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-   -   The Stockholm Nonstop (https://www.airlinepilotforums.com/major/96891-stockholm-nonstop.html)

likenotomorow 08-28-2016 02:57 PM

The Stockholm Nonstop
 
Ere, many bygone days past and like my father before me, I was an airline pilot. I flew for a regional for 2 years and no sooner had I upgraded to the left seat of a screaming, Garrett-powered rocket, than the Majors were hiring. Thus, I poured into my Major Indoc class with a river of wide-eyed young fellows with similar aspirations, hearing the good and happy words from a dizzying array of suited, wise old heads who proclaimed, "Hang on boys, we haven't even hired our 1991 captains yet!"

This was 1989.

I think that's the first time I even knew what a "career expectation" was and believe me, it was both joyous and terrifying for one who had not even begun to master the craft to contemplate a life of respect, riches and working 10 days a month. But it was out there and it couldn't be taken back. However, I was so worried about the lurking 9-light trip on the electrical panel of a 727 to worry too much about contract language, merger rights, seniority numbers, bidding pitfalls and union politics. That changed almost immediately.

On the crew bus for my first unsupervised trip, my hat gingerly perched on my freshly barbered head, a forty-something flight attendant grinned at me and said in excellent Pittsburghese, "That's a fancy new uniform you got there!" I smiled back. Then she said, "You should take a picture for your mom, sweetie."

In the crew room, I fidgeted, looking for my captain so that I could introduce myself, wondering with dawning horror if my E6-B was still on the hotel dresser (I had been practicing conversions) when I noticed a clot of pilots solemnly gathered around a bulletin board. There were muttered curses. A red-faced first officer who I judged to be a decade older than me grunted, "If those #$^^ing ******** pukes think I'm gonna be jerking gear for them the rest of my life, they're nuts!"

I edged closer, surreptitiously inspecting the shine on my shoes (the FOM was specific about this) and noticed a long list in dot-matrix format stapled to the cork. It was a seniority list, I found, one that included the pilots of a like-sized airline that we had just merged with. Nobody was happy. Among the men around the board was my captain, and I was to later find out, the red-faced F/O was the copilot. After shaking hands and giving my prepared remarks in a quavering voice, I retired to the bathroom, and as I was getting rid of the last of my breakfast, I noticed the scrawled invective, frowning stickers and spleen encircling the stall from top to bottom. It appeared nobody liked their job. Hated the place. Sodom and Gomorrah all round. Moneychangers in the Temple.

Later, from my vantage point behind the two gentlemen conducting the aviating portion of my first flight, I was regaled by the both of them comparing their Rolex watches, new cars, girlfriends and most recent vacations. Occasionally they looked out the window. Occasionally. Nobody asked me any questions. I was just amazed I could afford a 1-bedroom studio without roommates and would have been embarrassed to admit my ride was a 1953 Ford pickup with a caved-in fender, recapped tires and a copious oil leak.

I move through these forums like an old house I used to live in, with yellowing newspapers strewn about on the floors. I pick them up and glance at the stories they contain, drop them back on the floor and sigh.

I flew with a few pretty good people over the next 12 years. Made one lasting friendship. Most however were angry or resigned. Or both. I couldn't identify with a majority of them, or most of the other employees, for that matter. In those days, the mechanics, agents and flight attendants seemed to hate me no matter what the employee number declared, as I was branded A Pilot. Endured a short furlough. Got married and started a family, then lived in constant fear of being able to provide for them as the world changed, apparently for the worse, as far as airline pilots went. In a company that had merged thrice as I was coming on, everyone seemed to have an agenda and wanted to vent - a teeming mass of indignation and uncertainty. And stuff. Comparing stuff. Look at my stuff! Before iPhones, guys carried these photo albums depicting all their stuff in Kodacolor. Or wore it. Remember nugget watches?

More mergers, arbitrations, strike preparedness. Politics. Furloughs. Union recalls. Liars lying and fools listening to the lies and lying to themselves about what the liars meant. The second home I purchased had an escape clause in the contract that would let me out as the closing date coincided with the flight attendants' cooling off period ending. Another merger failed and everyone went nuts. My mom died suddenly. Then my dog.

Shortly thereafter, my back yard neighbor, an American pilot, one day his wife was brutally shot by the so-called "DC Sniper" as she was leaving a craft store (she lived). My wife was in the same parking lot and heard the report and thought a car had backfired. My kids were with her. Across the cul-de-sac where we lived, my neighbor was the lead FBI agent assigned to the nut job sending anthrax through the mail.

9/11. Horror and chaos. I had just relinquished my captain's seat when they announced 1000 pilots would be furloughed immediately. I didn't need the list to know that while safe for the moment (by this time, I could tell you with certainty my calculated FAE at age 60) I would be deep into the reserve list as a copilot and they wouldn't be finished: that's just all they could handle for downgrades and training. There would be more. Many more.

I had seen enough. Realized it wasn't dad's world OR his airline anymore. Everyone was grim. Simmering divisions within our group exploded. We took huge pay and benefit cuts in order to "save" the company with the absolute promise that if we did so, the no-furlough clause would keep everyone working. (Note: anytime anyone makes declarative statements in a time of uncertainty is lying, so assume the opposite. Works like a charm.)

Thus began a life apart from the Great Attrition. I still fly for a living. I remember during Indoc back in 1989, we were invited to attend a dinner that ALPA sponsored for new hires. It was billed as a collegial "get to know you" and informal affair at a local steakhouse. What I didn't know is that we would be shut up into a private dining room and handed a union check-off card and asked to sign on, as the reps circulated and watched the proceedings in a vaguely predatory way. Nobody refused membership. It was a little unnerving but I was new to things (all of 23!) and figured if everyone was doing it, it couldn't be bad. It was during that meal that we were told for our infinitesimally small contribution (again, in very declarative terms) that nowhere in the world would we be paid and taken care of, as a professional body, better than as part of this family. Together we were mighty. The great collective at work, so to speak.

Some time in 2004, one of my colleagues, a man for whom I had immense respect and who had been my DC-9 line instructor as a new copilot, took his own life when he realized his pension had been terminated 4 years from his scheduled retirement. You see, he had been promised this alone, above all else was sacrosanct and his contribution to the cause would ensure his long term security.

