America Under Siege - An Aviation Perspective
The Day Aviation Stood Still
Terrorist attacks reach far beyond two cities
In the weeks since the terrorist attacks in New York and Washington, D.C., media writers have struggled to convey the emotions of a nation reeling from the deaths of thousands of its citizens, the destruction of its financial and military symbols, and the shaking of its national psyche. Those of us associated with aviation, either as a vocation or an avocation, have struggled at an additional level.
Civil airplanes, so important to us as pilots — and once the darling of the nation's imagination — have suddenly been branded weapons of mass destruction. As we watched history unfold that dreadful Tuesday, we anguished over the loss of life and the destruction of property — damages wrought not by mechanical malfunction or piloting mistakes (those we could accept), but perfectly functioning machines lunged at defenseless buildings full of defenseless innocents. Those madmen at the controls pierced our own hearts when they used airplanes — our airplanes — as guided missiles to kill our own people.
As the reality of the destruction sank in, we couldn't help but think of our own interests. When can we fly again? What will this do to the freedom of flight we have enjoyed? Why is general aviation being kept from the skies when the airlines are flying again? And even as the thoughts formed, we felt guilty for thinking them in the wake of the tragedy.
But in the end, we must go on because going back isn't an option; to not forge ahead would be to give in to the terrorists themselves. And so on the following pages we bring you the aviation perspective on the events of September 11, 2001.
Senior Editor Al Marsh examines what happened inside the air traffic control system as it spiraled down for the first time in modern history. Retired Boeing 757/767 Captain Barry Schiff describes what the pilots of the hijacked airliners might have been thinking in those dreadful minutes and how airline pilots in the future might train for such events. The air traffic shutdown and subsequent events devastated aviation businesses around the country. Associate Editor Julie Boatman provides some firsthand accounts from flight school and fixed-base operators attempting to return to work. And we hear from two general aviation pilots and an airline pilot about what it was like flying the day aviation stood still. Another airline pilot tells the haunting story of returning to the line a few days after the tragedy. — Thomas B. Haines
Put to the Test
Air traffic controllers faced their toughest challenge
BY ALTON K. MARSH
Details have emerged about the scene in the nation's air traffic control centers during the attacks on the World Trade Center towers and the Pentagon. The following is compiled from interviews and news reports.
Air traffic controllers "were only observers" during the hijacking of aircraft on September 11, an aviation source told AOPA Pilot; all they could do was to clear traffic from the paths of four terrorist-held aircraft, a task made more difficult when hijackers turned off the aircraft's transponders. One terrorist pilot nearly ran into two aircraft as he descended to attack the second of the two World Trade Center towers.
American Airlines Flight 11
Controllers got their first indication of trouble when a Boeing 767 failed to respond to instructions to climb from 29,000 to 31,000 feet to avoid traffic. American Airlines Flight 11, the first aircraft to strike the World Trade Center, left Boston traveling west, entered the airspace over the State of New York, and then flew south to Manhattan, according to flight tracks provided by the Flight Explorer flight-tracking service. The transponder was not turned off until the aircraft was over the Hudson River, Pentagon officials told CNN.com, providing a nearly complete route on radar.
As the airliner headed south toward Manhattan, controllers from Boston and New York centers consulted one another about the flight, something they can easily do by pushing a touch-screen button on their displays. Puzzled at first, a New York controller finally suggested the aircraft had been hijacked, according to The Washington Post.
Fifteen minutes later, and before the first attack, United Airlines Flight 175 took off from Boston, also bound for Los Angeles. (It was later flown into the second World Trade Center tower.) At one point during the attack an open microphone revealed cockpit conversations, confirming controllers' suspicions. However, there was confusion as to which aircraft was heard when an airline pilot secretly pressed the mic button during early conversations with terrorists. A story in The Washington Post said pilots were heard shouting, "Get out of here. Get out of here," while the Christian Science Monitor quoted Boston Center controllers in Nashua, New Hampshire, as hearing a voice — apparently a hijacker's — telling pilots that they would not be hurt if they cooperated, and adding, "We have more planes."
