Compassion in Action

"…And we'd like a nice, gentle descent when we get a little closer," Ernie Hoch tells the approach controller in Providence, Rhode Island.

"No problem, Compassion One-Five-Foxtrot, we'll take care of you," the controller replies. "And we'll have direct Boston in seven miles."

Hoch is en route to General Edward Lawrence Logan International Airport in his Piper Lance. But the call sign indicates that this isn't another business trip. Today he's flying Travis Replogle to the Boston Shriners Hospital for a doctor's appointment. AirLifeLine arranged the flight; Hoch is one of its more than 1,600 volunteer pilots.

Travis, who has all the energy of a typical 4-year-old, is accompanied by a green plastic alligator that alternately serves as a dinosaur and a monster. Travis, his parents, and his younger sister had driven from their home in southeastern Pennsylvania to meet Hoch at New Castle County Airport in Wilmington, Delaware, where the alligator took a few playful nips at Hoch in FBO Atlantic Aviation's lobby.

AirLifeLine was founded in 1978 by Tom Goodwin, a Sacramento, California, businessman and pilot. The national nonprofit charitable organization is comprised of private pilots who donate their time, skills, owned or rented aircraft, and fuel to fly medical missions. Initially 25 pilots in Northern California flew blood, plasma products, organs for transplant, and other time-critical medical cargo. In 1984, services were expanded to include ambulatory patients requiring medical travel they could not afford.

Additional Information

The Air Care Alliance serves as a clearinghouse for information about humanitarian flying organizations, both for pilots interested in volunteering and for passengers who need transportation. For more information, visit the Web site ( www.aircareall.org); write Doug Vincent, chairman, 6202 South Lewis Avenue Suite F2, Tulsa, Oklahoma 74136; or telephone 918/745-0384.

Pilots may download an application form from AirLifeLine's Web site ( www.airlifeline.org). For more information on the organization, write AirLifeLine at 50 Fullerton Court, Suite 200, Sacramento, California 95825; or telephone 877/AIRLIFE or 916/641-7800.

The AOPA Air Safety Foundation, in conjunction with the Flying Physicians Association and the Alfred L. and Constance Wolf Aviation Fund, has published a Volunteer Pilots Safety Advisor . It is available on AOPA Online ( www.aopa.org/asf/ publications/volunteer.pdf).

Shortly thereafter, AirLifeLine was recognized in a national newspaper column. "We got a national response, so we had to go beyond the California boundaries," explains Lori Howton, the organization's executive director. "In the past four years, we have flown 104 percent more missions — 11,855 — than in our first 17 years of operation." AirLifeLine flew 46 missions in 1984 and 3,700 in 2000, she says. "We're the oldest volunteer pilot organization of our kind. We have flown more flights and helped more people than any other volunteer pilot organization."

It's late on a summer morning, and the Lance begins its descent through popcorn cumulus — the kind that a pilot can read with much more certainty than tarot cards or tea leaves.

The light chop is old hat for Travis, who says he likes flying and wants to be a pilot when he grows up. His mother says that while he enjoys the flights, he gets apprehensive about his appointment as he nears Boston. And Travis quiets considerably as the Lance gradually glides earthward.

Travis was born with bilateral cleft palate, his mother explains; surgery at Shriners Hospital corrected that. But the complicated procedure has required numerous visits; this is the sixteenth time AirLifeLine has flown him to Boston.

At Logan the Lance looks out of place on the Signature Flight Service ramp. A Beech Baron is the only other piston aircraft in sight. There are a few twin turboprops, but most aircraft are jets — ranging from Beechjets and Cessna Citations to Falcons and Gulfstreams.

Flying patients to treatment diminishes a lot of their anxiety and saves time, says Jon Wurtzburger of New York City, who has served as AirLifeLine's president since 1996. And the need is increasing because of changes in the health-care industry, he adds. Wurtzburger, a trustee of several hospitals, says that the federal government is mandating [hospital] mergers and reducing the number of beds. "This kind of problem is all over the country these days. It means you have fewer rooms, and fewer hospitals to provide care. Specialized facilities are farther away — ergo the need for pilots like you and me to get patients to the care that they need to get."

AirLifeLine does a lot of work with kids, especially in long-term situations such as children with facial deformities, he explains. "I think [these kids have] been dealt the worst hand you can deal; to fly these kids is such a rewarding thing. But we fly a lot of cancer patients who just don't make it. When you fly somebody week in and week out, and they look like they're getting better, you become part of the medical team. But if one of these oncology patients doesn't make it, a part of you dies. That happens — it's life."

