After five or six lessons early on without a decent touchdown, I had the temerity to turn my head left to assess the distance between the left main and runway. (04 KSSI - I shan't ever forget!) My 28,000-hour flight instructor reached over with his strong right hand, cupped my chin in his hand, jerked my head forward 90 degrees, and said in a very loud voice: "Never do that again!"
I never did. My landings, a few of them squeakers on velvety glass, became much better. He had taught me to look all the way down to the end of the runway to get the "Big Picture".
When lessons went well, my instructor, who was possessed of a mellifluous tenor voice, would sing the contrapuntal part of Handel's
Alleluia Chorus. On a good day, he would still be in
fortissimo voce as we taxied to the flight school's hangar and shut down.
He and I became fastest of friends. To this day I sing along with my
basso profundo voice whenever
The Messiah comes on the radio. I remember with immense gratitude and unparalleled fondness the man who taught me the gift of flight by his devotion and expertise. And I remember my shortest briefing: "NEVER DO THAT AGAIN!"
- Ed
