The Extra Mile

"Center, Lifeguard Citation Six-Three-Uniform, with you at Flight Level two-five-zero."

"Lifeguard Six-Three-Uniform, Center, roger."

The controller is not busy. He has been sitting at his position for about 45 minutes and has worked two small flurries of traffic. There is little to do now. Out of habit, he scans the flight progress strip for the Lifeguard flight. The strip shows that the Citation has been cleared direct to its destination, Reynosa, Mexico, just across the border from McAllen, Texas. "He'll need to start his descent pretty soon," the controller thinks to himself.

"Center, Lifeguard Six-Three-Uniform."

"Six-Three-Uniform, go ahead."

"Is there any way we can continue to Tampico, our destination, without stopping at Reynosa? We were told that we had to stop at Reynosa to clear Mexican customs before proceeding in country."

"Six-Three-Uniform, stand by."

The controller is immediately uncomfortable. Many pilots assume that air traffic control and U.S. Customs work closely together when it comes to international flying. The fact is that there is very little direct contact between controllers and Customs inspectors. The United States requires that nonairline flights inbound land at the first available Customs airport after crossing the border unless they have prior approval (known as customs overflight) to continue to their destination without stopping. But this is a Customs requirement, not an ATC requirement. Yes, both are branches of the same U.S. government, but no, those who work in each branch are not necessarily familiar with the rules of the other. There have been cases where controllers have cleared aircraft on to their destinations after pilots have innocently inquired about bypassing the border stop. These pilots have faced irate Customs officials and possibly fines for not stopping. They are likely to have been bitter about the experience, thinking, "If I had to stop at the border, the controller never should have cleared me past it!" Meanwhile the controllers, most of whom are not pilots, were probably thinking that the pilots had made their own arrangements. ATC does not deny clearances because of Customs rules. Pilots are expected to be responsible for knowing the requirements and asking for the appropriate clearances. "It's not my job to babysit them" is a common attitude among controllers.

The situation south of the border is similar. Most American controllers know next to nothing about what is required. Mexican controllers may not necessarily interface any more closely with their own customs officials than their American counterparts do with theirs.

From this background, it's easy to appreciate the controller's discomfort. On the one hand, to this controller and the vast majority of the nation's 16,000 controllers, the Lifeguard call sign means only one thing: direct routings to the destination, with all the attendant coordination performed. Balancing that is the fear that if, through ignorance, he leads the pilot astray, the pilot may face fines or even impoundment of his airplane when he lands. No controller wants to answer an investigation after an incident with the argument, "Gee, I thought it would be OK."

It's a tough call. How should he advise the pilot? Might it be best to suggest the pilot just go ahead and land at Reynosa and clear customs properly before going on? What to do....

It's like a flashback. In an instant an experience two decades before plays through the controller's mind. Like about 20 percent of controllers, this one was a professional pilot before being hired by ATC. He remembers those years flying singles and light twins in the Northeast. The scene in his head begins in the hot summer of 1979, at the Tweed-New Haven Airport in New Haven, Connecticut. He is helping a man and woman from the terminal to the 1976 Piper Lance that his company operates Part 135 (the FAA regulation that governs charter flying). The woman walks slowly and painfully. She is only 45 but she is thin and frail, her body ravaged by cancer. Negotiating the Lance's back door and getting into the stretcher lashed down in place of all but one of the backseats takes several painful minutes. The airlines will not let her on board because of her condition, so the only alternative to an impossible eight-hour drive to Montreal, Canada, where she is going home to die, is a chartered airplane. A Learjet would be nice, but not everybody can afford several thousand dollars for the service. That leaves the Lance and the pilot/controller of our story.

The patient is secured, her husband in the remaining backseat beside her. The pilot taxis out. He has filed a flight plan, but without using the "Lifeguard" call sign. Strange to think about it now, but he had not been flying charter for long and no one had explained to him the priority that using that call sign can buy. They all expected that he already knew.

There are six aircraft on the taxiway ahead of him. Although there is not a cloud in the sky, it is IFR in the control zone (what we would now call Class D airspace) and en route because the prevailing visibility throughout is two miles in haze, a not-uncommon condition during New England summers. It is 95 degrees Fahrenheit on the ground. Despite the pilot's holding the front door open, it is sweltering in the cabin. The pilot is suffering. How much worse must it be for the patient? The traffic in and out of New Haven is one in, one out. There are five-minute delays between departures.

"Ground, this is Lance Four-Six-Charlie. We have a cancer patient on board and we're roasting in here. Any chance you can expedite our departure?"

"Four-Six-Charlie, are you a Lifeguard flight?"

"Four-Six-Charlie, uh...yeah. I guess."

"Stand by."

A minute goes by. Then, "Four-Six-Charlie, ground. Can you get by the other planes ahead of you on the taxiway?"

"Ah, negative."

"Four-Six-Charlie, roger. Make a right at the taxiway just ahead of you. Back-taxi to the end of the runway. You're number one for departure. Contact Tower on...."