In the years since 2002, I have made my own way and thus my own happiness - or misfortune. I could no longer point to the failings of others for my situation. Couldn't rage against the machine. Didn't head to the airport ticked off or strangling on the fear of the next system bid result - or praying maybe this year I would have Christmas off. Negotiated for myself. Actually had to learn my trade rather than depending on some arcane work rule or labor division to keep me in a painted line of ineptitude.

Nine tenths of what I read here is the result of the fear of the unknown, authored by people just like me. Think about it.

trip 08-28-2016 03:22 PM


Originally Posted by likenotomorow (Post 2190329)
Ere, many bygone days past and like my father before me, I was an airline pilot. I flew for a regional for 2 years and no sooner had I upgraded to the left seat of a screaming, Garrett-powered rocket, than the Majors were hiring. Thus, I poured into my Major Indoc class with a river of wide-eyed young fellows with similar aspirations, hearing the good and happy words from a dizzying array of suited, wise old heads who proclaimed, "Hang on boys, we haven't even hired our 1991 captains yet!"

This was 1989.

I think that's the first time I even knew what a "career expectation" was and believe me, it was both joyous and terrifying for one who had not even begun to master the craft to contemplate a life of respect, riches and working 10 days a month. But it was out there and it couldn't be taken back. However, I was so worried about the lurking 9-light trip on the electrical panel of a 727 to worry too much about contract language, merger rights, seniority numbers, bidding pitfalls and union politics. That changed almost immediately.

On the crew bus for my first unsupervised trip, my hat gingerly perched on my freshly barbered head, a forty-something flight attendant grinned at me and said in excellent Pittsburghese, "That's a fancy new uniform you got there!" I smiled back. Then she said, "You should take a picture for your mom, sweetie."

In the crew room, I fidgeted, looking for my captain so that I could introduce myself, wondering with dawning horror if my E6-B was still on the hotel dresser (I had been practicing conversions) when I noticed a clot of pilots solemnly gathered around a bulletin board. There were muttered curses. A red-faced first officer who I judged to be a decade older than me grunted, "If those #$^^ing ******** pukes think I'm gonna be jerking gear for them the rest of my life, they're nuts!"

I edged closer, surreptitiously inspecting the shine on my shoes (the FOM was specific about this) and noticed a long list in dot-matrix format stapled to the cork. It was a seniority list, I found, one that included the pilots of a like-sized airline that we had just merged with. Nobody was happy. Among the men around the board was my captain, and I was to later find out, the red-faced F/O was the copilot. After shaking hands and giving my prepared remarks in a quavering voice, I retired to the bathroom, and as I was getting rid of the last of my breakfast, I noticed the scrawled invective, frowning stickers and spleen encircling the stall from top to bottom. It appeared nobody liked their job. Hated the place. Sodom and Gomorrah all round. Moneychangers in the Temple.

Later, from my vantage point behind the two gentlemen conducting the aviating portion of my first flight, I was regaled by the both of them comparing their Rolex watches, new cars, girlfriends and most recent vacations. Occasionally they looked out the window. Occasionally. Nobody asked me any questions. I was just amazed I could afford a 1-bedroom studio without roommates and would have been embarrassed to admit my ride was a 1953 Ford pickup with a caved-in fender, recapped tires and a copious oil leak.

I move through these forums like an old house I used to live in, with yellowing newspapers strewn about on the floors. I pick them up and glance at the stories they contain, drop them back on the floor and sigh.

I flew with a few pretty good people over the next 12 years. Made one lasting friendship. Most however were angry or resigned. Or both. I couldn't identify with a majority of them, or most of the other employees, for that matter. In those days, the mechanics, agents and flight attendants seemed to hate me no matter what the employee number declared, as I was branded A Pilot. Endured a short furlough. Got married and started a family, then lived in constant fear of being able to provide for them as the world changed, apparently for the worse, as far as airline pilots went. In a company that had merged thrice as I was coming on, everyone seemed to have an agenda and wanted to vent - a teeming mass of indignation and uncertainty. And stuff. Comparing stuff. Look at my stuff! Before iPhones, guys carried these photo albums depicting all their stuff in Kodacolor. Or wore it. Remember nugget watches?

More mergers, arbitrations, strike preparedness. Politics. Furloughs. Union recalls. Liars lying and fools listening to the lies and lying to themselves about what the liars meant. The second home I purchased had an escape clause in the contract that would let me out as the closing date coincided with the flight attendants' cooling off period ending. Another merger failed and everyone went nuts. My mom died suddenly. Then my dog.

Shortly thereafter, my back yard neighbor, an American pilot, one day his wife was brutally shot by the so-called "DC Sniper" as she was leaving a craft store (she lived). My wife was in the same parking lot and heard the report and thought a car had backfired. My kids were with her. Across the cul-de-sac where we lived, my neighbor was the lead FBI agent assigned to the nut job sending anthrax through the mail.

9/11. Horror and chaos. I had just relinquished my captain's seat when they announced 1000 pilots would be furloughed immediately. I didn't need the list to know that while safe for the moment (by this time, I could tell you with certainty my calculated FAE at age 60) I would be deep into the reserve list as a copilot and they wouldn't be finished: that's just all they could handle for downgrades and training. There would be more. Many more.

I had seen enough. Realized it wasn't dad's world OR his airline anymore. Everyone was grim. Simmering divisions within our group exploded. We took huge pay and benefit cuts in order to "save" the company with the absolute promise that if we did so, the no-furlough clause would keep everyone working. (Note: anytime anyone makes declarative statements in a time of uncertainty is lying, so assume the opposite. Works like a charm.)

Thus began a life apart from the Great Attrition. I still fly for a living. I remember during Indoc back in 1989, we were invited to attend a dinner that ALPA sponsored for new hires. It was billed as a collegial "get to know you" and informal affair at a local steakhouse. What I didn't know is that we would be shut up into a private dining room and handed a union check-off card and asked to sign on, as the reps circulated and watched the proceedings in a vaguely predatory way. Nobody refused membership. It was a little unnerving but I was new to things (all of 23!) and figured if everyone was doing it, it couldn't be bad. It was during that meal that we were told for our infinitesimally small contribution (again, in very declarative terms) that nowhere in the world would we be paid and taken care of, as a professional body, better than as part of this family. Together we were mighty. The great collective at work, so to speak.

