Support the Art--See Last King

The Art Theater has once again proven its worth by bringing the The Last King of Scotland to town. Laurie and I, along with the Burai (plural for Buras), took it in last Friday. I'm not entirely sure how much of the movie is factual. It is based on a novel about a young Scottish doctor who was working in Uganda at a mission hospital where he by chance encounters Idi Amin and becomes his personal physician.

While the vast majority of critics are raving about Forest Whitaker's portrayal of Amin, and rightly so, it is the relatively unknown (to me anyway) James McAvoy that deserves no less credit for his turn as the young, narcissistic Dr. Nicholas Garrigan. Whether Garrigan actually existed or not, I'm not sure. There's no mention of him in the epilogue at the end of the film. But it is through his character that you are transported into Amin's inner circle and experience the seduction of absolute power firsthand.

I won't go much more into the film, but I will say this. For me it was as much about the naive arrogance of bumper sticker activism as it was about Amin's cruelty. This theme is particularly underscored in one of the film's harrowing final moments. But I won't drop any more hints. Go see it and see it at the Art so they can keep bringing great movies to this town.

Simmer Down Dick

In my last post I made mention of know-nothing politicians over reacting--wait, over acting about the Lidle accident in New York. This week's best actor award goes to Dick Daley--or Emporer Daley as those familiar with his Meigs Field land grab like to refer to him. In a fit of hyperbole he loosed this gem, "They should not jeopardize, through intentionally or by accident, a single- or two-engine plane flying over our city [sic]." "Remember: a single- or two-engine plane can kill as many people as possible if they want to."

AOPA President, Phil Boyer, responded to Daley's ridiculous assertion in an article which you can read in its entirety here. Below, however, are the portions of the response that really get to the heart of how irrational so much of the demagoguery we've been subjected to in the last several days really is.

OK, for all of those ranting about "threats" from GA aircraft, we'll believe that you're really serious about controlling "threats" when you call for:

• Banning all vans within cities. A small panel van was used in the first World Trade Center attack. The bomb, which weighed 1,500 pounds, killed six and injured 1,042.
• Banning all box trucks from cities. Timothy McVeigh's rented Ryder truck carried a 5,000-pound bomb that killed 168 in Oklahoma City.
• Banning all semi-trailer trucks. They can carry bombs weighing more than 50,000 pounds.
• Banning newspapers on subways. That's how the terrorists hid packages of sarin nerve gas in the Tokyo subway system. They killed 12.
• Banning backpacks on all buses and subways. That's how the terrorists got the bombs into the London subway system. They killed 52.
• Banning all cell phones on trains. That's how they detonated the bombs in backpacks placed on commuter trains in Madrid. They killed 191.
• Banning all small pleasure boats on public waterways. That's how terrorists attacked the USS Cole, killing 17.
• Banning all heavy or bulky clothing in all public places. That's how suicide bombers hide their murderous charges. Thousands killed.

Number of people killed by a terrorist attack using a GA aircraft? Zero.

Number of people injured by a terrorist attack using a GA aircraft? Zero.

Property damage from a terrorist attack using a GA aircraft? None.

So be consistent in your logic. If you are dead set on restricting a personal transportation system that carries more passengers than any single airline, reaches more American cities than all the airlines combined, provides employment for 1.3 million American citizens and $160 billion in business "to protect the public," then restrict or control every other transportation system that the terrorists have demonstrated they can use to kill.

Don't worry, Phil. They probably will.

(Yeah, I did that on purpose)

Much Ado About Lidle

Ever since Eric Lidle earned his place in aviation history yesterday, I've had more than one person ask me what I thought happened. At first it sounded like a typical VFR into IFR scenario-- inexperienced pilot without an instrument rating suddenly finds himself in the clouds and gets disoriented. Also referred to as the JFK Jr. scenario. Tonight, however, I came across this story which sheds a little more light on what happened. It also happens to be the most balanced, unsensationalistic analysis of a high profile aviation accident I've ever seen in the mainstream media.

The aircraft that Mr. Lidle was piloting was a 2002 Cirrus SR-20. Except for some instrumentation differences, this is the exact same airplane I fly. The only really troubling aspect of this whole incident for me, besides the inevitable over reaction by know-nothing politicians, was the fact an instructor was in the cockpit with Lidle. It just makes the whole tragedy seem that much more needless than it already was.

I was going to write about the many inaccuracies being reported by the media regarding this incident, but they are so many it's pointless to even try. There is one widely reported, oft repeated fallacy, however, that I will address. Contrary to what many news stories are saying, light aircraft flying up and down the Hudson or East Rivers do talk to ATC if they are below 1,100 feet. The charts I have for the New York metro area clearly state "although arriving aircraft may be operating beneath the floor of class B airspace on initial contact, communications should be established with approach control" whether they've filed a flight plan or not. They also indicate VFR aircraft operating below 2000 feet in the vicinity of where Lidle crashed need to contact La Guardia or JFK control towers.