Convinced that a hijacking was in progress, Boston Center controllers contacted the FAA New England Region Operations Center, which then telephoned North American Air Defense Command's Northeast Air Defense Sector. The FAA's warning to NORAD came six minutes before American Flight 11 hit the first World Trade Center tower at about 8:46 a.m., according to information from NORAD headquarters in Colorado Springs, Colorado. (Only four minutes later, controllers at Indianapolis Center lost contact with a flight over southern Ohio that would later hit the Pentagon.)
NORAD ordered fighters launched from Otis Air National Guard Base in Falmouth, Massachusetts, only a minute before Flight 11 crashed: Two F–15 fighters were not airborne until six minutes after the impact.
Even after the first aircraft struck, it was still not clear to controllers or to the nation what had happened. New York controllers thought at first that the aircraft that had crashed might be a twin-engine Cessna that had taken off from Poughkeepsie, New York, on a VFR flight, The Washington Post reported.
Controllers at the FAA Air Traffic Control System Command Center (ATCSCC) in Herndon, Virginia, also thought that the first impact was an accident.
United Airlines Flight 175
The second aircraft to hit the World Trade Center, United Airlines Flight 175, nearly hit two other aircraft as it descended to attack. The Washington Post reported that the aircraft's radar target merged with that of a Delta Air Lines flight, but the hijacker stopped his descent to avoid a collision. A US Airways pilot was alerted by collision avoidance equipment to descend and narrowly missed Flight 175 as well, the newspaper reported.
Instead of flying its assigned route after heading west into New York State, Flight 175 flew south into New Jersey, passing west and then southwest of the New York metropolitan area before turning north toward Manhattan. The Flight Explorer track shows that while it passed near the Allentown, Pennsylvania, area, it never crossed into Pennsylvania. However, as New York controllers were searching for American Flight 11, one noticed a second aircraft — apparently UAL 175 — and said, "Look, there's an intruder over Allentown," according to the Post story.
Once it was clear that a coordinated attack was in progress, the ATC command center issued a first-tier ground stop at 9:06 a.m. on all traffic going to or through New York Center airspace. The first tier refers to traffic in the New York Center airspace plus that of three surrounding centers: Washington, Cleveland, and Boston. Almost immediately, the ground stop for traffic going to or through New York Center airspace was extended nationwide. Traffic elsewhere in the nation was allowed to continue.
UAL 175 hijackers tried to outsmart air traffic controllers by turning the transponder back on, but with a transponder code that had not been assigned to any aircraft. Instead, that action allowed controllers to easily track the aircraft, and when the plane began to dive at 6,000 feet per minute, one controller concluded that the aircraft was crashing, the Post reported.
This time, two F–15 fighters were on the way to New York — the same two that had been launched to intercept American Flight 11 — but they were still 71 miles from the World Trade Center at the time of the UAL 175 impact at 9:02 a.m.
American Airlines Flight 77
The flight that hit the Pentagon — American Flight 77 from Dulles to San Francisco — was hijacked near the southern Ohio border, according to flight tracks provided by Flight Explorer. As it reversed course, it first turned south toward Kentucky and then east on its way to Washington, D.C.
Indianapolis Center lost contact with American Flight 77 at 8:50 a.m. when the aircraft's transponder was turned off. Per their training, controllers began a search in the direction the flight was to have taken but could not find it. Indianapolis controllers learned from Washington Center controllers that a primary target, one without an active transponder, was headed toward Washington. At 9:24 a.m. the FAA notified NORAD that American Flight 77 had been hijacked, and at 9:26 a.m. the command center stopped all departures nationwide, no matter the destination. Traffic in the air was allowed to continue.
American Flight 77 returned to the D.C. area and began a frightening tour of Washington. Dulles controllers had alerted Ronald Reagan Washington National Airport Tower that it was coming, and they were watching as it came in from the west toward the Pentagon at an altitude estimated to be less than 2,000 feet. The aircraft then made a 360-degree turn, passing over Reagan National Tower, and continued south, making another right-hand turn over Alexandria, Virginia. Additional right turns were made as needed to line up on a final approach to the Pentagon. It crashed into the west side of the Pentagon at 9:37 a.m.
Two F–16 fighters had been launched seven minutes prior to the Pentagon impact, this time from Langley Air Force Base near Hampton, Virginia, and had rushed at supersonic speed to the Pentagon, but were still 12 minutes away at the time the aircraft crashed. After the Pentagon attack, the fighter jets flew air cover over Washington, D.C.