Some time in 2004, one of my colleagues, a man for whom I had immense respect and who had been my DC-9 line instructor as a new copilot, took his own life when he realized his pension had been terminated 4 years from his scheduled retirement. You see, he had been promised this alone, above all else was sacrosanct and his contribution to the cause would ensure his long term security.

In the years since 2002, I have made my own way and thus my own happiness - or misfortune. I could no longer point to the failings of others for my situation. Couldn't rage against the machine. Didn't head to the airport ticked off or strangling on the fear of the next system bid result - or praying maybe this year I would have Christmas off. Negotiated for myself. Actually had to learn my trade rather than depending on some arcane work rule or labor division to keep me in a painted line of ineptitude.

Nine tenths of what I read here is the result of the fear of the unknown, authored by people just like me. Think about it.


Excellent sir.

UAL T38 Phlyer 08-28-2016 03:37 PM

Did not know Hemmingway flew for a major. Superb.

motorboatin 08-28-2016 04:03 PM


Originally Posted by likenotomorow (Post 2190329)
Ere, many bygone days past and like my father before me, I was an airline pilot. I flew for a regional for 2 years and no sooner had I upgraded to the left seat of a screaming, Garrett-powered rocket, than the Majors were hiring. Thus, I poured into my Major Indoc class with a river of wide-eyed young fellows with similar aspirations, hearing the good and happy words from a dizzying array of suited, wise old heads who proclaimed, "Hang on boys, we haven't even hired our 1991 captains yet!"

This was 1989.

I think that's the first time I even knew what a "career expectation" was and believe me, it was both joyous and terrifying for one who had not even begun to master the craft to contemplate a life of respect, riches and working 10 days a month. But it was out there and it couldn't be taken back. However, I was so worried about the lurking 9-light trip on the electrical panel of a 727 to worry too much about contract language, merger rights, seniority numbers, bidding pitfalls and union politics. That changed almost immediately.

On the crew bus for my first unsupervised trip, my hat gingerly perched on my freshly barbered head, a forty-something flight attendant grinned at me and said in excellent Pittsburghese, "That's a fancy new uniform you got there!" I smiled back. Then she said, "You should take a picture for your mom, sweetie."

In the crew room, I fidgeted, looking for my captain so that I could introduce myself, wondering with dawning horror if my E6-B was still on the hotel dresser (I had been practicing conversions) when I noticed a clot of pilots solemnly gathered around a bulletin board. There were muttered curses. A red-faced first officer who I judged to be a decade older than me grunted, "If those #$^^ing ******** pukes think I'm gonna be jerking gear for them the rest of my life, they're nuts!"

I edged closer, surreptitiously inspecting the shine on my shoes (the FOM was specific about this) and noticed a long list in dot-matrix format stapled to the cork. It was a seniority list, I found, one that included the pilots of a like-sized airline that we had just merged with. Nobody was happy. Among the men around the board was my captain, and I was to later find out, the red-faced F/O was the copilot. After shaking hands and giving my prepared remarks in a quavering voice, I retired to the bathroom, and as I was getting rid of the last of my breakfast, I noticed the scrawled invective, frowning stickers and spleen encircling the stall from top to bottom. It appeared nobody liked their job. Hated the place. Sodom and Gomorrah all round. Moneychangers in the Temple.

Later, from my vantage point behind the two gentlemen conducting the aviating portion of my first flight, I was regaled by the both of them comparing their Rolex watches, new cars, girlfriends and most recent vacations. Occasionally they looked out the window. Occasionally. Nobody asked me any questions. I was just amazed I could afford a 1-bedroom studio without roommates and would have been embarrassed to admit my ride was a 1953 Ford pickup with a caved-in fender, recapped tires and a copious oil leak.

I move through these forums like an old house I used to live in, with yellowing newspapers strewn about on the floors. I pick them up and glance at the stories they contain, drop them back on the floor and sigh.

I flew with a few pretty good people over the next 12 years. Made one lasting friendship. Most however were angry or resigned. Or both. I couldn't identify with a majority of them, or most of the other employees, for that matter. In those days, the mechanics, agents and flight attendants seemed to hate me no matter what the employee number declared, as I was branded A Pilot. Endured a short furlough. Got married and started a family, then lived in constant fear of being able to provide for them as the world changed, apparently for the worse, as far as airline pilots went. In a company that had merged thrice as I was coming on, everyone seemed to have an agenda and wanted to vent - a teeming mass of indignation and uncertainty. And stuff. Comparing stuff. Look at my stuff! Before iPhones, guys carried these photo albums depicting all their stuff in Kodacolor. Or wore it. Remember nugget watches?

More mergers, arbitrations, strike preparedness. Politics. Furloughs. Union recalls. Liars lying and fools listening to the lies and lying to themselves about what the liars meant. The second home I purchased had an escape clause in the contract that would let me out as the closing date coincided with the flight attendants' cooling off period ending. Another merger failed and everyone went nuts. My mom died suddenly. Then my dog.

Shortly thereafter, my back yard neighbor, an American pilot, one day his wife was brutally shot by the so-called "DC Sniper" as she was leaving a craft store (she lived). My wife was in the same parking lot and heard the report and thought a car had backfired. My kids were with her. Across the cul-de-sac where we lived, my neighbor was the lead FBI agent assigned to the nut job sending anthrax through the mail.

9/11. Horror and chaos. I had just relinquished my captain's seat when they announced 1000 pilots would be furloughed immediately. I didn't need the list to know that while safe for the moment (by this time, I could tell you with certainty my calculated FAE at age 60) I would be deep into the reserve list as a copilot and they wouldn't be finished: that's just all they could handle for downgrades and training. There would be more. Many more.

I had seen enough. Realized it wasn't dad's world OR his airline anymore. Everyone was grim. Simmering divisions within our group exploded. We took huge pay and benefit cuts in order to "save" the company with the absolute promise that if we did so, the no-furlough clause would keep everyone working. (Note: anytime anyone makes declarative statements in a time of uncertainty is lying, so assume the opposite. Works like a charm.)

