I've wondered about posting this story for a long time. Perhaps now is that time. Fourty-five years ago my fleet manager practically jumped out of his seat and shouted at me. Stop! You can't talk about a captain like that! If you want to say things like that you'll have to appoint a QC and do it in high court.
I had pleaded with him to ground a captain that had joined us some months before. It was my job, I was a 'training FO', one that flew with new captains until they'd done 500 hours. Mostly it was fun, and indeed appreciated, but this supposedly retired captain had seemed odd right from the beginning. The flight leading up to that 'interview' was beyond bizarre. It was my last flight with that airline. Probably the best job I ever had. But I'd had weeks with this bullish creature and enough was enough. I had two months leave stacked up and I told them that was my notice. I had already talked to the PALPA rep, the chief training captain, and almost anyone that would listen. Nobody did anything - at least that I know of.
Imagine advising the skipper as he climbed into his seat that the checks were not done (due to no APU and no ground power.) Why not, he bellowed as he lit the first engine. The checks were not done and the brakes were not on. We had no start clearance and our lass charged into the flight deck and said people were still coming up the ventral air-stairs. It was a 1-11 with engines just feet from their heads. In a few years I could have shut the HP cocks and de-planed the pax, but things were different then. But I wish to God I had.
As we were taxiing out, I noticed a hint of fuel in the centre tank. Nothing unusual for a while, but on takeoff it seemed to be showing about 200kgs. The aircraft was going nowhere on that 32c Rome day. I was not authorized to abandon a takeoff, but advised him and firewalled the taps. He said nothing. He very often said nothing. As we staggered past the Coliseum, I was numbed to see a tonne of fuel in the centre tank. By the time were were established in a climb it registered full. We were three tonnes over-weight on a 39 tonne aircraft. He said nothing when finally he did the paperwork.
When we arrived in the UK, I shouted down for no one to touch the fuel panel. To my everlasting relief, and with an engineer to witness the opening, I saw the centre tank selected to zero. I thought I knew the electrics on that aircraft to the last resistor, but it seems refueling on battery can fool the system. To this day I have never had that confirmed.
All this followed weeks of being with someone that was obviously an alcoholic and too strange to be put into any category. A very senior captain, and I thought, a friend, said to me, "You know, Robbie, I let the fact he was an ex XXX captain sway me when I passed him." Even he did nothing.
This was perhaps the worst of dozens of things I had to cope with in that period, but many were just as bewildering. "What's that?" he said, pointing to the DME. "it's our DME distance from XXXX" "What's DME? We had Decca in XXX." Every departure from base was a series of DME turns.
Now comes the part that this is all about. Years later, a different life it seemed, and I was in a garden party in my Essex home town. My host's wife said she wanted me to meet her old boss. He'd been fleet manager of the 1-11 fleet. He seemed a really nice chap, very sharp etc. When I mentioned my Nemesis' name, he was surprised. "How do you know him?" When I told him I stormed out of a good job because of his bizarre behavior, he looked stunned, and said, "Don't tell me that man flew again!"
I learned a little of why he was 'retired'. Shame he wasn't grounded. Alcoholic and probably much worse. They tried to help him, but he was a lost cause. Shame. My life would have been very, very different if he'd just stayed retired.
But now, here's a thing. He was deranged, of that there is no doubt, but it was my senior colleges that leave me numbed to this day. The behaviour of my fleet manager was so unexplainable that it is difficult to know how these things happened, even in that era. Once, a well known training skipper relinquished his seat to a very quiet chap that was the fleet manager's 'secretary.' The skipper went down the back and was chatting to the girls. He did that a lot. We were descending past 4,000' when I got a clear view of the fields north of Munich. He had decided to pull against the autopilot until it snapped out. He then pushed. I was managing the usual bad air system and looking up. We pulled about 1.5 g. Maybe more. No one said a word. He had no type rating and I learned later, no time on twins. Probably 300 pages would describe that year, but lets fast forward to c 1999.
I announced to a crew that I was going for a job interview. I was invited to sit on the jump-seat. Top of climb, young skipper goes down the back to chat to the girls. Nothing changed then. I was invited to sit in his seat. He reached across and clicked the autopilot out. "You fly it. If my five year old can fly it, anyone can."
I had not flown a glass flight-deck, but it seemed fairly straightforward. It was kind of surreal, I looked down as saw the Red Arrows three miles or so below. I reached for the trim wheel. Mmmm . . . there wasn't one. For the whole cruise I didn't dare fiddle with the trim button . . . just in case. The FO finally communicated with me. He held up on finger. Ah, that rings a distant bell. Take box one. Okay, it's been many years, but I think I can do that. I later learned the FO didn't really speak English. Not really speak it.
This is just the things that might be relevant now. I can't forget wrenching the controls out of the hands of a chap that had turned the wrong way in the Innsbruck valley. The turn, by necessity was past 60 degrees. I was just a kid then, and my only thought was. "I hope to God I'm right."
I think the whole point of this is that the sick person in the seat on one horrific day is just one part of the spectrum. In my experience, management has been consistent, in it failure to ensure safety, and worse still, it's failure to act honorably. It has been a long and painful learning experience learning about people, but there it is. The truth is so often hard to, not accept, but to admit.