UAL Flight 93 crashed near Shanksville, Pennsylvania, at 9:40 a.m. The flight track provided by Flight Explorer shows that UAL 93 left Newark for San Francisco, crossing New Jersey, Pennsylvania, and reaching Cleveland before it was hijacked.
In the parlance of the FAA, a "blast-out" telephone conference was initiated by the command center with all air route traffic control centers. Controllers then issued orders at 9:45 a.m. to pilots flying throughout the nation to land as soon as possible because of a "national emergency" and to "check cockpit security." The formal notice to airmen that stopped all traffic was issued at 10:39 a.m. By 12:15 p.m. the airspace was clear of all but those aircraft involved in rescue operations.
The restart
It was more difficult to restart the nation's air traffic control system than to stop it. Even veteran controllers had never experienced a shutdown and restart of the system (it was once done as a test in the early 1960s), so there was little experience on which to draw. "There were myriad restrictions on aircraft, operations, and airports," a source said, restrictions that had to be sorted out by controllers. Denver Center controllers noticed that general aviation pilots mistakenly launched when the airspace was opened for commercial operations — believing that the airspace was open to all — only to be told to land.
VFR pilots trying to slip under the radar, hoping to get home, further complicated the situation. They did not realize that U.S. Air Force Airborne Warning and Control System (AWACS) aircraft — activated following the attacks — were tracking them.
As the airspace slowly reopened days later, pilots found that the ATC world had drastically changed. The most common observation by pilots was that the ATC frequencies seemed "really quiet" in comparison to flights made before the attacks. Pilots were advised, either through a flight service station during a preflight briefing or in flight by controllers, to monitor the emergency frequency of 121.5 MHz. Some pilots were advised by controllers in the early days after the crisis to review intercept procedures, while others flying a week later received no such advisory.
There was confusion among controllers as well. One pilot, returning to Frederick, Maryland, from southeastern Virginia, was mistakenly given routing by a central Virginia controller that would have taken the aircraft through the temporary flight restriction area over Washington, D.C. Approach controllers at Dulles then rerouted the aircraft.
GPS was at its most accurate setting
AOPA Pilot asked a military office in charge of degrading GPS signals whether accuracy had been degraded while the attack was in progress. Officials there said signals were at their most accurate, both during the attack and for days afterward when the national airspace system was shut down. However, a Pentagon spokesman refused to comment when asked if GPS jammers were used to protect individual sites of national interest. The jammers can send attacking missiles or aircraft far off target.
A source noted that given the clear weather on September 11, the accuracy of the GPS signals was of little consequence. The source speculated that after the terrorists took over the aircraft controls, they used pilotage to reach and attack their targets. While the terrorists had pilot training, little evidence has emerged that they had extensive experience with airline-style avionics.
E-mail the author at [email protected].
Timeline of events
Here's a minute-by-minute timeline of events from NORAD, the FAA, and the Department of Defense.
- 7:59 a.m. American Airlines Flight 11 takes off from Boston's Logan International Airport.
- 8:14 a.m. United Airlines Flight 175 takes off from Logan.
- 8:20 a.m. American Airlines Flight 77 departs Dulles International Airport.
- 8:42 a.m. United Flight 93 departs Newark International Airport.
- 8:46 a.m. American Flight 11 strikes first World Trade Center tower.
- 9:02 a.m. United Flight 175 hits second World Trade Center tower.
- 9:06 a.m. The FAA stops traffic headed to or through New York airspace from departing four air traffic control centers. The hold on such departures is immediately expanded nationwide.
- 9:16 a.m. United Flight 93 is hijacked.
- 9:24 a.m. American Flight 77 is hijacked.
- 9:37 a.m. American Flight 77 strikes the Pentagon.
- 9:40 a.m. United Flight 93 crashes in rural Pennsylvania.
- 9:45 a.m. The FAA Air Traffic Control System Command Center, acting on its own authority, orders all aircraft in the nation to land.
Where Were You? Message From Home
Grim news greets a New York-bound airline crew
BY BRIAN SCHIFF
Air traffic control provided the first clue that something was amiss that fateful morning. About an hour into our flight from St. Louis to New York's La Guardia Airport, the controller asked an unusual question: "Have you heard from your company?"
"No," I replied, looking over at my first officer in the MD–80.
