Life is all about perspectives, about our various experiences. They are what shape us, both individually and collectively. As pilots, we may have different backgrounds, and we may engage in different forms of flight. I make my living as an airline captain; some do so as crop dusters, others in the military, a few as professional aerobatic pilots, and a very lucky few do what I would love to do, make a living as a seaplane pilot.
But lucky is a word that too many of us have used to describe whatever it is that we don't have. We seem to consider the rich and worry free to be lucky, even though our own lives may be blessed with a comfortable home, healthy children, and working cars — maybe even an airplane tucked in a hangar. We often consider the lucky ones to be on the proverbial greener side of the fence. Is it a wonder that those with such full and complex lives often envy those of us they see with a simple life?
In recent months, I have been flying a lot of my airline trips with pilots who are foreigners. They come from all corners of the globe, places such as Spain, England, Australia, the Ukraine, Po-land, and Vietnam. They are fascinating to talk to, and their backgrounds are as varied as their nationalities. The most common ground between us, of course, is aviation — sometimes the only common ground. But among them, they all have come to a similar conclusion: They have learned just how lucky we have it in this country.
Think of all the changes that have taken place since the terrorist attacks of September 11, 2001. There are stadium and Disney TFRs (temporary flight restrictions), presidential TFRs, higher insurance rates, fewer flight schools, and state governmental bodies trying to legislate the federally controlled realm of aviation. But much is well, as sport pilot has become law, avionics have made tremendous advances, and for the lightplane manufacturers that have suffered, others are forging ahead, such as Eclipse Aviation, Adam Aircraft, and others. We tend to focus on the bad, forgetting the good, specifically, how good we have it.
Duc (pronounced duke) is a refugee from Vietnam. When he was a boy, his family lived through the end of the Vietnam War, and Communism was threatening to make their lives little more than one of slavery and servitude. Duc's mother paid an exorbitant price to get her son out of the country. His sister already lived in Reno, Nevada, and it was his mother's goal to get Duc to the United States as well, with the hope of giving him a chance to lead a normal, happy life. As a young man, Duc became one of the thousands of Vietnamese boat people. His journey was a harrowing one, with people crammed into a small vessel with little food on the open ocean. Their money essentially had been stolen, and they were cast adrift, their fate out of their hands. At one point, the boat was deliberately hit and damaged by another ship, forcing them to bail water to stay afloat. The heat of the sun was broiling. Dehydration was a very real concern. "You have never seen such a look of total, complete hopelessness," he says. Today, his voice still cracks and his eyes still water as he tells the story of an event more than 20 years in his past. You and I cannot even begin to imagine.
They finally were picked up and taken to an island for processing, where they stayed for several months before being sent to the United States. His journey took him first from the Pacific to Alaska, and then to Seattle, and finally to Reno. He was not even a teenager, he spoke no English, he did not have his mother, and he was terrified. But he had an obligation to his family to succeed, and his journey developed a dream in his mind. His trip had inspired him to learn to fly. The view from those airliner windows had fascinated him.
In time, Duc mastered English, finished high school, and became a nurse. But nursing was not what he wanted it to be, and he still had the desire to fly. Not being afraid to make a change, he went to a flight school in West Virginia, got his ratings, met his bride, and got on with an airline. He is still one of the most quiet and humble people you can meet, and one of the nicest. He's a fine airman as well. Today, Duc is able to go home once or twice a year to visit his remaining family. As long as the journey is, it doesn't compare to what he went through on that boat. When he hears others complain about some of the sacrifices they must make to fly, he stays quiet. "They have no idea how good it really is to be an American. It's a dream to the rest of the world. But here, you can act on that dream."
Another pilot I flew with had a similar tale, but came through with his family intact. Marek hails from Poland, and he made it to the United States when his father decided that life under a puppet regime of the Soviet Union was no longer worth sacrificing basic freedoms for. With the help of bribes to various government officials and assistance from a sort of underground railroad through Europe, the family was able to escape to Chicago, a city with a large Polish population. He too was a stranger in a strange land, spoke little English, and had no friends. In time, he too learned to speak English well, and his family, like so many others of immigrant status, worked together and worked hard to forge a life for themselves, to make the dream they had heard of a reality. As the airline flight did for Duc, Marek's flight from Europe to the States hooked him on flying. He was fascinated by it, and in time, he too got his ratings, something that would have been impossible in his homeland. For several years he flew Cessna Citations for a charter company before making the airline transition. He also has made money investing in real estate and rental properties, as a person more willing to make such a gamble because of his past than many of us more comfortable in our upbringing.
José comes from Spain, where his father is a captain for Iberia, the national flag carrier. He came to the States to learn to fly, not because of political oppression at home but because of simple economics. The cost of flying a simple trainer in Europe is so high that it becomes impractical. There are a dizzying array of fees, taxes, levies, and general expenses. Limitations on VFR flight, night flight, and instrument flight, not to mention a slew of international borders to negotiate, all conspire to make flight in Europe unattractive, especially for training (see " Postcards: An American Pilot in Europe," February 2000 Pilot). As a result, each year hundreds of European pilots-to-be come here to train. They get a lot more bang for the dollar, they do it quickly, and often they can find work after the completion of their ratings. José and Andy, a pilot from England, have explained to me in detail the difficulties in getting an airline job in Europe, and when you do, the major airlines do not pay nearly as well as they do here.
José stayed in this country, married, and has settled in Florida, although in time he hopes to join his father with Iberia. Like others, he stayed here because of the opportunities to fly and to work. "People come to this country," he says, "because for all of the flaws, there is just so much work. And people coming from countries where meaningful work is hard to get will take any job here they can, because they know that they can still improve their lot in life. Americans would do well to remember that."
Andy, the Brit, also came to America to fly. His father too flew for a foreign carrier. Andy stayed here because he learned to fly in Florida and fell in love with the Sunshine State (and a girl). For all the joking he does, and he does a lot of it, he doesn't hesitate to extol the virtues of learning to fly here. In England, the certification process is more rigorous, the academic material more demanding. Ironically, although so many foreign students come here to learn, many pilots overseas do not think highly of American training. But not only is it cheap here, but also 75 percent of world aviation is in the United States. "Some of the least busy airline airports here would be some of the busiest in Europe," says Andy. I asked Andy one time just what it was about the States that most impressed him. We were flying over the Appalachians, the sun rising from the east in a soft purple glow. He looked out the window, thought for a moment, and in his clipped British accent said, "It is so big. The U.S. is just so damned big."
Life is indeed about perspectives. When you feel the need to complain about the $100 an hour it costs to rent a Cessna 172, or the price of avgas, or the increase in the rate of insurance, just remember, in some parts of the world, not only does the opportunity to pay the high prices not exist, but also the opportunity to complain does not exist.
Chip Wright, of Hebron, Kentucky, is a Canadair Regional Jet captain for Comair.
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