Thus began a life apart from the Great Attrition. I still fly for a living. I remember during Indoc back in 1989, we were invited to attend a dinner that ALPA sponsored for new hires. It was billed as a collegial "get to know you" and informal affair at a local steakhouse. What I didn't know is that we would be shut up into a private dining room and handed a union check-off card and asked to sign on, as the reps circulated and watched the proceedings in a vaguely predatory way. Nobody refused membership. It was a little unnerving but I was new to things (all of 23!) and figured if everyone was doing it, it couldn't be bad. It was during that meal that we were told for our infinitesimally small contribution (again, in very declarative terms) that nowhere in the world would we be paid and taken care of, as a professional body, better than as part of this family. Together we were mighty. The great collective at work, so to speak.

Some time in 2004, one of my colleagues, a man for whom I had immense respect and who had been my DC-9 line instructor as a new copilot, took his own life when he realized his pension had been terminated 4 years from his scheduled retirement. You see, he had been promised this alone, above all else was sacrosanct and his contribution to the cause would ensure his long term security.

In the years since 2002, I have made my own way and thus my own happiness - or misfortune. I could no longer point to the failings of others for my situation. Couldn't rage against the machine. Didn't head to the airport ticked off or strangling on the fear of the next system bid result - or praying maybe this year I would have Christmas off. Negotiated for myself. Actually had to learn my trade rather than depending on some arcane work rule or labor division to keep me in a painted line of ineptitude.

Nine tenths of what I read here is the result of the fear of the unknown, authored by people just like me. Think about it.

Some people are gifted with an ability to communicate with eloquence and others with confidence. You sir, are gifted with both. Bravo to you and thanks for those words.

Turbosina 08-28-2016 04:49 PM

Words of wisdom indeed, and so eloquently penned. Kudos to you, sir!

Wink 08-28-2016 04:59 PM


Originally Posted by likenotomorow (Post 2190329)
Ere, many bygone days past and like my father before me, I was an airline pilot. I flew for a regional for 2 years and no sooner had I upgraded to the left seat of a screaming, Garrett-powered rocket, than the Majors were hiring. Thus, I poured into my Major Indoc class with a river of wide-eyed young fellows with similar aspirations, hearing the good and happy words from a dizzying array of suited, wise old heads who proclaimed, "Hang on boys, we haven't even hired our 1991 captains yet!"

This was 1989.

I think that's the first time I even knew what a "career expectation" was and believe me, it was both joyous and terrifying for one who had not even begun to master the craft to contemplate a life of respect, riches and working 10 days a month. But it was out there and it couldn't be taken back. However, I was so worried about the lurking 9-light trip on the electrical panel of a 727 to worry too much about contract language, merger rights, seniority numbers, bidding pitfalls and union politics. That changed almost immediately.

On the crew bus for my first unsupervised trip, my hat gingerly perched on my freshly barbered head, a forty-something flight attendant grinned at me and said in excellent Pittsburghese, "That's a fancy new uniform you got there!" I smiled back. Then she said, "You should take a picture for your mom, sweetie."

In the crew room, I fidgeted, looking for my captain so that I could introduce myself, wondering with dawning horror if my E6-B was still on the hotel dresser (I had been practicing conversions) when I noticed a clot of pilots solemnly gathered around a bulletin board. There were muttered curses. A red-faced first officer who I judged to be a decade older than me grunted, "If those #$^^ing ******** pukes think I'm gonna be jerking gear for them the rest of my life, they're nuts!"

I edged closer, surreptitiously inspecting the shine on my shoes (the FOM was specific about this) and noticed a long list in dot-matrix format stapled to the cork. It was a seniority list, I found, one that included the pilots of a like-sized airline that we had just merged with. Nobody was happy. Among the men around the board was my captain, and I was to later find out, the red-faced F/O was the copilot. After shaking hands and giving my prepared remarks in a quavering voice, I retired to the bathroom, and as I was getting rid of the last of my breakfast, I noticed the scrawled invective, frowning stickers and spleen encircling the stall from top to bottom. It appeared nobody liked their job. Hated the place. Sodom and Gomorrah all round. Moneychangers in the Temple.

Later, from my vantage point behind the two gentlemen conducting the aviating portion of my first flight, I was regaled by the both of them comparing their Rolex watches, new cars, girlfriends and most recent vacations. Occasionally they looked out the window. Occasionally. Nobody asked me any questions. I was just amazed I could afford a 1-bedroom studio without roommates and would have been embarrassed to admit my ride was a 1953 Ford pickup with a caved-in fender, recapped tires and a copious oil leak.

I move through these forums like an old house I used to live in, with yellowing newspapers strewn about on the floors. I pick them up and glance at the stories they contain, drop them back on the floor and sigh.

I flew with a few pretty good people over the next 12 years. Made one lasting friendship. Most however were angry or resigned. Or both. I couldn't identify with a majority of them, or most of the other employees, for that matter. In those days, the mechanics, agents and flight attendants seemed to hate me no matter what the employee number declared, as I was branded A Pilot. Endured a short furlough. Got married and started a family, then lived in constant fear of being able to provide for them as the world changed, apparently for the worse, as far as airline pilots went. In a company that had merged thrice as I was coming on, everyone seemed to have an agenda and wanted to vent - a teeming mass of indignation and uncertainty. And stuff. Comparing stuff. Look at my stuff! Before iPhones, guys carried these photo albums depicting all their stuff in Kodacolor. Or wore it. Remember nugget watches?

More mergers, arbitrations, strike preparedness. Politics. Furloughs. Union recalls. Liars lying and fools listening to the lies and lying to themselves about what the liars meant. The second home I purchased had an escape clause in the contract that would let me out as the closing date coincided with the flight attendants' cooling off period ending. Another merger failed and everyone went nuts. My mom died suddenly. Then my dog.

Shortly thereafter, my back yard neighbor, an American pilot, one day his wife was brutally shot by the so-called "DC Sniper" as she was leaving a craft store (she lived). My wife was in the same parking lot and heard the report and thought a car had backfired. My kids were with her. Across the cul-de-sac where we lived, my neighbor was the lead FBI agent assigned to the nut job sending anthrax through the mail.