"You better call," suggested the disembodied voice. "Everyone else to New York is turning around."
We tried to call but couldn't reach dispatch on the usual company frequencies. We soon received a text message on the printer with a different frequency to call. Once we established contact, dispatch asked if everything was OK, throwing in a code word alerting us to a hijacking. I asked the flight attendant how things looked in the back. She reported nothing unusual.
While we were sorting things out and nearing Cleveland, ATC gave us a vector to the south. I later found out that we were passing very close to the United flight that would eventually plummet into the ground southeast of Pittsburgh.
Dispatch kept us updated on the situation as they understood it on the ground. Meanwhile, ATC declared a national emergency and said that any noncompliance with controller directions would constitute an attack on the United States — fighters would be scrambled.
I chose not to tell the passengers the entire horror story but instead only said there was a problem in the air traffic control system and that the New York airports were closed. ATC wanted us to land at Indianapolis, but they were saturated, so we managed to return to St. Louis.
With all the cell phones back there, I knew the passengers would find out the truth as soon as we landed. With probably half of the 120 passengers from New York, I could only imagine how devastating the news would be. So once we landed I immediately got on the PA system and told the passengers the entire situation, as I knew it. We had a two-hour ramp hold waiting for a gate, but I reminded them that whatever our problems were sitting in the airplane, they paled compared to those facing real peril. As the skies emptied, a potpourri of aircraft piled up on the ramp — full of passengers and waiting for gates. ATC eventually began lining up airplanes on the now-closed runways. One runway was left open for the National Guard fighters. We watched as missiles were loaded under their wings — an eerie sight indeed.
To keep the passengers informed, I turned on an AM radio and piped it into the PA system.
Trying to calm some of the passengers, I went into the cabin to talk with them. One young man told me he was on his way to New York to finish planning his wedding, set for 10 days later. His fiancée was at work in the World Trade Center.
One Korean passenger spoke no English, so he didn't have a clue as to what was happening. No one on board spoke Korean, but another passenger said one of his employees did. He called the employee on his cell phone and handed it to the Korean man. Burned into my mind as clearly as the horrifying video of the collapsing towers is the wrenching reaction on his face as he came to understand what had happened that terrible day.
Brian Schiff, AOPA 830048, is an MD–80 captain for a major U.S. airline and a part-time flight instructor.
Where Were You? Grounded
A much-anticipated flight home turns into an emotional and logistical nightmare
BY PETER A. BEDELL
"Everybody just stand by, we have a national emergency in progress, and we're trying to figure out what to do with you all," said the Kansas City Center controller. The tone of his voice suggested seriousness, confusion, and even a touch of fear. Something had occurred and it was about to affect all of us in the skies.
I started my day looking forward to an easy but long VFR flight home after completing this month's story on the Beech Baron in Wichita (see " The Baron's Reign," p. 126). I departed Col. James Jabara Airport at 8 a.m. CDT bound for my home base at the Montgomery County Airpark in Gaithersburg, Maryland, unaware of the horror that had just taken place on the East Coast.
About 30 minutes after departure, somewhere over eastern Kansas, I had the first hints that something had gone terribly wrong. The Kansas City Center controller, who himself was likely not aware of what had just happened, told airplanes to stand by and await further instructions. When he came back, he said that a national emergency was in progress and that everyone could expect further instructions to land.
I began to think that perhaps a nuclear attack had been launched against the country. My heart was racing and the adrenalin was pumping. I scanned the horizon for signs of a distant mushroom cloud as the Baron I was flying droned along faithfully. What if Washington, D.C., had been obliterated and my family was in danger? After a few stunned seconds, I remembered the ADF and began scanning AM radio stations. I found a signal broadcasting play-by-play news of the terrorist attack. The news rocked my body with emotion. I fought back tears when I thought of the terror that my fellow airline pilots, innocent passengers, and the thousands of victims went through. Anger boiled inside when I thought of who could commit such a menacing crime.
Fellow aircrews, obviously unaware of the goings-on, continued to query ATC about the need to divert and land immediately. The controller patiently yet sternly repeated his instructions, "Stand by, we have a national emergency in progress and we're trying to figure out what to do with you all."
