Captain Gwinn's Last TWA Flight

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I thought the readers of these web articles might enjoy reading about an experience I had last month (November, 1998).

Captain Dave Gwinn is a columnist for Plane & Pilot magazine and the radar authority I've used as a resource for several of these AOPA web articles. Dave is a dear friend who has an awesome sense of humor. We're always kidding each other. An opportunity to fly in the cockpit on an airline captain's last flight is rare, and it is especially rare when the captain is a dear friend. I was fortunate enough to have that experience with Captain Dave Gwinn.

On November 12^th, I showed up at the TWA gate in St. Louis as Captain Dave was punching in the door combination to board his DC-9.

From 20 feet I yelled, "Hey, let's see your boarding pass, mister."

I must have startled Dave because he patted his left shirt pocket, in search of either a boarding pass, chewing gum or heart palpitations.

He had no idea I was going to be there, much less ride in the cockpit. We hugged like lost buddies. Then I showed him my cockpit authorization. Of course, I showed it to him from a distance, then pretended to read from it.

"Dave," I quipped, "it says here that I'm not only allowed to ride in the cockpit on both flights, but that I can fly the airplane if I really want to."

Suddenly Dave began patting his left shirt pocket again.

"Hey, I was just kidding about that boarding pass" I said.

"I'm not looking for a boarding pass," responded Dave. "I'm checking for heart palpitations."

And that's the way the flight began.

For years I've been telling everyone that Dave calls me from the cockpit just so I can talk him down. Well, let me quash the latest rumor. I didn't go along on his last flight just to save long distance telephone charges. I went along to share the experience with a good friend. (Special thanks to my friend and fellow author TWA Capt. Wally Roberts (Ret.), for his helping arrange my flight.)

We departed St. Louis to Chicago on a round trip flight Thursday morning, November 12^th. On board were several of Dave?s friends: Anne Umphrey, Shelley Rose (a TWA F/O), John Miller (his best buddy) and Henrietta, John's wife. Dave's copilot, Tom Hernon, had specifically bid to fly with Dave on this flight. Several other TWA admirers also bid for this copilot slot but Tom beat them to it and wasn't about to give it up.

As we taxied for takeoff, Dave, true to form, commenced giving me the business. "Hmmm, what does that switch do?" he mused outloud. Nice try, Dave. Then I informed him that I probably wouldn't see much of his takeoff since it's difficult to see things with my hands over my eyes. Well, it was obvious that I wasn't about to nonplus the master with my shenanigans.

The takeoff was spectacular. The mechanical action of lifting tens of thousands of pounds of metal into the air with a simple curl of the yoke is an impressive sight. Dave rolled the airplane into a 30 degree left bank, flipped a few switches and we were on our way to Chicago. As my friend guided his airplane through a departure, I was filled with an enormous sense of pride. "I know this man to be a gifted teacher, skillful communicator and masterful writer," I thought. "Now I've finally witnessed him do what he's done most of his life, and do it so well fly airplanes."

It's in the nature of an instrument instructor to watch the needles. I did. And they weren't moving. Not that I'm surprised by an airline pilot's ability to hold altitude, heading and airspeed, but there was such an economy of motion in Dave's actions. Every movement seemed purposeful and calculated, not wasted.

Dave made it look easy.

So easy, in fact, that I said to myself, "Hey, I can fly this thing just like Dave," but I know better. Experience taught me a long time ago that a master makes a complex task look effortless. The illusion of effortless action is the ultimate manifestation of skill. When I leaned over and said, "Captain, you make this look so easy," I realized that I had just given Dave the highest compliment one pilot can give another.

Dave was the essence of professionalism. I even mentioned this to him and commented on how surprised I was that his use of the phrase "Center, who-dah-man?" would be so well received by ATC on every call. (OK, that really didn?t happen, but all the other stuff did. Honest!)

Out of 12,000 feet, we approached a vertical wall of clouds. Dave quipped, "These are the times that make me wish I had an instrument rating." He was at it again. In response, I desperately wanted to say, "Ah, captain, I think the PA system was active when you said that." But I didn't. I couldn't stop laughing long enough.

Enroute, Copilot Tom Hernon informed Dave that he could expect a right crosswind at Chicago. Dave slapped his left leg, patted his right hand, then joked, "OK, that means we gotta push this leg and twist that arm."

Hey, I did my homework. I was prepared for my pal's mischievousness. You see, I've heard the stories about Captain Dave pointing out the Euphrates and Nile rivers to unsuspecting passengers on the St. Louis to Chicago route. I wasn't about to fall for that ruse. Besides, I was too busy looking for the pyramids. On the return flight Dave announced the presence of the large arches in St. Louis, which commemorate Missouri's annual croquet tournament.

The return trip was too quick. "I could get to like it up here," I thought, "this is fun." Yes, it is fun, especially when Dave's the captain. ATC gave us permission to level off at cloud-top level where we skipped along puffs of stratus. "Isn't this beautiful?" Dave asked, "isn't it simply beautiful?" A pilot who can still say that after decades of flying is someone who has never lost sight of what flying is all about.

Pulling the DC-9 into a steep climb, Dave pointed skyward toward the wispy contrails of an invisible airplane. "Look up there," Dave said. "That's the Hale-Bopp comet. Can you see it, Rod?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, Dave," I replied. "I was busy looking outside trying to find the Euphrates river. And I'm really upset that I didn't get to see the Sphinx either." And that's the way it went on the trip home.

There were quiet moments, too. These were moments of existential reverie which stayed cockpit banter, moments when I mulled over the thought that Dave would never fly as a TWA pilot again. "This was the last time," I thought, "the last time he'll land this airplane, the last time he'll move those throttles, the last time he'll pull into this gate." It was sad in that way, but then I remembered that the general aviation community now gets Dave full time. TWA's loss is our gain!

As we approached the terminal, I peeked out the window at the jetway. Lining the walls were Dave's friends a gathering of fellow pilots, admirers and well-wishers. Among them were several young pilots who credit Dave for helping them with their airline careers. "How sad, how sad, how sad," I thought. "All those people out there and not one of them is wearing a Groucho Marx nose and glasses. How could I ever forgive myself for letting that happen?"

Many years ago a young boy said to Dave, "When I grow up I want to be an airline pilot." To which, Dave replied, "I'm sorry, but you can't do both."

It's obvious that Dave is like many of us. He's a pilot who has never lost his passion for aviation and never lost sight of what flying is all about.

This was one of the very best times I've had in aviation. I was proud to share it with my friend and the friends of my friend. It's an experience I'll never forget.