Amazing Story, Still Baffling
- Thread starter SmitteyB
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mooneyguy
been around forever
This is a long story, if this is old, sorry. It is however a great reminder to never let yourself think you are TOO BIG, because there seems to always be somebody out there who might just be bigger, or at least think they are!
The Fastest Guys Out There
Written by Brian Schul - former sled driver
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
There were a lot of things we couldn’t do in an SR-71, but we were the fastest guys on the block and loved reminding our fellow aviators of this fact.
People often asked us if, because of this fact, it was fun to fly the jet. Fun would not be the first word I would use to describe flying this plane. Intense, maybe. Even cerebral. But there was one day in our Sled experience when we would have to say that it was pure fun to be the fastest guys out there, at least for a moment.
It occurred when Walt and I were flying our final training sortie. We needed 100 hours in the jet to complete our training and attain Mission Ready status. Somewhere over Colorado we had passed the century mark. We had made the turn in Arizona and the jet was performing flawlessly. My gauges were wired in the front seat and we were starting to feel pretty good about ourselves, not only because we would soon be flying real missions but because we had gained a great deal of confidence in the plan in the past ten months. Ripping across the barren deserts 80,000 feet below us, I could already see the coast of California from the Arizona border. I was, finally, after many humbling months of simulators and study, ahead of the jet.
I was beginning to feel a bit sorry for Walter in the back seat. There he was, with no really good view of the incredible sights before us, tasked with monitoring four different radios. This was good practice for him for when we began flying real missions, when a priority transmission from headquarters could be vital. It had been difficult, too, for me to relinquish control of the radios, as during my entire flying career I had controlled my own transmissions. But it was part of the division of duties in this plane and I had adjusted to it. I still insisted on talking on the radio while we were on the ground, however. Walt was so good at many things, but he couldn’t match my expertise at sounding smooth on the radios, a skill that had been honed sharply with years in fighter squadrons where the slightest radio miscue was grounds for beheading. He understood that and allowed me that luxury. Just to get a sense of what Walt had to contend with, I pulled the radio toggle switches and monitored the frequencies along with him. The predominant radio chatter was from Los Angeles Center, far below us, controlling daily traffic in their sector. While they had us on their scope (albeit briefly), we were in uncontrolled airspace and normally would not talk to them unless we needed to descend into their airspace.
We listened as the shaky voice of a lone Cessna pilot asked Center for a readout of his ground speed. Center replied:
November Charlie 175, I’m showing you at ninety knots on the ground.
Now the thing to understand about Center controllers, was that whether they were talking to a rookie pilot in a Cessna, or to Air Force One, they always spoke in the exact same, calm, deep, professional, tone that made one feel important. I referred to it as the “ HoustonCentervoice.” I have always felt that after years of seeing documentaries on this country’s space program and listening to the calm and distinct voice of the Houstoncontrollers, that all other controllers since then wanted to sound like that… and that they basically did. And it didn’t matter what sector of the country we would be flying in, it always seemed like the same guy was talking. Over the years that tone of voice had become somewhat of a comforting sound to pilots everywhere. Conversely, over the years, pilots always wanted to ensure that, when transmitting, they sounded like Chuck Yeager, or at least like John Wayne. Better to die than sound bad on the radios.
Just moments after the Cessna’s inquiry, a Twin Beech piped up on frequency, in a rather superior tone, asking for his groundspeed.
in Beach.
I have you at one hundred and twenty-five knots of ground speed.
Boy, I thought, the Beechcraft really must think he is dazzling his Cessna brethren.
Then out of the blue, a navy F-18 pilot out of NAS Lemoore came up on frequency. You knew right away it was a Navy jock because he sounded very cool on the radios.
Center, Dusty 52 ground speed check
Before Center could reply, I’m thinking to myself, hey, Dusty 52 has a ground speed indicator in that million-dollar cockpit, so why is he asking Center for a readout? Then I got it, ol’ Dusty here is making sure that every bug smasher from Mount Whitney to the Mojave knows what true speed is. He’s the fastest dude in the valley today, and he just wants everyone to know how much fun he is having in his new Hornet.
