As I sat down, I scanned the faces in the classroom. Some faces I recognized, most I didn't. They were all captains from my airline.
I turned toward the man that was speaking. Les Bowle's voice was even-toned and relaxed. Les would be one of my new bosses.
I glanced at my partner sitting in the chair next to me. Rick was a fellow international 767 captain, also based in New York. A faint smile across Rick's lips was the only contrast to the intensity of his expression. The same intense expression was written on other faces. What the hell was I doing here, anyhow?
A few months prior during my recurrent training, I had gone out to lunch with my friend, Chuck Harman. Chuck is now the fleet captain for the 757/767, a management position. We had attended upgrade training together as brand-new 727 captains over 17 years ago. Due to the circumstances of life, our paths crossed infrequently. Lunch was a great opportunity to become reacquainted. In addition, I wanted to thank Chuck personally for being understanding with a noise abatement faux pas I had committed in Zurich.
Just as we were parting company, Chuck took me by surprise with an unexpected offer. He asked if I would consider becoming a check airman. A check airman? Was my friend suffering from a temporary lapse in judgment?
Surely, there had to be more expertise among the pilot ranks than myself. And why would I want to take the risk that my fellow pilots would hold a wary eye, not sure whether to consider me friend, foe or management? I'd have to wear a nametag -- the ID badge of the "dark side."
I recalled the first time that the opportunity had presented itself. My captain wings were barely dry after only six months in the left seat. One of the check airmen that had flown with me on my operating experience (OE) flights had asked the question. I had been flattered, but politely declined the offer. Despite my refusal, he had forwarded his recommendation to our base chief pilot. The base chief pilot politely ordered me to interview.
Immediately after shaking hands with the check airman supervisor at the interview, I proffered my only demand. With a dead-pan expression, I asked if I would have the authority to perform flight bag inspections. My face cracked into a grin and without hesitation, proceeded to explain all the reasons why I was wrong for the job.
My interviewer smiled. He paused for a moment and then said, "You're hired."
Beat at my own strategy, I accepted the offer, resigned to the fact that the job might actually be a valuable career experience. But it was not meant to be. The opportunity never materialized. In the early 1990s, the airline began to take steps backward. New check airman were no longer needed.
As time passed, I contemplated how my career path might have changed. Although my progression with the airline has been more than fortunate, in a way I regretted not having had the experience.
This would most likely be the last time that the door would open. As an added bonus, my direct boss would be a man I admired and respected.
As an insight to Chuck's character, I'll mention a handful of his achievements. He illustrated and wrote a series of children's books with an aviation theme, called Artie the Airplane. (If you have kids, check out: artietheairplane.com). In his spare time, he developed a computer training review for the 767/757 systems. He did the same for the overhead of the 737. The airline endorsed his efforts by providing a link to the training through our pilot's website. Chuck was also a check airman and a lead check airman. He was a 737 fleet captain. I could continue this discussion with mention of his community contributions and the time he dedicates to his job, but it would look as though I was describing an airline version of Dudley Do-Right.
Despite the positive aspects of the check airman opportunity, I still had trepidations. I asked Chuck for time to consider. He nodded. I stewed.
In the meantime, I got busy preparing an application and a résumé. After a few phone calls and a couple of e-mails, I coerced a handful of pilot manager types to write a recommendation. (No money exchanged hands.) This was all stuff that I hadn't concerned myself with for over 25 years.
Two months later, I typed the computer code for my schedule onto the keyboard. Where I would have normally seen trips and flight numbers scattered throughout the screen, the month of December was blank except for an initial three days of training. What had I done?