Wurtzburger credits much of AirLifeLine's recent growth to grants totaling $1 million over four years from the Ronald McDonald House Charities, which the organization has used to increase awareness of the transportation services it provides to both children and adults. "Probably even more important is the fact that the American Cancer Society has chosen us to be their national partner" for outreach, he adds, noting that 44 percent of the missions AirLifeLine flew during 2000 carried cancer patients — an increase from 31 percent the year before.

Hoch started flying in 1994 and added an instrument rating a year and a half after earning his private pilot certificate. At a seminar he met Jim Gilmore, AirLifeLine's New York/New Jersey regional coordinator. "I had always read about these types of organizations in magazines," Hoch recalls. "I jumped in with both feet and both hands."

His first AirLifeLine mission involved flying to New Jersey's busy Teterboro Airport, picking up a patient, and flying to Ronald Reagan Washington National Airport.

Now Hoch has flown 32 AirLifeLine missions in two years. A mission averages 250 to 300 miles, says Hoch, who likes to do return trips. "I think the passenger appreciates having the same pilots," he explains.

"The majority of the pilots really take ownership of the mission," he says, arranging or providing ground transportation, and flying the next day if weather or other factors delay a flight (see " Seeing Through Other Eyes," below). Some have bought hotel rooms or airline tickets for their passengers when GA travel was neither practical nor prudent.

"This is why I do it," Hoch says, reaching into his briefcase while laying over at Logan. He removes before-and-after photos of Sam, another youngster from Pennsylvania with a cleft palate. Hoch flew him to an appointment and now keeps in touch with the family. "That's what it's all about. There are all kinds of stories — and it's not just kids."

Like Hoch, Wurtzburger is passionate about flying, and about AirLifeLine. A former governor of the New York Stock Exchange, he started flying Piper Cubs in 1955 while he was in college. "Once I got in an airplane, I couldn't get out. Every waking moment was flying." Wurtzburger bought his first airplane, a Beech Bonanza, in 1977. "One of the people on the [exchange] floor was involved in AirLifeLine, and in the 1980s he asked me if I wanted to fly a mission. I said, ‘My gosh, you can fly and help somebody?'" He was hooked.

In college Wurtzburger wanted to be a doctor, but he flunked chemistry and physics. "This has always been a surrogate for me," he says. So he pursued his health-care interest in other ways — by getting involved with hospitals and the American Cancer Society, and flying patients. As Wurtzburger became progressively more involved in AirLifeLine, he was able to use some of his contacts to introduce the organization to institutions like the Hospital of the University of Pennsylvania and Johns Hopkins in Baltimore.

"All over the country, we're talking to hospitals and letting them know how we can help them," he says. "Sometimes it's a tough sell. They're saying, ‘What's the catch?' They look at us, do some research, and find out that it's true."

Wurtzburger continues to volunteer as a pilot. "I tell my coordinators, ‘Call me last — but if you call me, I will do it.'" He flew his Propjet Bonanza on about 50 missions last year.

The Replogle family returns from the hospital, but nobody's going anywhere for a while. That popcorn cumulus has grown into a line of Level 4 and Level 5 thunderstorms that is moving across the airport; nothing with wings is coming in or going out. Inside Signature, the lobby is crowded with businesspeople and other waiting passengers, while the pilots huddle around the radar display in the adjacent flight-planning room or phone for weather updates.

Between calls to flight service Hoch works on AirLifeLine paperwork and bemoans the fact that he did not bring along his laptop computer. By 5:30 p.m. it appears that the local conditions will improve in about an hour — but now a line of weather is moving through Wilmington. Finally, at dusk, the route looks good…but there's a 157-minute delay for instrument departures out of Boston. Hoch phones the tower to plead his case, and yes, ATC will accommodate the out-of-place Lance with the Compassion call sign.

Last year AirLifeLine completed a formal affiliation with Peoria, Illinois-based LifeLine Pilots, which changed its name to AirLifeLine Midwest. The relationship will result in enhanced marketing of the organizations' services to the health-care community in the Midwest, more effective fundraising, and joint recruitment of additional qualified pilots, Howton explains.

