Instructor Report

My first job out of high school was running a large steam boiler for a commercial laundry. Staring at all those gauges while pulling long levers felt as though I was in charge of the Starship Enterprise (yes, a steam-powered starship). This was fun, but not necessarily educational. Without a doubt, the most educational job on my résumé is flight instructor. Working as a flight instructor teaches you humility, helps you understand human nature, and tunes your teacher’s radar to look for ideas that work— while avoiding those that don’t.

I recall one of my early psychology professors disavowing the value of rote learning during one lecture. He was of the “experiential” and “constructivist” school of pedagogy, where immersion in meaning and personal interpretation were thought to be the best methods for skill development. Fundamentals and basics were passé.

The professor’s words didn’t comport with cockpit reality. My argument with him—I recall a spirited debate—was based on how important rote learning was for my flight students. Without it, few would learn to coordinate their use of rudder and aileron, just as schoolkids would fail to learn their multiplication tables and letter/sound combinations (think phonics). Rote learning is fundamental to habit pattern formation.

Even with just a year of flight instruction under my belt, it was easy to proffer a good argument against this holistic type of learning. As I recall, my argument hit home when I mentioned that his students didn’t die if he taught them ideas that didn’t comport with reality. Mine could.

The cockpit is sort of a crucible that boils away the theoretical, leaving the practical in its place. You quickly learn what works and what doesn’t, and to value performance over personal interpretation.

Flight instructing also is a humbling experience. Just when you think you’ve got aviation all figured out, you find out that you don’t.

I remember chatting years ago with several highly experienced flight instructors. One fellow asked why the nose of a tricycle-gear airplane tends to pitch up immediately after liftoff. Seeing an opportunity to strike and establish my street cred, I announced it was obviously the downwash on the tail that caused the effect. Obviously.

I soon created Rod’s rule number one for enhancing street cred: Don’t move your mouth.

Silly me for not picking up on the word “immediately.” It turns out that before liftoff, the airplane rotates about the main gear; the moment the airplane lifts off, however, it rotates about the center of gravity, which lies forward of the main gear.

Since the arm (lever) from the elevator to the CG is longer than the arm from the elevator to the main gear, the sudden increase in leverage applied by the elevator after liftoff pitches the nose upward. This is why you must quickly release elevator back pressure after liftoff, when the airplane is only a few inches off the ground (where there’s very little downwash on the tail).

Teaching others to fly offers you a first-class education in understanding the underlying motivations that drive all human behavior. General wisdom requires an understanding of the biological instincts, natural biases, and willful ways of our fellow human beings (including ourselves). These are behaviors that are considered universal and independent of culture. They also are behaviors that we tend to disguise with a public persona. Flight instructing helps you understand how people are disposed to behave, rather than how they want you to think they’ll behave.

For instance, it’s human nature for people to claim they are better than they actually are in nearly all categories of performance. This is why flight instructors learn to evaluate a student’s abilities based on what he or she does, not what they say they can do. No wise flight instructor would ever solo a student who lands softly one minute and dangerously hard the next. Consistency in behavior trumps any student’s protestations that he or she is ready to fly solo.

While there are many occupations that can teach you to think practically, be humble, and understand human nature, my favorite among them is flight instructing. Perhaps the best part of the job is that you get to fly every day. That’s a mighty good deal in my book.

My first job out of high school was running a large steam boiler for a commercial laundry. Staring at all those gauges while pulling long levers felt as though I was in charge of the Starship Enterprise (yes, a steam-powered starship). This was fun, but not necessarily educational. Without a doubt, the most educational job on my résumé is flight instructor. Working as a flight instructor teaches you humility, helps you understand human nature, and tunes your teacher’s radar to look for ideas that work— while avoiding those that don’t.

I recall one of my early psychology professors disavowing the value of rote learning during one lecture. He was of the “experiential” and “constructivist” school of pedagogy, where immersion in meaning and personal interpretation were thought to be the best methods for skill development. Fundamentals and basics were passé.