9/11. Horror and chaos. I had just relinquished my captain's seat when they announced 1000 pilots would be furloughed immediately. I didn't need the list to know that while safe for the moment (by this time, I could tell you with certainty my calculated FAE at age 60) I would be deep into the reserve list as a copilot and they wouldn't be finished: that's just all they could handle for downgrades and training. There would be more. Many more.

I had seen enough. Realized it wasn't dad's world OR his airline anymore. Everyone was grim. Simmering divisions within our group exploded. We took huge pay and benefit cuts in order to "save" the company with the absolute promise that if we did so, the no-furlough clause would keep everyone working. (Note: anytime anyone makes declarative statements in a time of uncertainty is lying, so assume the opposite. Works like a charm.)

Thus began a life apart from the Great Attrition. I still fly for a living. I remember during Indoc back in 1989, we were invited to attend a dinner that ALPA sponsored for new hires. It was billed as a collegial "get to know you" and informal affair at a local steakhouse. What I didn't know is that we would be shut up into a private dining room and handed a union check-off card and asked to sign on, as the reps circulated and watched the proceedings in a vaguely predatory way. Nobody refused membership. It was a little unnerving but I was new to things (all of 23!) and figured if everyone was doing it, it couldn't be bad. It was during that meal that we were told for our infinitesimally small contribution (again, in very declarative terms) that nowhere in the world would we be paid and taken care of, as a professional body, better than as part of this family. Together we were mighty. The great collective at work, so to speak.

Some time in 2004, one of my colleagues, a man for whom I had immense respect and who had been my DC-9 line instructor as a new copilot, took his own life when he realized his pension had been terminated 4 years from his scheduled retirement. You see, he had been promised this alone, above all else was sacrosanct and his contribution to the cause would ensure his long term security.

In the years since 2002, I have made my own way and thus my own happiness - or misfortune. I could no longer point to the failings of others for my situation. Couldn't rage against the machine. Didn't head to the airport ticked off or strangling on the fear of the next system bid result - or praying maybe this year I would have Christmas off. Negotiated for myself. Actually had to learn my trade rather than depending on some arcane work rule or labor division to keep me in a painted line of ineptitude.

Nine tenths of what I read here is the result of the fear of the unknown, authored by people just like me. Think about it.

Very well written! Immensely enjoyed this.

DrJekyll MrHyde 08-28-2016 05:04 PM

This is the most excellent collection of thoughts I've ever read on APC. This needs to be published.

Sluggo_63 08-28-2016 05:54 PM

Nicely written. Usually I get through the first paragraph of these APC tomes and give it the ol' tl;dr. This one I savored. Thank you.

ShyGuy 08-28-2016 07:57 PM

Great post!


Some key things save, save, save $$$$. Have at least a 1-yr supply of $ savings left alone in a separate account for the emergency fund. Assume 0 from any (still left?) pension plan, take advantage of 401K and matchings, and assume you will get 0 social security when you retire. Enjoy the good times right now because before you know it, the industry will be on the down side of the cycle the future - just like it always does. Self-identify as a family man (husband, father, etc) first, and a pilot second. Don't let it define you.

captjns 08-28-2016 09:02 PM

Excellent post.

I met many pilots who were forced to take the expat route after they were either furloughed or moved back to the right seat. It was heart wrenching listing to the stories, some described by the OP, of those who had their lives destroyed by decisions made by management without any regard to those who gave their careers for that so-called dream job with a major.

I wonder what the next generation of new hires are doing to hedge their bets for when the next furlough or merger occurs. Will ALPA provide to their new members to provide advice about such a life changing catestrophic event?

Klsytakesit 08-28-2016 09:35 PM

The old advice( from when we were young)...When you get hired as an engineer, live like you didnt get hired....When you upgrade to copilot, live like an engineer....When you upgrade to captain never stop living like you are a copilot....and of course.."it is cheaper to keep her"

Hacker15e 08-29-2016 04:10 AM


Originally Posted by Klsytakesit (Post 2190529)
.and of course.."it is cheaper to keep her"

Don't forget that rule's counterweight, "some things are worth the money."

badflaps 08-29-2016 04:45 AM


Originally Posted by Hacker15e (Post 2190587)
Don't forget that rule's counterweight, "some things are worth the money."

Or, the old adage, if it flies, floats or fools around...Rent it.:D

MarktheAV8R 08-29-2016 04:52 AM

The truth has been spoken^^^ To OP, well done good sir, a very pleasant post to read this AM. :)

AldiAirbus 08-29-2016 05:03 AM

Great read. Thank you.

LAXative 08-29-2016 07:18 AM


Originally Posted by Klsytakesit (Post 2190529)
The old advice( from when we were young)...When you get hired as an engineer, live like you didnt get hired....When you upgrade to copilot, live like an engineer....When you upgrade to captain never stop living like you are a copilot....and of course.."it is cheaper to keep her"

As a former colleague said upon learning of being served with divorce papers..... "It's cheapest to kill her".

likenotomorow 08-29-2016 08:36 AM

Didn't go the ex-pat route though I knew a few who did. Seemed like a tough existence that wasn't conducive to family life, or Americans.

What I have found is that nobody, in a purely economic sense, has the ability to "destroy" anyone's life or livelihood.

While we as pilots, are part of the so-called professional class, we are in reality skilled tradesmen. In college, I pursued and attained a four-year degree in English Lit while obtaining my ratings as electives, simply because the airlines required a four-year degree. I took the path of least resistance because I like to read and English is my native tongue. And business classes are utterly eye watering. But it's a totally useless qualification. Unless I wished to endlessly regurgitate the ideas and arguments of my professors regarding the Transcendentalist movement in an academic career, nobody hires an English major to fly their jet. No, the thing I was pursuing was a trade, not different than that of an HVAC technician, an electrician or an A&P. Like my dad, who obtained all of his ratings at the local aerodrome whilst he was a DC-3 cabin attendant, a trade offers sanctioned, often internationally recognized credentials that are specific to the trade. And therefore salable.

I explained this concept early to my children: a bachelor's or master's degree confers no ability to make a living unless it comes with a salable credential, and often some kind of apprenticeship period. Thus the world is littered with useless undergrad degrees. If your major has the term "studies" or references some bygone era of world history, you have been taken and will likely find no employment in your field of endeavor. Good luck.

