PPRUNE in New York Times
PPRUNE and several members make the New York Times. Botom of the article, which is reposted here in its entirety.
July 7, 2002
Drinking and Flying: Nothing New Under the Sun
By JOE SHARKEY
IN the aviation industry, there is zero tolerance for flying while drunk. In each of the last two years, only 9 of 10,000 airline crew members tested positive for alcohol in random tests by the
Federal Aviation Administration, and none were pilots for major airlines. So it was startling news last week that two co-pilots for America West Airlines, taxiing a planeload of passengers about to
take off for Phoenix, were ordered back to the gate in Miami and charged with being under the influence of alcohol. The pilots were quickly fired and lost their licenses.
Today's airline pilots are responsible, highly trained, usually well-motivated by high salaries and closely monitored for health and for potential alcohol or drug use. But aviators also come from a
lusty tradition where drinking and carousing — what pilots call hell-raising — were long seen as badges of honor. Many of the excesses were curbed after flying became a business with the birth of commercial airlines in the 1930's, but the blue yonder has always attracted more than its share of blithe spirits.
Let's look at some of the lore.
In the early 20th century, well before federal regulation of aviation, barnstormers — freelance daredevils who learned to fly by the seat of their pants or in World War I — had a rip-roaring style. One was Slats Rodgers, a hard-drinking Texan who built his own plane in 1912 and learned how to fly it only after it was airborne.
Again and again, Slats attempted to take the shaking creature into the air. Through some fault in design and in rigging, the right wing now had the discomforting propensity to slip downwards
and at a dangerous angle. Hell, any angle was dangerous at this time to Slats. . . . Again and again, Slats rebuilt the right wing. [Finally] patience ran out and was willingly exchanged for a
sodden, sopping drunk.
Alcoholically angered even beyond his own fiery temper, Slats vowed that he would "fly her or tear her apart."
— "Barnstorming: The Great Years of Stunt Flying," by Bruce Caidin (Duell, Sloan & Pearce, 1965)
Barnstormers, of course, didn't have to worry about random alcohol tests on their return to the hangar.
It isn't hard to figure that some of the first men to thumb their noses at gravity might also tend to be somewhat careless about the man-made laws of the land. . . . The yo-yo life pursued by
Slats gives us a decided clue as to just how far a man could go in the days before the Big Brother of the government . . . began getting in the hair of men who lived freely and to the full.
— "Barnstorming"
A few years before World War II, when passenger service started up and aviation became a business, the federal government moved in to impose order. Until then, a pilot's freedom was
limited only by physical factors like the flight ceiling — the highest level under particular weather conditions from which the ground is visible.
There was no Air Traffic Control as such until the late 30's, and even then it consisted of a crude arrangement employed almost solely by the airlines and often ignored by them in good weather. Everyone else flew as they damned pleased. If the ceiling over New York, Boston, Minneapolis, Chicago, Los Angeles or Memphis happened to be 200 feet, you flew across the city at 100 feet. . . . No self-respecting second lieutenant in the Air Corps would miss a chance to "beat up" his girlfriend's house with a proper buzz job, and even some airline pilots treated their few passengers to low-level passes so the wife (or girlfriend) would know their man would soon be available.
— "Ernest K. Gann's Flying Circus," by Ernest K. Gann (Macmillan, 1974)
Still, there were frequent reminders that flying was a job best done sober. In 1937, the celebrated aviator Amelia Earhart disappeared over the Pacific on the last leg of an around-the-world trip. Earhart's navigator, Frederick Noonan, who flew with her on that ill-fated last flight, had been known as a heavy drinker in a former job as an airline navigator in Manila.
Noonan developed a bad habit of going on a bender and getting lost among Manila's whorehouses. Before takeoff he'd have to be hunted down and "poured" aboard the airplane. . . .
Noonan was given several warnings about his behavior because, as [his boss] reasonably pointed out, "it would not inspire confidence among the customers if they were to see the
navigator being carried aboard in Manila."
— "The Sound of Wings: The Life of Amelia Earhart," by Mary S. Lovall (St. Martin's Press, 1989)
In radio transmissions during various stages of their final journey, Earhart herself expressed concerns about Noonan's drinking. The following transmission was made 20 hours before their plane lost contact somewhere over the Pacific.
She started the conversation with the remark, "He's hitting the bottle again and I don't even know where he's getting it!" . . . Earhart, whose faith in Fred Noonan was wearing thin, now faced
the possibility of having to do more of the navigation on her own, even though her navigator was aboard.
During much of the crossing, Fred "dozed," according to Amelia. Those who knew Fred wondered if he was hung over. As a result, Amelia did much of her own navigating. . . .
On the evening of July 1, the night before the takeoff from Lae [New Guinea] . . . Fred decided to spend the time drinking with his friends. The next morning, July 2, Fred made it back to his
hotel room only 45 minutes before Amelia came pounding on his door to announce that they would take off in a couple of hours.
— "Amelia Earhart: The Final Story," by Vincent Loomis and Jeffrey Ethell (Random House,
1985)
World War II produced a generation of hard-nosed pilots who soon dominated the fledgling commercial airline industry and also led the peacetime military efforts to fly higher and faster in
experimental aircraft. After the war, many top test pilots, some of whom would later fly into space, were stationed at Wright Field, an isolated base at Muroc in the Mojave desert of California. Men
like Chuck Yeager assaulted the sound barrier in the skies by day, and at sundown gathered at Pancho's Fly Inn, a ramshackle saloon.
Yeager didn't go to Pancho's and knock back a few because two days later the big test was coming up. Nor did he knock back a few because it was the weekend. No, he knocked back a few because night had come and he was a pilot at Muroc. In keeping with the military tradition of Flying and Drinking, that was what you did.
— "The Right Stuff," by Tom Wolfe (Farrar, Straus & Giroux, 1979)
Flying and hell-raising — one fueled the other. And that's what Pancho's was all about. . . . For us, a big part of the fellowship of flying was experienced at Pancho's. Being in our early 20's, we
were in good physical shape and at the height of our recuperative powers. That was our Golden Age of flying and fun. By the time we reached 30, our bodies forced moderation on us.
— "Yeager: An Autobiography," by Chuck Yeager and Leon Janos (Bantam Books, 1985)
Russ Schleeh, a fellow test pilot and close friend of Yeager, insisted that nothing that happened at Pancho's kept a man from flying in the morning:
Near dawn, the bar was a wreck, with only a few survivors still standing, and my God, there wasn't a cloud in the sky. It was a perfect, beautiful day. We had to fly!
— "Yeager: An Autobiography"
Last week, though, the good old days seemed far off for a commercial aviation industry already reeling from the worst crisis in its history. The American West incident generated hundreds of
rueful postings by commercial pilots on an Internet news group called the Professional Pilots Rumor Network:
Any way you look at this incident, it is dumb and stupid. It gives us all a black eye. Rats. — Jinx300
Now all the security folks and others are going to want to smell our breath. And all the jokes from the pax [passengers]: Good morning, cap, are ya sober yet, or should we come back later?
Ha ha. — TowerDog
Yesterday [a co-pilot] told me that if a passenger walks by us on the plane or during boarding and makes a wisecrack about drinking . . . he will offer to prove his innocence, which would
probably result in a serious delay [for a Breathalyzer test]. I won't hesitate to respond in the same way. . . .
Such comments often come from nervous fliers. Two well-known TV comedians . . . who have been known to beat this topic to death are known to be very nervous fliers. Go ahead, make my
day! — Ignition Override
copyright, New York Times