Since I was VFR and not talking to anyone, I pressed onward while listening to the ADF and monitoring ATC. The controller was assigning destinations to the airliners and sending IFR airplanes to the nearest airports. Corporate and other IFR Part 91 crews were attempting to continue VFR only to be told that all airplanes, VFR or IFR, must land as soon as possible. I began looking at some possible destinations 50 to 100 miles ahead. After a few more minutes, the frequency became eerily quiet. The controllers had done an amazing job of getting everyone down quickly. As I was simply eavesdropping on the frequency, I selfishly contemplated playing dumb and pressing on toward home. But rather than risk being intercepted by a fighter, I pushed the nose over and landed at an airport only 35 miles ahead.
On the ground at Missouri's Rolla National Airport was a Learjet 31A whose crew was stranded. Over the next several days the Lear crew, airport employees, and I huddled in the office waiting for the next bit of news concerning when we could fly. They say a crisis brings out the best in people. Airport managers Wes Faulkner and Kathy Sherman gave me unlimited use of the airport courtesy car and even let me put the Baron in a hangar when getting home was looking grim.
By the second day, we stranded pilots were contemplating alternate means of transportation but were misled by false hopes that we could fly the following day. Each time the Department of Transportation said it would be OK to fly, it would later pull the rug out from under our feet.
After three and a half days, the sky opened up to Part 91 IFR flights. My intended destination of Gaithersburg was off-limits, as it fell within the 25-mile no-fly zone around Washington's Reagan National Airport. Instead, I filed to Baltimore-Washington International. I said goodbye to my new friends and jumped in the Baron to head east and reunite with my family.
Peter A. Bedell, AOPA 1136339, is a regional airline captain and former technical editor of AOPA Pilot.
Hijack!
Commentary on procedural changes in the aftermath of September 11
BY BARRY SCHIFF
Barry Schiff retired as a captain for TWA in 1998 after a 34-year career. He is a columnist for AOPA Pilot and author of numerous aviation books.
In the past, aerial piracy was more often than not a relatively benign event. Although there were noteworthy exceptions, a hijacking usually meant diverting to Havana, buying a few Cuban cigars, and returning home — albeit somewhat behind schedule.
Skyjacking was relatively simple. The only things that a hijacker needed to do to gain control of an airliner were to threaten a passenger or flight attendant, or threaten to detonate a (usually) nonexistent bomb. Airline training suggested that pilots acquiesce to such a hijacker's demand and divert to the hijacker's airport of choice. This was considered more prudent than agitating or destabilizing the criminal into taking aggressive and harmful action.
It also was known that some hijackers intended to fail in their attempt, which is why crews were advised to simply request that the hijacker surrender. And a few did. (Handcuffs were used to prevent them from changing their minds.) Pilots also were advised to attempt feigning a mechanical problem or fuel shortage to increase the likelihood of landing in the United States or other friendly nation.
After landing, crews were trained to configure the aircraft in a certain way while taxiing to the parking area as a signal to law enforcement personnel that the on-board situation was grave and armed intervention was desired. If the aircraft was not so configured, ground personnel would know that intervention was not desired at that time.
In the late 1980s, the last of the holdout governments agreed to arrest hijackers and extradite them to the country in which the airliner was registered or the flight originated. This is when potential hijackers began to realize that their goals would be more difficult to achieve, and the era of conventional aerial piracy effectively drew to a close.
But our perception of hijacking and the manner in which pilots should deal with it came to a horrific end on September 11, 2001. The conversion of an airliner into a guided missile obviously cannot be tolerated.
The most obvious way to prevent aerial piracy is simple in concept: Keep the would-be criminal(s) out of the cockpit. Period. The only way to guarantee this is to install a bulletproof, crash-proof cockpit door, a modification that can be made to any airliner. El Al Israel Airlines has had such doors for years.
Although separating pilots from passengers is simple on short-range flights, the problem of isolation is more complex on long-range flights when flight crews must be provided meals, have access to rest facilities and restrooms, and be able to swap position with required relief crews. Much of this can be resolved through the use of double doors.
Cockpit doors are currently light and relatively fragile so that rescue personnel can crash through the door in case of an accident. It appears now, however, that cockpit security will take precedence over the need to facilitate rescue.
Isolating the flight deck from the cabin implies, of course, that pilots would have to ignore threats made in the cabin to harm passengers or to detonate a bomb. Pilots would be compelled to conclude in light of the World Trade Center tragedy that a hijacking could endanger more people on the ground than there are on board the aircraft. The immediate concern would be to land as soon as possible (preferably at a military base) and allow law enforcement personnel or the military to take command of the situation.