I realized, while fuming and sputtering through my airline career, that unless I was happy with other people making my career decisions, I would have to put my credentials to the test in the marketplace. And I wasn't happy. I also knew that sitting in the right seat of a baby Boeing, connecting 12 city pairs together for the next decade or two wasn't doing anything for my credentials - or my attitude. I also understood that as long as I didn't sexually harass somebody, passed my physical and showed up for training, nobody really gave a damn whether it was me, or somebody that looked like me, that showed up that day. I could then pursue a life of acquiring stuff without regard for where I was headed professionally: it was out of my hands.

So after the dreams of falling, suffocation and drowning became too much and my wife mused on the likelihood of pleading temporary insanity to the impending violent death of her husband, I went forth, with some help and encouragement from friends to another, more vibrant sector of aviation where I have apparently, unaccountably...prospered.

badflaps 08-29-2016 08:42 AM


Originally Posted by likenotomorow (Post 2190753)
Didn't go the ex-pat route though I knew a few who did. Seemed like a tough existence that wasn't conducive to family life, or Americans.

What I have found is that nobody, in a purely economic sense, has the ability to "destroy" anyone's life or livelihood.

While we as pilots, are part of the so-called professional class, we are in reality skilled tradesmen. In college, I pursued and attained a four-year degree in English Lit while obtaining my ratings as electives, simply because the airlines required a four-year degree. I took the path of least resistance because I like to read and English is my native tongue. And business classes are utterly eye watering. But it's a totally useless qualification. Unless I wished to endlessly regurgitate the ideas and arguments of my professors regarding the Transcendentalist movement in an academic career, nobody hires an English major to fly their jet. No, the thing I was pursuing was a trade, not different than that of an HVAC technician, an electrician or an A&P. Like my dad, who obtained all of his ratings at the local aerodrome whilst he was a DC-3 cabin attendant, a trade offers sanctioned, often internationally recognized credentials that are specific to the trade. And therefore salable.

I explained this concept early to my children: a bachelor's or master's degree confers no ability to make a living unless it comes with a salable credential, and often some kind of apprenticeship period. Thus the world is littered with useless undergrad degrees. If your major has the term "studies" or references some bygone era of world history, you have been taken and will likely find no employment in your field of endeavor. Good luck.

I realized, while fuming and sputtering through my airline career, that unless I was happy with other people making my career decisions, I would have to put my credentials to the test in the marketplace. And I wasn't happy. I also knew that sitting in the right seat of a baby Boeing, connecting 12 city pairs together for the next decade or two wasn't doing anything for my credentials - or my attitude. I also understood that as long as I didn't sexually harass somebody, passed my physical and showed up for training, nobody really gave a damn whether it was me, or somebody that looked like me, that showed up that day. I could then pursue a life of acquiring stuff without regard for where I was headed professionally: it was out of my hands.

So after the dreams of falling, suffocation and drowning became too much and my wife mused on the likelihood of pleading temporary insanity to the impending violent death of her husband, I went forth, with some help and encouragement from friends to another, more vibrant sector of aviation where I have apparently, unaccountably...prospered.

Clearly, that English degree has come in handy.

busdriver12 08-29-2016 08:49 AM

Nice piece of writing. I feel fortunate that I have not had to endure what you did, though I have been furloughed and worried about supporting my family. However, you seem as if you haven't liked or respected the people you worked with, and feeling as if you don't fit in makes a job truly miserable. I have been blessed to work with people I respect and enjoy. Sure, many are wealthy and enjoy their "stuff", and complain during negotiations and when things are screwed up, but that doesn't define their entire existence.

As tough as things get sometimes, your situation is often what you make of it. It's good that you recognized the job was not for you, and found something else with a better fit.

To add, you probably would have felt more comfortable if you had been better prepared. Only two years at a regional, and hired with almost no PIC time? Wow, that's amazing that you would get hired with that background, and it's no wonder you were terrified.

White Cap 08-29-2016 09:25 AM

Great post. I especially like dark chapter about the evil union eunuchs patrolling the free dinner. Every story needs a boogeyman.

busdriver12 08-29-2016 09:39 AM


Originally Posted by White Cap (Post 2190789)
Great post. I especially like dark chapter about the evil union eunuchs patrolling the free dinner. Every story needs a boogeyman.

Oh yeah. It's almost as if....it's a great story, written by an airline pilot groupie.:eek:

likenotomorow 08-29-2016 09:50 AM

I was terrified. Still am sometimes. A healthy degree of terror is a good thing, brother.

However let me qualify the assumption: the regional was a western New York based company and none in the fleet had an autopilot. Half of it was unpressurized. No such thing as a flight director, either. Dude, that's combat. I flew a thousand both years. Prior to that, I had a couple of thousand of agricultural, banner tow and glider yanking. Some Beech 18 time. A little flight instruction for good measure. In fact, though the youngest in my class I was easily in the top 10 percent for raw experience. Certainly more than the fighter pilots. Passed up classes at Alaska and American to fly at the family Alma Mater. The old man had 250 hours and no multi engine rating when he went into the right seat of a DC-3. I know a guy who went into a B-26 with 175 hours as an aircraft commander, flew 193 combat missions in North Africa and lived to tell me about it. He said he was scared for half of it then just considered himself dead and it was almost tolerable.

I sound defensive. Sorry.

busdriver12 08-29-2016 10:19 AM

I get pretty scared when I spill my coffee. Fighter pilots don't have to deal with that, those wimps. Dang it, I just got these pants dry cleaned!:D

Sliceback 08-29-2016 11:20 AM

Hired at 23, 4,000+ hrs, with hand flown, no FD, unpressurized, combat time. That was typical resume stuff back then except few called it combat time.
And a four year degree? Busy little beaver.

Name User 08-29-2016 11:43 AM

What a great post and thread. I agree partially with the OP. I too feel somewhat stifled by the airline seniority system. Especially at the larger company I am now, I feel I make no difference on the lives of our fellow crew members and passengers. I'm just a cog in the machine. I could perform to the best of my ability and receive no career bumps because of it. I also feel a little disheartened to realize that someone just like me is waiting on the list to fly my trip should I not do it. Our pay is artificially high because of strong arm union tactics, not because we are actually a highly compensated profession like medical or IT professionals.

