Learning From My Students

A good flight instructor is always looking for a better way to teach. In my 41 years of instructing I have learned many things in many ways. Classes, seminars, fellowship with other instructors, and publications such asAOPA Flight Training are but a few of the tools I have used over the years. The best tool of all, however, has consistently been my students. Students can teach you about communications, safety awareness, the dangers of complacency, and how to resolve "unsolved opportunities." My students have taught me how we all view the world differently. Some lessons come from humorous events, and a few were learned by surviving dangerous situations. As I share some of the lessons I have learned over the years, I am sure that whether you are an instructor or a student, you can relate to similar "training experiences."

I was fortunate because my adventure in learning from my students began early in my instructing career. I learned how to fly in the mid-1950s and was taught by a World War II instructor. We tend to do as we are taught, and I tended to emulate his military view of instructing when I started flight instructing in 1961. It was a mindset of "proving your stuff." An early first solo was more of a badge of courage than a demonstration of skill. That may have been a good thing when the military was turning out thousands of combat pilots, but I soon learned that civilian general aviation needed something different.

My first instructing job was at a school with seven other male instructors, all of them older than I. To a man, they preferred not to fly with women students (remember, this was 41 years ago). I had two things going for me. First, I liked women (I am not ashamed to admit it). Second, I wanted to instruct. As a result, I ended up with most of the female students, and my eyes were opened up to what teaching is all about.

I found that most of my female students were not preprogrammed to believe that they had to prove their mettle. Almost every woman I have flown with looks at her own performance for progress comparison rather than looking at the progress of other students. I learned to listen to these students and treat them as individuals. We set progress goals together. Early solos ceased to be the milestone to prove you had the right stuff. Progress was measured by overall ability and the student's confidence in their performances. Safety and confidence, not daring, became our common goals. I found that more extensive training prior to solo did not result in much change to the overall training time from start to checkride. My teaching style rapidly evolved into that which I still use today. Man or woman, young or old, I listen to my students, and we establish goals together.

Communication

Only a few months ago I was reminded that I still need lessons in communications. I was providing a taildragger checkout in my Aeronca Champion to a 400-hour tricycle-gear pilot. The student was not handling a right crosswind very well, allowing the airplane to drift left during the landing flare. I kept urging, "Give it right aileron" as he flared for touchdown. The student was not responding. During our postflight debrief the student said he was overloaded. He was not used to the right-handed control stick and left-handed throttle. He felt intimidated because I sat behind him in this tandem airplane; he could not see his instructor.

Then he hit me with the big one. "I know you wanted me to move the right aileron." he said, "but I didn't know if you wanted me to move it up or down." At first blush, it would appear that my simple command should have been easy for an experienced pilot to understand-but the anxiety caused by his unfamiliarity with the airplane placed a barrier to communication between us. What I actually wanted him to do was lower the right wing. I need to make sure my students are briefed on my abbreviated commands. Students need to speak up, and instructors need to listen.

Paying Attention

Back in the good old days we just used the cockpit speaker and didn't have headsets or intercoms. I would have to listen very closely to hear my student's communications with the tower. On one training flight I heard the tower ask if we had our traffic in sight. My student replied "Positive." The tower asked the question again and, once more, my student replied "Positive." I asked my student why in the world he was saying "Positive" to the tower. He replied that if the word negative means no, then the word positive must mean yes. He was simply responding to the tower that we did have the traffic in sight. Perhaps I should have spent more time teaching him radio phraseology.

Complacency

I was teaching a student in a Piper Tri-Pacer. We were well along in the training, and she was doing fine. During some take-off and landing practice everything was going great, and I was feeling confident enough that I pulled one foot back by the seat while the other was stretched out between the rudder pedals. Then it happened! For some reason, she lost directional control during a landing rollout, and I needed to take over. Much to my chagrin, the foot I had curled back against the seat was caught in the seat understructure and I had to regain control by using my one remaining foot. There I was, stomping back and forth between the left and right rudder pedals with one foot trying to keep one of the world's easiest airplanes to land going straight on the runway. I got us back under control and learned the importance of always covering the controls.

Payback

The Cessna 150 fuel valve is located between the seats, and it requires you to move your leg to be able to see it. This feature allows perfect cover for me to sneak in a simulated engine failure by switching off the fuel without my student seeing me do it. I always did this at higher altitudes while practicing airwork. On this flight I switched it off while we were practicing steep turns, and I was sure this student would use the correct procedure and quickly find the problem.

When the engine quit, he screamed in terror, grabbed the microphone, and started yelling "Mayday! Mayday!" I completely ignored the airplane and made a grab for the microphone. He hung onto the microphone with a death grip and continued yelling for help until I turned off the radio. At this point he calmly hung up the microphone and turned the fuel back on. He then handed me the unplugged end of microphone cord and started laughing. I had been had. Years later he was flying as an airline captain, and I always wondered how many copilots he had tormented with his humor.

All The Above

Lack of communication, complacency, and a wrongly predetermined outcome resulted in a life-threatening event that taught me important lessons. I believe there is an old saying that you can learn from experience if you live through it. This is such an example.

As an FAA designated pilot examiner (DPE), I administered multiengine check- rides in the Beechcraft Baron series of airplanes. This applicant for the rating had performed well, and we were returning to the airport for our final landing. All that was left to do was an engine-out landing and, in my mind, he had already passed the checkride. Upon entering the pattern, I asked him to throttle back the left engine and simulate an engine-out landing.

We turned final and lined up on Runway 17 Left. As the airplane was positioned on final approach we started to get a little low. The applicant increased pitch attitude but did not add power. We started to slow down and yaw left into the idling engine. He applied more right rudder but did nothing to correct our left deviation or increase the speed. I started to wonder when he was going to get things back where they belonged. After all, he had given me a good flight up to this point. Finally, at about 200 feet above the ground he was down to minimum single engine control speed and losing control of the plane. As we yawed off to the left side of the runway I commanded, "I've got it!" and took over the controls, or so I thought.

I brought up full power on both engines and the plane yawed to the right and violently rolled into a 90-degree bank to the right. The applicant still had his right leg locked onto the right rudder pedal, resulting in full deflection. The next five seconds or so was a madhouse. I recovered control of my self-made emergency at about 50 feet above the ground and flew across the parallel right runway, much to the chagrin of the control tower. I was lucky in more ways than one. I lived through this hard lesson and the local FAA decided to use my adventure as a teaching tool. I was allowed to develop safety guidelines to be used by other DPEs rather than receive some disciplinary action.

I can't imagine what it would be like to stop learning new things. That's one of the reasons I love being a flight instructor. After more than 40 years of instructing I am always ready for my next lesson from a student.

When he's not performing his duties as manager of health, safety, and environmental operations at an Oklahoma manufacturing plant, Earl Downs can be found at his flight school, Golden Age Aviation. Though his background is in general aviation and he owns an Aeronca 7AC Champion, he's also involved in sport and recreational flying.