And the reply, always with that same, calm, voice, with more distinct alliteration than emotion:
Dusty 52, Center, we have you at 620 on the ground.
And I thought to myself, is this a ripe situation, or what? As my hand instinctively reached for the mic button, I had to remind myself that Walt was in control of the radios. Still, I thought, it must be done – in mere seconds we’ll be out of the sector and the opportunity will be lost. That Hornet must die, and die now.
I thought about all of our Sim training and how important it was that we developed well as a crew and knew that to jump in on the radios now would destroy the integrity of all that we had worked toward becoming. I was torn. Somewhere, 13 miles above Arizona, there was a pilot screaming inside his space helmet.
Then, I heard it. The click of the mic button from the back seat. That was the very moment that I knew Walter and I had become a crew. Very professionally, and with no emotion, Walter spoke:
Los Angeles Center, Aspen 20, can you give us a ground speed check?
There was no hesitation, and the replay came as if was an everyday request.
Aspen 20, I show you at one thousand eight hundred and forty-two knots, across the ground.
I think it was the forty-two knots that I liked the best, so accurate and proud was Center to deliver that information without hesitation, and you just knew he was smiling. But the precise point at which I knew that Walt and I were going to be really good friends for a long time was when he keyed the mic once again to say, in his most fighter-pilot-like voice:
Ah, Center, much thanks,
We’re showing closer to nineteen hundred on the money.
For a moment Walter was a god. And we finally heard a little crack in the armor of the HoustonCentervoice, when L.A.came back with,
Roger that Aspen,
Your equipment is probably more accurate than ours.
You boys have a good one.
It all had lasted for just moments, but in that short, memorable sprint across the southwest, the Navy had been flamed, all mortal airplanes on freq were forced to bow before the King of Speed, and more importantly, Walter and I had crossed the threshold of being a crew. A fine day’s work.
We never heard another transmission on that frequency all the way to the coast. For just one day, it truly was fun being the fastest guys out there.
The Fastest Guys Out There
Written by Brian Schul - former sled driver
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
There were a lot of things we couldn’t do in an SR-71, but we were the fastest guys on the block and loved reminding our fellow aviators of this fact.
People often asked us if, because of this fact, it was fun to fly the jet. Fun would not be the first word I would use to describe flying this plane. Intense, maybe. Even cerebral. But there was one day in our Sled experience when we would have to say that it was pure fun to be the fastest guys out there, at least for a moment.
It occurred when Walt and I were flying our final training sortie. We needed 100 hours in the jet to complete our training and attain Mission Ready status. Somewhere over Colorado we had passed the century mark. We had made the turn in Arizona and the jet was performing flawlessly. My gauges were wired in the front seat and we were starting to feel pretty good about ourselves, not only because we would soon be flying real missions but because we had gained a great deal of confidence in the plan in the past ten months. Ripping across the barren deserts 80,000 feet below us, I could already see the coast of California from the Arizona border. I was, finally, after many humbling months of simulators and study, ahead of the jet.
I was beginning to feel a bit sorry for Walter in the back seat. There he was, with no really good view of the incredible sights before us, tasked with monitoring four different radios. This was good practice for him for when we began flying real missions, when a priority transmission from headquarters could be vital. It had been difficult, too, for me to relinquish control of the radios, as during my entire flying career I had controlled my own transmissions. But it was part of the division of duties in this plane and I had adjusted to it. I still insisted on talking on the radio while we were on the ground, however. Walt was so good at many things, but he couldn’t match my expertise at sounding smooth on the radios, a skill that had been honed sharply with years in fighter squadrons where the slightest radio miscue was grounds for beheading. He understood that and allowed me that luxury. Just to get a sense of what Walt had to contend with, I pulled the radio toggle switches and monitored the frequencies along with him. The predominant radio chatter was from Los Angeles Center, far below us, controlling daily traffic in their sector. While they had us on their scope (albeit briefly), we were in uncontrolled airspace and normally would not talk to them unless we needed to descend into their airspace.