Most people use this as a job to pay bills, their bills growing steadily as income increases. Instead I use the job and money from it to create a sustainable life I can keep living should the job go away. With the pay at the major level one can acquire significant assets in a fairly short period of time, what would take an average American a lifetime to do. All of the issues from years past stemmed from people who didn't plan for the worst when the times were good.

tomgoodman 08-29-2016 12:07 PM


Originally Posted by badflaps (Post 2190758)
Clearly, that English degree has come in handy.

Right! How else could one come up with words like "aerodrome" and "whilst"? ;)

busdriver12 08-29-2016 12:22 PM


Originally Posted by Name User (Post 2190910)
What a great post and thread. I agree partially with the OP. I too feel somewhat stifled by the airline seniority system. Especially at the larger company I am now, I feel I make no difference on the lives of our fellow crew members and passengers. I'm just a cog in the machine. I could perform to the best of my ability and receive no career bumps because of it. I also feel a little disheartened to realize that someone just like me is waiting on the list to fly my trip should I not do it. Our pay is artificially high because of strong arm union tactics, not because we are actually a highly compensated profession like medical or IT professionals.
.

Is it really that important to be the only special snowflake that could fly that trip? If I can't fly it, the person who will replace me is also a competent, qualified, well trained pilot. So what if we're all merely numbers to our companies? We just want that number to be going down quickly, as people retire. I'm special to my family and dogs, and that is what matters.

I am grateful every day I get to do this job, "whilst" flying between "aerodromes".:rolleyes: I make a crapload of money doing it, and I don't care whatsoever that it's not because of my awesome flying skills, but because of union negotiations. Times are good now. Enjoy them "whilst" you can.:D

Rama 08-29-2016 01:17 PM

The pay and benefits are artificially low when you are furloughed.

GucciBoy 08-29-2016 04:14 PM


Originally Posted by likenotomorow (Post 2190815)
I was terrified. Still am sometimes. A healthy degree of terror is a good thing, brother.



However let me qualify the assumption: the regional was a western New York based company and none in the fleet had an autopilot. Half of it was unpressurized. No such thing as a flight director, either. Dude, that's combat. I flew a thousand both years. Prior to that, I had a couple of thousand of agricultural, banner tow and glider yanking. Some Beech 18 time. A little flight instruction for good measure. In fact, though the youngest in my class I was easily in the top 10 percent for raw experience. Certainly more than the fighter pilots. Passed up classes at Alaska and American to fly at the family Alma Mater. The old man had 250 hours and no multi engine rating when he went into the right seat of a DC-3. I know a guy who went into a B-26 with 175 hours as an aircraft commander, flew 193 combat missions in North Africa and lived to tell me about it. He said he was scared for half of it then just considered himself dead and it was almost tolerable.



I sound defensive. Sorry.



Dude, that's some tough flying, but it is most certainly not combat. It's not even combat in quotes.


Sent from my iPhone using Tapatalk

Qotsaautopilot 08-29-2016 04:28 PM

So what's this greener pasture you graze in? I'd like to start my plan B

busdriver12 08-29-2016 06:40 PM


Originally Posted by Qotsaautopilot (Post 2191149)
So what's this greener pasture you graze in? I'd like to start my plan B

Apparently it is a place where everybody loves their jobs and nobody cares about "stuff". They spend their flights gazing out the window at the beauty of it all, are always happy, there is nothing to vent about, and there are no liars or fools. It's a place where people don't kill themselves when they find out they are going to lose their pensions in four years (seriously, one knows exactly why a person killed themselves? Wonder why he didn't wait the four years?) It's a place where they have no union, nobody works over Christmas, and they actually need to learn how to be skilled pilots (unlike the rest of us, apparently), and they are waaay cooler than fighter pilots.

Sounds kind of fictional, doesn't it? Maybe it's the flying Buddhist monk brigade.

tomgoodman 08-29-2016 07:12 PM


Originally Posted by Qotsaautopilot (Post 2191149)
So what's this greener pasture you graze in? I'd like to start my plan B

He left some clues: the thread title...hmmm...and it's "more vibrant"...hmmm...

I have it! He's flying a traffic watch helicopter in Sweden! :D

ShyGuy 08-29-2016 07:42 PM

Is the OP's airline US Airways?

likenotomorow 08-29-2016 09:51 PM

I went the corporate route, first for a really big name that moved us out to the west coast. Then five years later I was lured away to work for an individual, back in the southeast.

It ain't group hugs all the time, but my department is small with 2 airplanes and 5 guys. We all like each other. My boss is a decent and genteel man with a nice family. He's a workaholic. We fly a busy schedule mostly domestic, some international.

I had taken a leave back in the mid-90's to manage a corporate flight department and had really enjoyed it and when it came time to make a change, I had some idea what I was getting into.

This work here is varied and it certainly isn't for everyone. There's a whole lot to be said for the showing up, flying the trip and the going directly home aspect of an airline pilot. On the worst days I get a little sentimental for those days. For example, one day I could be cleaning the office commodes, the next helping to install a garlock Carbon seal on an engine accessory drive pad, the next, meeting with sales and technical people from an OEM to spec our new plane. Arranging charters for extra lift. And oh yeah, flying trips, meeting with vendors, paying my contract people, shopping for supplies, meeting with payroll once a month. On and on.

But I haven't worked a Christmas or Thanksgiving, Fourth of July or wedding anniversary for the last ten years. We are paid a salary and have no work rules. We are not scrutinized very much by the FAA as a Part 91 operator. Obviously that is a liability if you're stupid, a blessing if you're not.

If the scales on this site are correct, I earn more than a 10 year Delta wide body commander, have no contribution obligation to our family medical plan, and as the song goes, "I don't pay no union dues." (Is that a "crapload"?) There's horrible corporate jobs out there, just like there's horrible airlines. There's great ones, too. I don't have much stuff, own neither a boat or light airplane. I run so my investment for stuff tends toward running shoes, earphones and cold weather gear.