There are, of course, other steps that need to be considered:
- Although controversial, train pilots in the use of firearms and equip them appropriately. The cockpit fire ax should be kept at the ready. A weapon should be wielded, however, only if the crewmember is prepared to kill an intruder. Otherwise the weapon could be turned against him.
- The government needs to publicize that there could be more than one federal air marshal aboard every flight.
- Security checkpoints at airports need to be manned by adequately trained and qualified personnel working either for or under the auspices of the FAA or the military. (If every high school graduate were required to serve in the armed forces for two years, there would be adequate military personnel available to satisfy the need for homeland security. Young adults would also learn more about the responsibilities of being a U.S. citizen.)
- Profiling at security checkpoints needs to be reinstated, and innocent individuals singled out for additional scrutiny need to be tolerant of such measures.
- Passengers need to recognize that pilots cannot afford to appease the new breed of hijackers. Those in the cabin might be forced to neutralize a hijacker.
Aerial pirates should expect pilots to take extraordinary actions that might seem like scenes from a Hollywood action movie. These include but would not be limited to sharp fishtailing of the aircraft and altering G loads to throw hijackers off balance (an additional reason for passengers to keep their safety belts securely fastened at all times). Also under consideration is depressurizing the aircraft. If all passengers are "asleep," a pilot can walk into the cabin with a portable oxygen bottle, secure the hijacker(s), and restore cabin pressure.
There have been a number of recent suggestions about technological solutions such as remote-control devices that could be used by ground controllers to assume control of an airliner and guide it to a safe landing irrespective of what a hijacker might attempt to do with the controls. Such schemes would be expensive, probably would not satisfy airworthiness requirements, and would meet with disapproval by cockpit flight crews.
Just as the hijackers of a previous era learned that hijacking an airplane would lead to arrest and extradition, terrorists of the twenty-first century should be put on notice that any attempt to take command of a U.S. jetliner will result in failure under any and all circumstances.
Visit the author's Web site ( www.barryschiff.com).
Where Were You? Calm in the Chaos
A general aviation pilot learns the news aloft
BY BRIAN CURPIER
Little did I know on that spectacularly clear late summer day that my initial contact with air traffic control to request flight following would be my last of the day. With crisp, blue skies dominating the entire East Coast, it seemed an appropriate day to leave the complexity of the IFR system behind and take advantage of the simplicity of VFR flight for the trip from my home base of Oneonta, New York, southwest of Albany, to Frederick, Maryland.
With just me on board, my Mitsubishi MU–2 climbed smartly toward a cruising altitude of 16,500 feet. I keyed the mic, asking Boston Center for traffic advisories. The response was a curt, "Stand by." I heard another aircraft on the Boston Center frequency being advised that neither New York nor Washington centers was taking VFR handoffs. "What are your intentions?" the controller asked the pilot. "I'll continue to Richmond on my own," he responded.
I assumed that the system was experiencing the usual computer problems. That assumption changed only a few minutes later when Boston Center issued a center advisory for "all aircraft to increase cockpit security." A radio call to the Oneonta Unicom confirmed that it was not a computer problem. An aircraft had crashed into the World Trade Center, the unicom operator relayed — witnessing history unfold through the lens of a CNN camera. It was at that time that I heard Boston Center telling aircraft that the New York airports were closed because of an emergency and that rerouting was necessary. Amazingly, not one aircraft questioned the call. Each pilot simply advised center where he or she wanted to go. The frequencies were very quiet.
I assumed this was a problem specific to the New York area, so I continued on to Frederick, monitoring New York and then Washington centers along the way. As I approached the Frederick area, flying only about five miles from the prohibited area protecting the presidential retreat Camp David — P-40 — I heard Washington Center tell an aircraft that "due to a national airspace emergency" all aircraft were advised to land immediately at the closest suitable airport.
There were aircraft in the pattern at Frederick when I arrived. Greeted by the Frederick Aviation line crew, I was informed that the airport was closed. Only then did I learn that the Pentagon had been hit as well.