We listened as the shaky voice of a lone Cessna pilot asked Center for a readout of his ground speed. Center replied:
November Charlie 175, I’m showing you at ninety knots on the ground.
Now the thing to understand about Center controllers, was that whether they were talking to a rookie pilot in a Cessna, or to Air Force One, they always spoke in the exact same, calm, deep, professional, tone that made one feel important. I referred to it as the “ HoustonCentervoice.” I have always felt that after years of seeing documentaries on this country’s space program and listening to the calm and distinct voice of the Houstoncontrollers, that all other controllers since then wanted to sound like that… and that they basically did. And it didn’t matter what sector of the country we would be flying in, it always seemed like the same guy was talking. Over the years that tone of voice had become somewhat of a comforting sound to pilots everywhere. Conversely, over the years, pilots always wanted to ensure that, when transmitting, they sounded like Chuck Yeager, or at least like John Wayne. Better to die than sound bad on the radios.
Just moments after the Cessna’s inquiry, a Twin Beech piped up on frequency, in a rather superior tone, asking for his groundspeed.
in Beach.
I have you at one hundred and twenty-five knots of ground speed.
Boy, I thought, the Beechcraft really must think he is dazzling his Cessna brethren.
Then out of the blue, a navy F-18 pilot out of NAS Lemoore came up on frequency. You knew right away it was a Navy jock because he sounded very cool on the radios.
Center, Dusty 52 ground speed check
Before Center could reply, I’m thinking to myself, hey, Dusty 52 has a ground speed indicator in that million-dollar cockpit, so why is he asking Center for a readout? Then I got it, ol’ Dusty here is making sure that every bug smasher from Mount Whitney to the Mojave knows what true speed is. He’s the fastest dude in the valley today, and he just wants everyone to know how much fun he is having in his new Hornet.
And the reply, always with that same, calm, voice, with more distinct alliteration than emotion:
Dusty 52, Center, we have you at 620 on the ground.
And I thought to myself, is this a ripe situation, or what? As my hand instinctively reached for the mic button, I had to remind myself that Walt was in control of the radios. Still, I thought, it must be done – in mere seconds we’ll be out of the sector and the opportunity will be lost. That Hornet must die, and die now.
I thought about all of our Sim training and how important it was that we developed well as a crew and knew that to jump in on the radios now would destroy the integrity of all that we had worked toward becoming. I was torn. Somewhere, 13 miles above Arizona, there was a pilot screaming inside his space helmet.
Then, I heard it. The click of the mic button from the back seat. That was the very moment that I knew Walter and I had become a crew. Very professionally, and with no emotion, Walter spoke:
Los Angeles Center, Aspen 20, can you give us a ground speed check?
There was no hesitation, and the replay came as if was an everyday request.
Aspen 20, I show you at one thousand eight hundred and forty-two knots, across the ground.
I think it was the forty-two knots that I liked the best, so accurate and proud was Center to deliver that information without hesitation, and you just knew he was smiling. But the precise point at which I knew that Walt and I were going to be really good friends for a long time was when he keyed the mic once again to say, in his most fighter-pilot-like voice:
Ah, Center, much thanks,
We’re showing closer to nineteen hundred on the money.
For a moment Walter was a god. And we finally heard a little crack in the armor of the HoustonCentervoice, when L.A.came back with,
Roger that Aspen,
Your equipment is probably more accurate than ours.
You boys have a good one.
It all had lasted for just moments, but in that short, memorable sprint across the southwest, the Navy had been flamed, all mortal airplanes on freq were forced to bow before the King of Speed, and more importantly, Walter and I had crossed the threshold of being a crew. A fine day’s work.