Diring the 2007-2009 economic troubles, I paid a guy $25K down in South Georgia to requalify me for spraying. That was an interesting reboot. I didn't have to play that card, but I would have if things kept heading the way they were going. Pretty sure I would have been happy. The young guys were infinitely amused.

When asked by some of those young people which aviation path they should take I would usually ask them if they wanted to be "a guy" or did they want to be "the guy"? No wrong answer, and it depends on one's own constitution and disposition. But it's a simple enough thing to ask and answer; always surprised how little it gets asked.

Albief15 08-30-2016 12:57 AM

Nice story. It did suck for a lot of guys the last two decades. It was going bad when 9/11 pushed the industry off the ledge.

Security doesnt come with a job. Airlines furlough. The military RIFs people or passes them over. Guard units get BRAC'd. Corporations cut or sell off aviation departments. Generous part 91 owners die or sometimes hit financial skids and make cuts. On an individual level, pilots lose medicals... 15 years of preping pilots...Ive heard these and dozens more...

I cringe when I hear new hires or wannabes project their earnings if hired at airline x at age y. But I also cringe when I see a guy who was brave enough to fly combat or land on a ship at night so afraid of losing a job he will stay on a miserable place for 8 more years that he doesn't like.

Build a foundation. Have a network. Develop skills that can be used away from the cockpit. Save and invest...hard year 1 or 2 but no excuses after that. Always be ready to answer the question "what would I do in 5 years if my airline was gone?" Be good at your craft. Have another skill set or two you could use if required, however.

Some people will do okay. I got to fly fighters for 20 years, and am now a lazy 767 captain who enjoys 5 star hotels and good food around Asia. Currently on a two week 1.5 pay trip. Not trying to brag, just pointing out that while it may have sucked at times there are good times in the industry too. I will savor it, but wont spend all of it either...just in case... There have been hard parts of even a great career, and to quote Sturgil Simpson "..it aint all flowers..." But it isnt all thorns either. But you are correct that you don't go to work seeking praise or validation. I got that from a previous job and a side business. For me, I enjoy being a tiny part of the borg, so that it thrives even if I am off doing something else Id rather do that day. Having been "indespensible" or "the only guy for the job" in the Air Force always seemed to be a ticket to a ****ty TDY somewhere, so just being one of 4500 works very well now in my life.

And those mean ALPA thugs didnt take your pension. They may have made mistakes, but they were about the only folks fighting for you 95% of the time. I can guarantee nobody else cared...

likenotomorow 08-30-2016 10:18 AM

The union thing. Instead of being one of our many rock throwers, I actually volunteered, did informational picketing, performed committee work and edited the union magazine. But at the end of it, I found myself pretty much detesting most of the people on our negotiating comittees, the MEC chairmen, and most of the reps. I dealt with. There were notable exceptions, of course, but the majority were men who fancied themselves ersatz executives, never flew a complete line of time and claimed FPL with members' money while treating themselves and their families to lavish vacation "conferences" to discuss "business".
I saw that up close and it sickened me.
One notable exception was a renegade F/O rep who had been recalled twice for breaking confidentiality agreements when he felt necessary information was being suppressed or the pilots were being misled. He was one of the final parts of my decision to leave when he verified our no-furlough clause was going to be overridden by a force majure claim and that the union already knew it, but were telling pilots if they agreed to a very onerous side letter of concessions, all would be safe.

And after I made my career change, those guys indemnified themselves, signed non-disclosures with the company, lied to the pilots and terminated their pensions after specifically and unconditionally telling the them the opposite. That, and some other spectacular failures to represent got them tossed off the property.

So I'm with Eric Hoffer. He said that every great cause begins with a movement, becomes a business, and eventually degenerates into a racket. My dad had helped organize ALPA on the property in 1954 and served as the first copilot rep. in DCA. There were no work rules, duty limits or retirement plan. He helped change that and when he retired with 40 years of uninterrupted service, he reaped the benefits and knew the value of his efforts. I came on a year later, and the new generation seemed to know the cost of everything and the value of nothing. The good times were going to last forever, and if not, seniority was a shield to be used to protect the lifestyles of the senior. While I am aware that unions have set the standard of pay and scope for tradesmen since the era of Samuel Gompers, I am also aware humans and their nature are fallible, and greed, and avarice and stupidity thrive unless great care is taken.

Molon Labe 08-30-2016 10:53 AM

Great post!

busdriver12 08-30-2016 01:42 PM

So you rely upon the largesse and health of your employer to keep your job, and for him to continue to treat you kindly. I hope he provides a healthy pension for you, as it sounds like you are one heartbeat (his) away from losing your employment. From all appearances, it sounds like you have found what is right for you, though with the lack of security and non flying related duties, it's not for everyone. I got my fill of being the bosses administrative assistant in the military, all we wanted to do was to go fly....to anywhere. It is fortunate there are many types of jobs out there, something for everyone. And with your contempt for unions, it's probably best you are not represented by one.

likenotomorow 08-30-2016 02:47 PM

Easy now! Largesse? Heartbeat? No sir, I represented myself and we signed an employment agreement that was satisfactory to both of us. You're kidding yourself if you think you have more security than anyone else, especially if you have been standing in a painted circle on a factory floor pulling the same lever for a couple of decades. Factories burn down, market forces change and I bet the folks who made buggy whips thought they were in it for the long haul.

But in addition to cleaning the crapper I have attended industry trade shows, safety conferences, and delivered new airplanes. Wrote and implemented the FOM for a Fortune 10 flight department, and subjected myself and my department to the scrutiny of an internationally recognized industry association for review. And passed. Took guys out in big fast corporate jets and qualified them to fly 'em. Then took them around the world. And did all the flight planning. My wife and I prepare a monthly budget and I sign everyone's check, including my own. Pay the vendors and contractors.

My job is to get that guy to his next meeting, safely and on time. Not only do I depend on that, so do the scores of other fools in the corporation who depend on the "largesse".

So really I will take the Pepsi Challenge with anyone if it comes to it. And yes, it's a nice feeling to know my security lies within my competence and experience, not in the promises of anyone, whether it's a union rep or a corporate sugar daddy. The ability for me to replace or improve my income after a job change is way better than when...I was like every other swingin'...

Qotsaautopilot 08-30-2016 05:49 PM

Who wants to do all that. Sounds exhausting.


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