Packing Heat in the Cockpit, Part II
By Les Abend
September 2006
 A little over three years ago, this column discussed a contentious issue. The issue concerned guns in an airline cockpit. I took an opposing view. My arguments had valid reasons, but they were based on the unknown. And for the most part, the procedures for arming pilots were an unknown even to the architects of the plan.
Regardless, my fellow pilots should be applauded for their tireless efforts in writing a new chapter of airline history. But at the time, I felt as though they were reacting out of pure adrenaline in the wake of September 11. It was an understandable reaction. My airline lost two crews and two airplanes that day, notwithstanding the thousands of other lives. Airline pilots are not the type to sit on their hands and wait for somebody else to solve the problem. As the investigations into September 11 uncovered the facts, we all learned about our enemy. The enemy was not a haphazard group of unshaven, Middle Eastern men envious of American freedoms, but an organized army of educated religious zealots who wanted to unite the Islamic world by way of death and destruction. I did the research. I had to. I owed it to my passengers because, believe it or not, the enemy is still out there. But this magazine is not the forum to discuss that research. It is the forum to discuss what has happened since the first training class of airline pilots walked into the cockpit with a gun. As you may have guessed, I am not a fan of guns. Up until a burglary at our home when I was young, my Dad—a World War II vet—had a very small collection of military handguns. My Dad bought me my first 22 rifle. We shot at targets together. As I grew older, the newspapers began to fill with tragic stories about lives destroyed by guns. Families that kept guns as a self-protection device were becoming victims of their own weapons. I lost interest in guns. Many of the pilots who advocated a lethal weapon in the cockpit had military backgrounds. I held an underlying fear that they were overzealous. In my eyes, the risk didn’t seem to outweigh the potential threat. The possibility of death or injury from one’s personal handgun seemed far greater than another terrorist attack.
When the first Federal Flight Deck Officer (FFDO) sat down in the right seat as my copilot, the sight of a fully loaded semi-automatic weapon was not something I had ever imagined in my career.
“I’m not an advocate of guns in the cockpit, but I respect your convictions,” I said. “I understand,” my copilot replied with a solemn nod.
Voices were never raised. No argument ensued. My copilot’s demeanor never went beyond calm professionalism. I half expected Wyatt Earp. Instead, I got Neil Armstrong at the moment he announced, “The Eagle has landed,” as though he had simply parked his Buick.
No, I wasn’t surprised, but I had my doubts. And as I was to find out later, with very few exceptions, my doubts were unfounded. So what is involved with becoming an FFDO? It is a voluntary program. To qualify, a pilot must be a U.S. citizen employed by a U.S. air carrier that transports passengers or cargo. (Cargo pilots were not part of the original legislation. About one year after the program began, the TSA finally acknowledged that an airplane could still be used as a missile even if it just carried overnight envelopes.)
Although every airline has its own screening procedures for their initial hiring process, an FFDO applicant must complete a separate background check and a separate psychological exam. The psychological exam includes both a written test and an interview with a designated psychiatrist. The pilot’s supervisors and references are interviewed. If all criteria meet specified standards, the pilot is eligible to begin training.
It becomes the pilot’s responsibility to adjust their own flight schedule in order to attend the training. Some pilots utilize vacation days. Others simply trade or drop trips. The airlines do not pay for any part of the training, nor do they compensate a pilot for time lost. Your tax dollars and the U.S. government pay only for the cost of the training. Room and board for the training comes out of the pilot’s own pocket.
FFDO school is an intense week of 12-hour days in the middle of the high desert at a government-owned facility. It is a three-hour bus ride from the two closest southwestern airports. Many other federal law enforcement agencies train at the facility.
Arrival day is an orientation period. ID badges are processed, training attire is issued, cafeteria passes are obtained, rooms are assigned and class material is handed out.
The first day begins with an informal march from the cafeteria to the auditorium. The curriculum and the instructors are introduced. A mini-physical exam is given. Because of the altitude and anxiety levels, blood pressure and heart rates tend to be higher than normal. Unfortunately, some pilots are asked to come back another time.
The remainder of the seven days are filled with classroom study, defensive tactic training, survival strategies, legal issues and, of course, firearm training.
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