We never heard another transmission on that frequency all the way to the coast. For just one day, it truly was fun being the fastest guys out there.
scramjet
Well-Known Member
:yup::yup::yup::yup: I love it! See that's just good natured stuff, no biggie there. Ya gotta know where the line is drawn when it comes to ribbing. What the gojets dude did was not good humor.
skydog
New Member
Sounds like a little bit of comeuppance to me. You guys have been dogging on the GoJet guys since day one. But when it gets turned around, you can't handle it?
I've no problem with GoJet, Freedom, or any of the others. I can certainly understand where certain Trans States employees might have a problem with the initial cadre of those who crossed over, just as I can sympathize with the Mesa fellows feelings towards the intial Freedom guys who did the same. However, most of these guys did nothing more than anyone else here did: apply for a job.
The world is full of people and professions; they don't all make the same money for doing the same thing. Some lawyers make hundred of thousands a year, others make considerably less? Does that make them evil?
Look at your own profession. UPS guys make considerably more than Kallita guys, yet I don't hear anyone raising hell about it. Allegiant MD drivers make way less than AA/DAL guys, and no one is calling them scabs or bottom feeders.
You don't like GoJet/Freedom/Skybus? Fine. Don't go work for them. But for some, that's the only option they have. They're supposed to turn it down so that you can feel better about your job? Why? What do they owe you?
See, the ironic thing is that ALPA's actions of the last several years have done more to harm the profession than anything a handful of regional pilots have done ever, but somehow that fact gets overlooked. Hell, as far as I am concerned, every pilot hired on at CAL post 1985 is a scab, but that fact got conveniently overlooked by ALPA, who welcomed them (and their dues money) back with open arms.
I've no problem with GoJet, Freedom, or any of the others. I can certainly understand where certain Trans States employees might have a problem with the initial cadre of those who crossed over, just as I can sympathize with the Mesa fellows feelings towards the intial Freedom guys who did the same. However, most of these guys did nothing more than anyone else here did: apply for a job.
The world is full of people and professions; they don't all make the same money for doing the same thing. Some lawyers make hundred of thousands a year, others make considerably less? Does that make them evil?
Look at your own profession. UPS guys make considerably more than Kallita guys, yet I don't hear anyone raising hell about it. Allegiant MD drivers make way less than AA/DAL guys, and no one is calling them scabs or bottom feeders.
You don't like GoJet/Freedom/Skybus? Fine. Don't go work for them. But for some, that's the only option they have. They're supposed to turn it down so that you can feel better about your job? Why? What do they owe you?
See, the ironic thing is that ALPA's actions of the last several years have done more to harm the profession than anything a handful of regional pilots have done ever, but somehow that fact gets overlooked. Hell, as far as I am concerned, every pilot hired on at CAL post 1985 is a scab, but that fact got conveniently overlooked by ALPA, who welcomed them (and their dues money) back with open arms.
H46Bubba
Well-Known Member
Yeah but he'll have an edge over a hornet driver when it comes to getting on at a major becuase he's in a big aircraft similar to what airlines fly and isn't flying centerline thrust like the Hornet. I'd rather fly a P-3, E-6, C-40, or C-9 than a fighter jet. C-40 is the military cargo version of the 737-700.
ERfly
Well-Known Member
Wow! There is so much wrong with the post, I don't even know where to begin.
You don't have a problem with Freedom or GoJets? You should. The Freedom "A" guys could have ruined our profession. If JO got away with what he tried to pull, alter-ego carriers would be flying our flights for less pay and we'd be out of a job.
GoJets was another attempt to circumvent the work ALPA does to make our lives bearable in this industry. Those plane should be flown by Trans States Pilots, for much more pay then they're making.
Everything that is done in this industry reflects on everything else. Everyone takes from one carriers contracts and improves upon it for themselves. It's up to every carrier to help raise the rest of the industry up. If we stand idly by and let these carriers continue without resisting, management wins and screws us all.
This is not an every man for himself business, we all need to work together, both as individual pilot groups and as an industry as a whole.