AirLifeLine's pilot requirements are simple: a minimum of 200 hours as pilot in command and access to an aircraft. More than 25 percent of the organization's volunteer pilots rent aircraft for missions. An instrument rating is helpful but is not a requirement, adds Howton. "There isn't any quota or minimum number of flights that a pilot has to make to stay active. Some want to fly twice a year and some want to fly twice a month — we're happy to accept whatever time they can give us." Pilots are always able to decline a flight, she notes.

As Hoch rotates from Runway 22 Right, the dark clouds break to reveal a crimson sunset silhouetting the Boston skyline. Travis is mesmerized and watches, transfixed, as the sky slowly fades to black. He falls asleep with the tail strobe reflecting off the Lance's wing tips, occasionally freezing a propeller blade with its warm red glow. He misses the shimmering lights of Long Island, arrayed like an arrow pointing to New York City, and the thick accents identifying foreign-flag airliners climbing out of Kennedy and La Guardia.

Landing at Wilmington just before 11 p.m., the tower's "Taxi to the ramp" is the last instruction issued before the controllers call it a day. The Replogles begin to stir, knowing that they must drive the rest of the way to their Pennsylvania home. Hoch still must fly home to his central New Jersey base, but the trip will pass quickly with the satisfaction of having made a difference.

Links to additional information about volunteer medical airlift flying may be found on AOPA Online ( www.aopa.org/pilot/links/2001/links0103.shtml). E-mail the author at [email protected].

Seeing Through Other Eyes

A flight that changed a pilot's perspective

By Jeff Pardo

Life is so precious, and time so fleeting. Many of us strive to make it as full as we can. Perhaps that's one explanation for why we fly: to drink in as much as we're able to and savor it from a transcendent perspective. For most of us, it's an affair of the heart and soul, as well as mind. It becomes what we are. Maybe that's why we're so eager to share the wondrous panoramas and sensations of a different realm with all who would fly with us — in addition to those who may simply need transportation. And there are many who have that need. This is one such story.

Just before the Memorial Day weekend, I got a call from Fred Schoenfeld, AirLifeLine coordinator for the Mid-Atlantic region, asking if I could do a short-notice mission. A little boy, Kaleb Goodison, and his mother, Jennifer Woodworth, needed to get to a treatment center in Boston from their home in southern Virginia. As the time drew near, however, thunderstorms were predicted to assault their home airport on the morning of departure, and I had a previous commitment later that day. Schoenfeld and I worked out a plan: If Kaleb and his family could drive up to Washington, D.C., the night before and stay with us, we might start our trip in instrument meteorological conditions, but by the time we reached Northeast Philadelphia Airport, we would be VFR. There, a pilot from Massachusetts would meet us and take them the rest of the way to Boston. As it turns out, that's exactly what happened.

They all arrived later that evening. Kaleb is a precious little boy, just 2 years old, lively and talkative. His older brother Lance, 4, is just as energetic. I knew Kaleb was seriously ill, but at that point I didn't know what was wrong. I was absolutely in awe of his parents' strength. They've been juggling their careers and family for months, with trips such as this every two weeks. It kind of puts a new baseline on all the problems I thought I had.

The next morning the boys, their mother, and I took off in a Cessna 172 into 3,500-foot overcast skies and spent the first half of the trip sailing in and out of the tops of friendly clouds at 5,000 feet. Jennifer, Lance, and Kaleb slept through most of it, with Kaleb in cherubic repose on Jennifer's shoulder in the backseat. Lance got the copilot's seat, and we zipped smoothly along with a 10-knot tailwind. We landed at Northeast Philly — as it turned out, just a few minutes behind Bill Cosby. (Of course, he wasn't in a 172.)

I usually don't pry into the lives of my medical passengers and their families. I happily participate in conversation when it's offered. Many of the folks have serious thoughts on their minds, and I certainly don't ask what brings them on a particular flight — though I usually get some idea from the mission coordinator. For some reason this time, I hadn't picked up on it. To be quite blunt I am not the world's most sparkling conversationalist. But my wife is, and she and Jennifer had talked over breakfast. That's how I found out after I'd gotten back home that little Kaleb had recurring tumors behind his eyes and had already lost one eye to them. That sure twanged my heartstrings for a while.

But I recovered, and I'll do it again. For I've found something that adds meaning to my flying, and to my life. I started flying when my son was just a year old, and before my daughter was born. More than a decade later, I couldn't imagine my life without flying, but even more unimaginable by several orders of magnitude would be not seeing my kids grow up. Some of the unspoken lessons in courage that I have seen through these other eyes have been just as inspiring and inexplicable as the forces that draw me into the sky.