Pilotage

Pilot columnist Mark R. Twombly strives to be a CEO in the air.

Worn leather flying jacket with the collar up, cap perched jauntily to one side, and a swagger that oozes confidence. Must be a pilot, albeit a Hollywood-fashioned stereotype of a pilot. Each of us may secretly wish we matched the John Wayne Flying Leathernecks stereotype, but I know of no one who measures up to Wayne's screen character. Pilots are as complex, as flawed, and as human as the next person. We're also dramatically different from each other physically, emotionally, and intellectually.

Think about all the pilots you know. Are they all alike? Hardly. Most are white males, but not all. They likely run the gamut in age, physical stature, profession, economic station in life, personality, and ability. United Flying Octogenarians to Young Eagles. Too tall for Cessna headroom to too short for Mooney legroom. The gifted natural pilot to the three-dimensionally challenged. The bookishly studious to the wing-it intuitive. The good, the bad, and the inspector who ramp checks in the rain; it takes all kinds in life and in aviation.

How about the pilot staring back at you in the mirror? How would you describe yourself? Of course you're the smartest dude and the smoothest stick this side of the FAA records cache in Oklahoma City. No argument there, but how about when you're not in an airplane? I ask because I've noticed that pilots can have two different personalities, the cool-under-pressure CEO and the ditzy airhead, depending on their proximity to an aircraft.

I first recognized this curious phenomenon in my father, who spent nearly half his life as a professional corporate and charter pilot and instructor. In an airplane he was the picture of quiet concentration and confidence. He had a sensitive seat and sure hands.

The drive home was a different story. When he left the airport behind he left his concentration with it. He wasn't a poor driver by any stretch, but he seemed to have difficulty concentrating on driving after flying, especially after a long or difficult flight. Once in the car his mind relaxed. He no longer had to accelerate his thinking to 200 knots or try to outsmart the weather. All he had to do was push on the gas and brake pedals and make a few adjustments to the steering wheel. Piece of cake compared to the massive processing power needed to configure the airplane, track the final approach course, and descend in the clouds at night.

When I was young I had trouble understanding why my father drove with such relaxed nonchalance after flying. Now that I'm a father, my youngest son probably wonders the same thing about me. I can explain that it takes a lot of concentration to fly, especially the landing at the very end of the experience, so it's no wonder that the mind tends to spool down once it senses that the feet are on the ground.

I can offer that explanation, but at his tender age it would translate as geezer talk and would not compute. After all, the young are astounding multitaskers and have no trouble concentrating on three or more things at once — homework, telephone, television, and music. How hard can it be to land an airplane?

Harder with age, I answer. The adult life is a complex life, filled with competing priorities — career, family, relationships, money, personal interests, status, and health. The kind of single-minded concentration it takes to fly becomes more difficult to sustain, but also more pleasurable to experience. It's one of the few true total mental escapes from the daily grind.

Some of us grow more distracted with age, and some seem to have started out that way. A friend of mine has a reputation for being easily distracted, and after spending several days in his company recently I have to agree with that assessment. That trait, plus a truly remarkable penchant for misplacing items — combined with a thick set of spectacles — suggests that he would do well in a second career as an absent-minded professor.

How strange, then, that flying, a game that rewards focus and concentration, is his passion. Ordinarily I would be wary of flying with someone who to all appearances is unable to stay on task long enough to fly a proper pattern. I was surprised to discover that he is a marvelous pilot.

He knows everything about his airplane — all of the hardware and all of the software. He's studied every operating manual for every piece of equipment. I know because I thumbed through several of his manuals during the flight and saw that he had highlighted the important passages. He flies with the assurance of one who has studied and mastered the craft.

On the ground he spends a lot of time frantically searching for lost personal effects and taking wrong turns on the way to restaurants. In the air he's something else again. He's like the actor in the leather flying jacket and jaunty cap who's being strafed while on a critical attack mission — supremely confident and the picture of concentration. It just goes to show that you can't judge a CEO in the air by the airhead on the ground.