As for the CAL scab thing, that's just ignorance at it's finest. Scabs are only scabs when a work group is on strike. The CAL strike was over and the union was back in place at Continental. The ones that were hired during the strike were scabs and always will be (forgiven or not). After that, unless they were to go out on strike, they are not scabs. That's the same as my FA calling me a scab because I'm crossing seat belts to tidy up the cabin.
Yeesh!
Fly4Pay
New Member
In my book, this isn't about him being GoJet. (As a former military pilot, I don't know all of the soap opera history of all the airlines out there-- so sue me) This is about a guy acting like a jerk, for no reason. If you walk on my plane and ask to jumpseat, I'm gonna treat you the same if you fly a 767 for Delta (hi Doug!) or a 1900 for Podunk Airlines (IF you don't act like a jerk, that is....)
Personally, I don't have time in my life for people who act snobbishly. As a self-professed computer geek, I see this a LOT. Linux guys who look down on Windows users. Mac users who look down on ALL PC users. People who have a Palm who act superior to those with Pocket PCs. C'mon, people... just be civil, huh?
Aeroman
New Member
:yup:
Uh, well yeah if they stabbed other people in the back just to get themselves ahead.
Yeah, because no one else is hiring right? Not to mention most any other job would be a pay raise - oh, I'm sorry, they're just trying to "put food on the table...(at 20K a year?)" (Love that lame excuse)
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chewbacca_defense
I rest my case
You must not have been a SysAdmin.:rawk:
Tram
Well-Known Member
From what I understand, military time is military time..
My pops thought the same way you did.. Crewed aircraft, he'd have a better shot at the airlines.. He flew S-2's and S-3's.. My uncle flew fighters.. They both made it with zero issues...
OldTownPilot
Well-Known Member
Tram
Well-Known Member
Spoken like a true scab...
What scabs don't understand is, that they are not the only ones going through it and they do have OTHER options..
We have an old EAL scab at the local airport who went through the whole deal when my pops and uncle were at EAL..
Well, I've talked to this guy on a couple of occasions and one day he was giving me his scab sob story..
"I had two kids to feed... I had bills to pay.. whaaah whahhh whahhh..."
All I could tell him was... "So did my dad...."
I think scabbo finally got it..
OldTownPilot
Well-Known Member
So does that mean all TWA, Northwest, Pan Am, United, Eastern, and Comair pilots are scabs that were hired after their respective strikes? Might as well add in Delta, as Western went on strike too.
Who are ya going to work for now?
Who are ya going to work for now?
Tram
Well-Known Member
Was this directed to me?
OldTownPilot
Well-Known Member
Sorry, no. That was at the guy who called my dad a Scab. A "post-83 CAL guy"
MikeOH58
Well-Known Member
With all due respect, not everyone gives a crap about going to a major?
***I agree with you about the aircraft, however, the point I was making has nothing to do with this..
Hacker15e
Who am I? Where are my pants?
You're being a little ignorant and unfairly judgmental here.
The Navy flight school system is highly dependant on "what's available" when training classes come up for assignment. It is not unheard of for classes to get NO slots to tailhook aircraft. For all you know, this guy could have been #1 or #2 in his class and there was just nothing "better" available on the day he selected.
For several years there have been a large bulk of helos given out -- as many as 2/3 of classes getting sent to rotors. For many reasons, the rotors tend to go lower in the class (save me the discussion, helo dudes -- no disrespect intended).
If your friend had really done as poorly as you imply here, he more than likely would have been in a rotary wing aircraft and not an E-6.
Hacker15e
Who am I? Where are my pants?
Definitely not. Fighter guys have never had difficulty getting on to majors due to being in a "small aircraft" or having "centerline thrust". If you have evidence to the contrary, I'd be interested to hear it...but fighter dudes have never had any more challenge getting hired than anyone from any other background.
Alternatively, the fighter guy is logging PIC multiengine turbine from the first day he gets to his squadron. In addition, the airlines recognize that his 1500 hours was logged while hand-flying 1.2 at a time, not 8.0 at a pop with the autopilot on.
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