week
before.
Another airway, another diversion. The Chief (in this day and age these
people are now called Air Traffic Managers) was a complete and total
asshole. He was from a South 48 state whose philosophy was that there were
two places for women: the kitchen and the bedroom. Unfortunately, TJ
wasn’t, isn’t, and will never be good in either location. So this jerk
arrives and, of course, as soon as he plods up the stairs to the tower from
the Administration Office at the base of the tower, he takes one look at TJ
and she can see in his eyes his every thought—son of a bitch I’ve met the
devil and she is a woman and worse a red head. TJ was an Alaska Regional
golden child. She was a local hire, married to a local pilot, whose father
was a professional Alaska pilot, and whose brother was a professional Alaska
pilot, and had lived most of her life on Kodiak Island, and had been trained
by all those Kodiak pilots. TJ could see in his eyes that there was nothing
he could to do except make her life as miserable as possible without pissing
her off to the point where she put his ass into a crab pot.
So,
the week before the Jack incident, a C130 was due to arrive ADQ just after
10 p.m. TJ decided to wait for the airplane to land before turning the
facility over to Kenai AFSS (which could no more communicate with a pilot
from Kodiak than TJ could lose 100 pounds in a week.) The Chief lived
across the street (directly) from the tower so he kept an eye on every move
by the air traffic controllers. He knew what time they arrived and what
time they left, etc.
The
next morning, the Chief meanders up the stairs and informs TJ of about 100
different FAR’s and FAA regulations she had broken because she didn’t
transfer the facility over at the appropriate time. TJ flat couldn’t
believe the tirade. He then told her that “It better not happen again.”
OK. Wrong!!!!!!!!!! The worse thing an outsider can do is deliberately
piss of an old time Kodiak girl who was raised on a ranch. I was his worse
nightmare.
Jack
is continuing inbound; TJ gives him the latest weather that is beyond shit
on a shingle. He was fighting weather, turbulence, deteriorating
conditions, and icing—and he didn’t have minimums. However, she knew he
couldn’t make a missed approach. He was committed. That is what pilots did
without fancy modern technological equipment. Even with instruments, pilots
flew by the seat of their pants. They committed to a flight and completed
the flight come hell, high water, or Kodiak weather.
Unfortunately, TJ blames most of this on her upbringing, when someone in
authority tells her to do something she does that something. So, she turned
the runway lights on step 5, turned on the strobe lights, broadcast in the
blind that the tower was closing, and closed the tower. She didn’t hear
from Jack so she knew he was on another frequency.
TJ
left the tower. She knew she shouldn’t have left that man out there in that
horrid, shitty Kodiak weather…but that is exactly what she did. While
driving home, she passed the approach end of Runway 7 and looked east. She
could barely see the strobe lights 7,500 feet away. She knew she needed to
turn around, go back, take the frequency, and do what she could to get Jack
on the ground. But, no she couldn’t do that. After all some jackass jerk
from Texas had told her that her job was on the line. So, she went home,
fretting and worrying at every tire rotation. Disheartened and
disillusioned she arrived home, climbed out of the car, climbed up the
stairs to the house, undressed, and got ready to climb into bed.
Then
the telephone rang. TJ answered, “Hello.” This voice said, “I have a drink
waiting for you at Solly’s.” She said, “OK, Jack, I’ll be there in a
minute. She got dressed again---thinking shit Valium is the most important
drug needed at the moment. TJ drove to Solly’s. By the way, if you haven’t
been to Kodiak since 1980, Solly’s was a drinking hotspot. She arrived,
parked her car, walked in the door and there sitting at a table is a man
with piercing eyes, his arms crossed on the table with a drink before him
and across the table was TJ’s drink. He looked at his controller. She sat
down.
He
looked at TJ for a long time. She didn’t say a word. She just sat there
and waited for this pilot, this man whom she respected and trusted and
adored to give her whatever hell he was going to give her. He said six
words. “Patricia, why did you leave me?” She would have rather been pole
axed. She just looked at this man. What was she supposed to say, what
excuse was she supposed to come up with? That according to some ridiculous
procedure implemented by some imbecilic idiot in a place 6,000 miles from
Kodiak and forced down her throat by some bottom-dwelling idiot from Texas
who couldn’t talk to an airplane if his stupid life depended on it, TJ was
supposed to follow the instructions? Jack knew her better than that. He
knew this tough little broad sitting across the table from him. He knew
there was nothing she couldn’t do once she made up her mind to do it. And
he knew that only Alaska could within Herself make her do something she
didn’t want to do. So, she took the only way out she could think of. She
looked into those piercing eyes and asked, “Because of stupidly?” He said,
“You ever going leave another flying pilot including me.” She said, “No.”
He said, “Lets dance.”
TJ never left another
flying pilot. She turned off a lot of recorders and used a lot of telephone
lines after operation hours. She talked dozens of weather forecasters into
giving minimums for special VFR conditions, she logged off a position at the
legal moment and then continued briefing for 30 minutes, if she had a pilot
in route from Dutch Harbor (DUT) to Cold Bay (CDB) she talked to him the
entire way with the sweet (TJ has a sweet voice) every three minutes and
told him that if she didn’t hear from him within the assigned three minutes
that she was sending out Search and Rescue. Those pilots never missed that
three-minute time limit. They knew that TJ didn’t follow the SOP and
whatever ridiculous FAA rule and/or regulation created by a group of
Washington DC idiots—TJ did the job her way—the Alaska pilot’s way. With
the help, assistance, understanding, intelligence, and dedication of an
insurmountable number of Alaska pilots TJ learned to talk to airplanes and
never, ever left one flying alone in the darkest part of an Alaska storm
with only her as a communicative outlet.
************
Jack
didn’t make it. Sometime after the above story, he departed out of CDV and
hit a mountain. But, he taught TJ the most valuable lesson of an air
traffic controller. She will forever be grateful for his insightfulness and
his forgiveness. He with just six little words gave her the opportunity to
grow up, develop her technique, and not give a rat’s ass how the job was
done in the South 48. In Alaska, pilots fly airplanes. Flying airplanes is
their job. Our job is to give them the best chance to successfully complete
that flight—with ass intact. Even if the job is accomplished for free and
even if the envelope is pushed far beyond the acceptable.
TJ
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