Looking for a spiritual lift, I entered Signature Flight Support in Boston with its soaring cathedral ceilings and even higher fuel prices. I had hoped to beat Capt. Courtney Crain to the FBO as she was airlining in from Palm Beach, Florida. We had not flown together in months. Alas, she was already hunched over a computer preparing for our noon departure to Teterboro, New Jersey. She greeted my wife, Cathy, with enthusiasm.
Cathy knew I had been in a slump; we even thought we knew why. The pace of airplane acquisitions at JetSuite had slowed and a captain upgrade seemed to have disappeared. While in Orange County, California, for recurrent indoc I had heard of plans that disquieted me. As I was digesting this development, an old friend called me to say that a mutual friend of ours, one I had met during my surgical internship 44 years ago, had died suddenly. Another friend my age had recently told me about some memory loss. I was about to turn 69. In a sense I was looking at the end of life’s runway. I hadn’t flown anything but the simulator in 25 days. I was looking for reaffirmation. I was looking for signs of life, not death and infirmity.