My plan had been to return home that evening, but a shuttered air traffic control system prevented that. By the next afternoon it was obvious that no resolution was quickly forthcoming, so I rented a car for the five-hour drive home. I returned to Frederick the following weekend, when IFR privileges were restored, to pick up my airplane.
My greatest memory of that historic day will be the contrast between the calm in my little part of the air traffic control system and the chaos that was unfolding in the cities below.
Brian Curpier, AOPA 890597, is president of the Orison B. Curpier Company, which, among other titles, provides advertising representation to AOPA Pilot and AOPA Flight Training magazines. He flies a Mitsubishi MU–2P, meeting with clients throughout the country.
The Long Wait
Going back to work for flight schools and FBOs
BY JULIE K. BOATMAN
During the first few days, grief and empathy obscured every other emotion. Flight school and fixed-base operators (FBOs) around the country called the terrorist attacks on September 11 "devastating," the shutdown of airports "understandable" and "a small price to pay." For businesses accustomed to bad weather days and maintenance downtime, the initial halt on FAR Part 91 operations felt unwelcome but necessary.
As people across the country returned to work, employees of many small aviation businesses found it impossible to do so. A ban on VFR flight training left schools unable to conduct 90 to 100 percent of daily flights in the week following the attacks. Restrictions on Part 91 IFR flights hampered instrument training; private and commercial training came to a standstill.
Meanwhile airports under Class B airspace faced a continuing restriction on all Part 91 VFR flight, and airports within the boundaries of temporary flight restrictions (TFRs) could not support any Part 91 operations, IFR or VFR. Airports such as Montgomery County Airpark in Gaithersburg, Maryland — located 20 nm from Ronald Reagan Washington National Airport — saw daily operations drop from 385 to two.
The more diversified the business, the more likely it was to recover quickly from the shutdown. FBOs that conduct fuel sales saw revenue return after the initial shutdown was rescinded, especially in Jet-A fuel sales to corporate aircraft repositioning and resuming their schedules. However, avgas sales remained far below normal levels as pilots stayed on the ground out of confusion or lack of options. And maintenance shops that focus on light aircraft were beginning to feel the pinch after a week of only trickling Part 91 operations. "If they're not flying, nothing breaks," said John Weisbart, owner of Dakota Ridge Aviation at Boulder Municipal Airport in Colorado.
Some operators have increased ramp security. "We've instituted our own security procedures, driven by us, not the FAA," said Steve Lee, senior vice president of marketing and business development for Signature Flight Support, a nationwide network of FBOs. Charter operators have seen increased calls as business travelers leave behind the gridlock of airline terminals.
Businesses specializing in flight training remain the hardest hit. During the week following the attack, owners struggled to comprehend why flight training remained prohibited. "We're being singled out because there is a link to flight training" in the attack, said Larry Ramsdell, owner and president of Aspen Flying Club, based at Centennial Airport in Englewood, Colorado.
Flight-training centers experienced "almost total devastation," according to Bill Caudell, part owner of Frederick Aviation and Frederick Flight Center, in Frederick, Maryland.
Operators contacted by Pilot averaged ýosses of $1,000 to $6,000 in daily training revenues. Fixed costs — such as insurance, rent, and aircraft payments — continue regardless of activity and average $30,000 monthly for the businesses surveyed. Many schools have laid off employees and could close.
The loss in revenue could not have come at a worse time. Earlier this year, Pilotareported on the effects of rising insurance costs (see " Surviving an Industry Nightmare," March Pilot). Flight schools already face premium increases of up to 25 percent, and few insurance companies offered payment relief.
Flight schools traditionally take advantage of good fall weather to make up for slow times in winter. "If you live in the Northeast, you expect to make hay while the sun shines and then hunker down for the winter," said Mike Goulian, owner of Executive Flyers Aviation at Laurence G. Hanscom Field in Bedford, Massachusetts. "So our reserves going into the winter are much less."
Who's to say?
The immediate concerns of staying in business will resolve themselves, for better or worse, but larger questions remain regarding the future of flight training. Several of the terrorists behind the attacks were trained at schools in the United States. Flight schools can obtain guidance on how to handle setbacks and promote flight training in the future from the Be A Pilot program ( www.beapilot.com), which is developing strategies for resumed training operations under any new restrictions. While school owners that Pilot spoke with were reluctant to speculate about the future, several had ideas about what they might do to keep training pilots.