Within minutes the Lance is airborne. The flight at 8,000 feet is bumpy. The cabin temperature remains less than comfortable, but thankfully, the crushing heat experienced on the ground is diminished.

The flight plan destination is Burlington, Vermont. In 1979 U.S. Customs still required charter flights to clear Customs both inbound and outbound (this is no longer the case). The pilot has noted how quickly the system responded to his Lifeguard status. Maybe it will serve again. Fifty miles from Burlington — "C enter, Four-Six-Charlie. Request a momentary frequency change to Burlington Tower."

"Four-Six-Charlie, approved. Report back on."

The pilot contacts the tower. He describes his Lifeguard status, including a description of the patient's condition. Since he has no airborne link to Customs, he asks the tower to call over to Customs and see if they will approve his overflying Burlington and continuing to Montreal. He is told to stand by. Then the controller comes back on and tells him that Customs says he must land.

"Tower, Four-Six-Charlie, thanks for trying. We're going back to Center."

"Four-Six-Charlie, stay with me just another minute. I may have something." Then, "Four-Six-Charlie, Customs called back. They say you are authorized to bypass Burlington. Best of luck to you."

After thanking the tower controller, the pilot goes back to Center and advises them of the destination change. The flight is met at Montreal by an ambulance. The husband, who has a job and children back in New Haven, must return with the pilot. He knows he is unlikely to see his wife alive again. As the ambulance drives off, he bursts into tears. The pilot, not yet old enough to feel secure about putting his arm around another man, a stranger, at a time when human touch might be such a needed comfort, stands uncomfortably until the man recovers. At least he knows that he has done all he can to make the woman's last flight shorter and less uncomfortable than it otherwise might have been. He wishes he could have done more....

We are back in the present. "Lifeguard Six-Three-Uniform, Center, you have a patient on board?"

"Affirmative."

"And the patient is in considerable discomfort, is that correct?"

"Affirmative."

"Stand by."

The decision is made. Twenty years ago those unknown controllers did not let busy traffic, fear of liability or reprimand, or indifference stop them from doing their best. This controller can do no less today. He reaches up to actuate a land line (dedicated direct phone access) to Monterey Center in Mexico.

"Monterey Center, request."

"Go ahead."

The controller explains the situation to the Mexican controller, emphasizing the discomfort of the patient. He hopes he is being understood. He has no idea whether his counterpart has direct contact with his country's customs officials, or if it is as difficult to reach them as it is at the Center where the U.S. controller works.

"Can you call customs at Reynosa to see if you can get authorization for Six-Three-Uniform to fly to Tampico without stopping in Reynosa for customs?"

When he is finished talking, there is a pause. He knows that this is an unusual request. Controllers in the United States just don't usually get involved in this aspect of international flight and he suspects it is the same in Mexico.

"Eh...I call you back. Stand by."

The controller, knowing today what he could not have imagined 20 years ago as a pilot, can picture the calls his Mexican counterpart is making. He probably has a line to Reynosa Tower, but not to Reynosa customs. Tower is probably acting as a relay. There may be local phone numbers to look up. Reynosa customs may have to coordinate with Tampico. It is only speculation, the controller knows, but this is how it would be done if the flight were inbound to the United States.

"Center, Six-Three-Uniform, if we can't bypass Reynosa, we need to start down."

"Citation Six-Three-Uniform, descend at pilot's discretion, maintain Flight Level two-four-zero. They haven't called back yet."

Finally, after what seems like a long time, the Mexican controller calls back. "It is OK for Six-Three-Uniform to make flying direct to Tampico."

"Verify that Mexican customs approved Six-Three-Uniform to bypass customs at Reynosa?" Yes, the controller understood the first time, but it doesn't hurt to make sure that what gets recorded by ATC tapes is very specific in case something goes wrong.

"Affirmative. That is correct."

"Thank you, Monterey."

The controller pauses to collect his thoughts. This must be phrased carefully in these days of litigation and liability.

"Citation Six-Three-Uniform, Monterey Center advises that Mexican customs at Reynosa has approved your overflying the border and proceeding to Tampico. You are cleared to the Tampico airport via direct, maintain Flight Level two-five-zero."

"Direct Tampico at two-five-oh! Thanks a great deal, Center."

"Six-Three-Uniform, I want you to understand that the FAA is acting only as relay between you and Mexican customs. If something is misunderstood and there are any repercussions to you, the FAA takes no responsibility."

"Citation Six-Three-Uniform understands and accepts. Good job, Center."

Did it make a difference? Maybe the patient was not that ill, just wealthy enough to get first-class transportation. But then again, maybe it was the sweltering taxiway in New Haven all over again and for the occupants of the Citation every unnecessary minute was agony. The controller will never know. Doesn't matter. He'd done his part, gone the extra mile. And in the process, a 20-year-old debt was paid.

Robert I. Snow, AOPA 376566, of Humble, Texas, owns a Cessna 170 and has been flying for more than 34 years.