Still, I can understand how many non-pilots might wonder why the FAA has allowed small aircraft to continue to fly so close to Manhattan with relatively light supervision. The answer is simple. A light private aircraft does not pose a serious threat as a weapon of mass destruction. The payloads are too small to carry any amount of explosives that could do serious damage and their slight mass and relatively slow airspeeds make them poor projectiles. Also, private airplane operaters know their passengers and cargo making the probability of a hijacking slim to none. Plus, it's very difficult to "blend in" at a small airport. AOPA's Airport Watch program has gone a long way into helping the smaller out-of-the-way airports tighten security.

All that said, it still doesn't change the fact that the biggest challenge to the public's perception of private aviation is not an ignorant press corp, but the errant pilots who give them something to talk about now and then.

I'm Sorry Bernie

Back in ’93 when I was working toward my private pilot license, I had a particularly difficult stage check instructor named Bernie. The school where I was receiving instruction was what was called a Part 141 school. Basically this meant the school was operated under Part 141 of the Federal Aviation Regulations.

Under Part 141 a school is to maintain a 3-stage, FAA approved syllabus. At the end of each stage the student is given, what is in essence, a mini check ride by a stage check instructor other than his regular instructor. If you don’t pass a stage exam, it is back to the previous stage for remedial instruction. Stage II was the flying school equivalent of a midterm.

My first stage exam had been a breeze and I was completely confident in my abilities to ace stage II. When it came time to set up the stage II my assigned instructor at the time (I ended up going through about 3 of them—that’s another story) told me in a somewhat somber tone I’d be flying with Bernie. He said, “Bernie has a reputation for being pretty tough, but I think he’s fair.” I think he’s fair? Some instructors didn’t? Still I wasn’t too worried. I knew my stuff and could demonstrate it at the controls. I was sure I’d be fine.

I’d never met Bernie before. I’d seen him around the airport, but I had no idea he was one of the instructors, let alone one of the all-powerful stage check instructors. He was in his late 60’s early 70’s and was often seen buzzing around the airport in an old Stearman. I’d never met an old pilot I didn’t like. Old pilots were generally pretty mellow and full of aeronautical wisdom from thousands of hours of flying through every kind of sky imaginable. I would liken them to Tolkien’s ents. I expected Bernie would be the same way.

The day of the stage II exam arrived and the two hour ordeal started in the basement classroom of the school with an oral exam. Bernie sat silently across from me hunched over my folder looking for weaknesses. The first question out of his mouth was less spoken than barked. I can’t remember what it was, but I remember being so surprised by the delivery I totally blanked. Bernie glowered at me from behind his glasses, “Well?!? Don’t you know this stuff?” Eventually I coaxed a reply from my frozen larynx.

The rest of the oral went OK as far as I can recall but any confidence I’d had going in was gone, or at least critically wounded. Every answer I gave, whether right or wrong, was greeted with the same disdainful glare. The idea I was going to have to spend an hour in a cramped 152 cockpit with this guy filled me with dread. For the first time in my instruction, I was afraid I wasn’t going to pass.

The flight portion was a near disaster. The same hostility I’d faced during the oral just seemed to be magnified by the tight space of the cockpit. A couple of times when he asked me to demonstrate a maneuver he would yank the controls away from me, practically screaming at me that I didn’t know what I was doing. My anxiety slowly morphed into anger. I’d always been raised to respect my elders, but this guy was being a grade A ass and I didn’t care how old he was or how much experience he had. He was making me uncomfortable and I was certain he was getting a charge out of doing so. By the end of the flight I hated him.

Despite that flight with Bernie I went on to finish my training and obtain my private pilot license. And with the passing of the final check ride, so passed most of my animus toward Bernie. Once I had the ticket there was nothing he could do about it. I’d see him now and then around the airport, but I still resented him enough that I wouldn’t ever talk to him unless I had to.

That was 13 years ago. A couple of days ago, I saw Bernie again while eating lunch. His wife, every bit the saint I imagined she had to be, gently led his emaciated frame to the table right next to ours and helped him into his chair. She spoke softly to him, “We’re going to have some soup and some nice hot tea, OK?” Bernie simply stared straight ahead, his mouth agape, in the frozen grimace of dementia. His wife caught me staring and smiled sweetly. I weakly returned her smile and looked away. But when I went to pay my bill, I looked at Bernie again and the improbable happened. I started to get choked up.

I felt ashamed for the terrible thoughts I’d had and things I’d said right after that exam over a decade ago. I remember bitterly complaining to my instructor about the “demented old man”. I remember wanting to strike him when he suddenly yanked the controls away from me during an approach, yelling at me as if I was some kind of idiot. Most of all, I was heartbroken at the prospect that a lifetime of flying memories were lost forever. I sincerely pray that wherever Bernie is behind that vacant stare, it’s in the cockpit of his Stearman flying over Central Illinois through a crystal blue autumn sky.