Currently, pilots don't need to undergo any kind of background check, and operators are not required to check the visas of foreign nationals. "We may have to screen applicants in the future," said Caudell. "I wouldn't mind that a bit."
Others have seen ramifications of the scrutiny on foreign students. "I expect United States Immigration [and Naturalization Service] to be tougher in the future on allowing visas, but if they squeeze the hole significantly, we'll dry up," said Dave Parsons, vice president of Rainbow Air Academy, at Long Beach International Airport in California. Rainbow trains students from northern Europe and Asia. "U.S. students have asked for deposits back, and foreign nationals have canceled, because they feel the United States is at war. Fifteen customers have left in the past two days." No one can say whether the retreat will be short term, but most operators expressed hope for recovery, citing the demand for pilots. For some time, layoffs at the major airlines will slow hiring, but eventually pilots must retire and be replaced.
E-mail the author at [email protected].
In early October, AOPA was successful in having legislation introduced that promised economic assistance for many aviation businesses. See " AOPA Action: America's Aviation Crisis: A 'Watershed Moment' for General Aviation," on page 16 and visit AOPA Online ( www.aopa.org/pilot/links.shtml).
Where Were You? On the Line
An airline pilot heads back to a strange new world
BY VINCENT CZAPLYSKI
The first clue to what awaits comes at the rise on Route 1A north of Boston's Logan Airport, where Runway 15 and surrounding taxiways suddenly jump into view. As always at this point in my commute, I glance to my left, trying to gauge the mood of the airport. I spy a lone American MD–80 taxiing into its gate before my attention snaps back to driving. The usually frenetic airport might as well be a ghost town. It's Saturday, September 15, 2001, just four days after aviation as we know it in America was transformed, maybe forever. But at this point it's too early to tell just what that means. I'm traveling to Newark, New Jersey, where tomorrow morning I'll captain a Boeing 757 for Continental Airlines. I've been home on vacation for a couple of weeks but feel a disconnect, like I've just reentered the atmosphere after a few years in orbit without CNN.
Security personnel whom I've known for years look at me differently as I go through the metal detector. A new wrinkle in the commuting process, a pair of policemen and a dog, stand in the boarding area while I check in for the flight. I look at the customers around me, people who for the most part are staring blankly ahead or talking in furtive, quiet whispers. Can this be the place I returned to from my last trip just two weeks ago? It reminds me not of a boisterous airline terminal but of a small-town church.
The flight is barely half full, and I'm offered a first-class seat. I decline, asking the captain instead if he would mind if I sat in the MD–80's jump seat. I want to see what it's like out there in the system, how things have changed. We taxi out without delay, the only aircraft moving, and are cleared for takeoff immediately. In 16 years of commuting from Logan, I can't remember a more expeditious departure. The debate over new runway construction in this country just might need to be rethought. With the entire industry against the ropes, and my own company today announcing an emergency 20-percent furlough of employees, airport congestion somehow seems a nostalgically quaint concept.
En route to Newark we hear just a couple of aircraft on the frequency. The controllers are taking pains to be friendly, business-as-usual polite, no one wanting to point out how weird this whole experience is. We level at 16,000 feet for the 45-minute flight. "Have you guys spotted any of the combat air patrol aircraft in the last couple of days?" I ask the crew, as if this is a perfectly normal question. Neither has. "They're F–15s, probably pretty high," remarks the first officer casually. The conversation turns to the expected call-up of reserve military troops. Both pilots expect to be activated soon.
A hundred miles northeast of Manhattan we can easily discern the smoke plume from the still-smoldering ruins of the World Trade Center towers. We edge closer, crossing the Hudson River south of Albany, New York.
The plume dominates the otherwise pristine sky as we draw closer. I can't pull my eyes away from it as we join the arrival to Newark, circling westward from the north to make our approach to Runway 4L. For years we've jokingly referred to this as the "OPEC 1 Arrival," because it is so indirect, so un-airplanelike, so wasteful of time and fuel. But today somehow the arrival makes sense. It helps us keep our distance from Manhattan as we warily eye the smoke from a safe vantage. We soon roll to a stop in another airport-turned-ghost town, still trying to get our minds around something that makes no sense, no matter how long you stare at it.
Vincent Czaplyski is a Boeing 757/767 captain for a major U.S. airline.
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