The professor’s words didn’t comport with cockpit reality. My argument with him—I recall a spirited debate—was based on how important rote learning was for my flight students. Without it, few would learn to coordinate their use of rudder and aileron, just as schoolkids would fail to learn their multiplication tables and letter/sound combinations (think phonics). Rote learning is fundamental to habit pattern formation.

Even with just a year of flight instruction under my belt, it was easy to proffer a good argument against this holistic type of learning. As I recall, my argument hit home when I mentioned that his students didn’t die if he taught them ideas that didn’t comport with reality. Mine could.

The cockpit is sort of a crucible that boils away the theoretical, leaving the practical in its place. You quickly learn what works and what doesn’t, and to value performance over personal interpretation.

Flight instructing also is a humbling experience. Just when you think you’ve got aviation all figured out, you find out that you don’t.

I remember chatting years ago with several highly experienced flight instructors. One fellow asked why the nose of a tricycle-gear airplane tends to pitch up immediately after liftoff. Seeing an opportunity to strike and establish my street cred, I announced it was obviously the downwash on the tail that caused the effect. Obviously.

I soon created Rod’s rule number one for enhancing street cred: Don’t move your mouth.

Silly me for not picking up on the word “immediately.” It turns out that before liftoff, the airplane rotates about the main gear; the moment the airplane lifts off, however, it rotates about the center of gravity, which lies forward of the main gear.

Since the arm (lever) from the elevator to the CG is longer than the arm from the elevator to the main gear, the sudden increase in leverage applied by the elevator after liftoff pitches the nose upward. This is why you must quickly release elevator back pressure after liftoff, when the airplane is only a few inches off the ground (where there’s very little downwash on the tail).

Teaching others to fly offers you a first-class education in understanding the underlying motivations that drive all human behavior. General wisdom requires an understanding of the biological instincts, natural biases, and willful ways of our fellow human beings (including ourselves). These are behaviors that are considered universal and independent of culture. They also are behaviors that we tend to disguise with a public persona. Flight instructing helps you understand how people are disposed to behave, rather than how they want you to think they’ll behave.

For instance, it’s human nature for people to claim they are better than they actually are in nearly all categories of performance. This is why flight instructors learn to evaluate a student’s abilities based on what he or she does, not what they say they can do. No wise flight instructor would ever solo a student who lands softly one minute and dangerously hard the next. Consistency in behavior trumps any student’s protestations that he or she is ready to fly solo.

While there are many occupations that can teach you to think practically, be humble, and understand human nature, my favorite among them is flight instructing. Perhaps the best part of the job is that you get to fly every day. That’s a mighty good deal in my book.

My first job out of high school was running a large steam boiler for a commercial laundry. Staring at all those gauges while pulling long levers felt as though I was in charge of the Starship Enterprise (yes, a steam-powered starship). This was fun, but not necessarily educational. Without a doubt, the most educational job on my résumé is flight instructor. Working as a flight instructor teaches you humility, helps you understand human nature, and tunes your teacher’s radar to look for ideas that work— while avoiding those that don’t.

I recall one of my early psychology professors disavowing the value of rote learning during one lecture. He was of the “experiential” and “constructivist” school of pedagogy, where immersion in meaning and personal interpretation were thought to be the best methods for skill development. Fundamentals and basics were passé.

The professor’s words didn’t comport with cockpit reality. My argument with him—I recall a spirited debate—was based on how important rote learning was for my flight students. Without it, few would learn to coordinate their use of rudder and aileron, just as schoolkids would fail to learn their multiplication tables and letter/sound combinations (think phonics). Rote learning is fundamental to habit pattern formation.

Even with just a year of flight instruction under my belt, it was easy to proffer a good argument against this holistic type of learning. As I recall, my argument hit home when I mentioned that his students didn’t die if he taught them ideas that didn’t comport with reality. Mine could.

The cockpit is sort of a crucible that boils away the theoretical, leaving the practical in its place. You quickly learn what works and what doesn’t, and to value performance over personal interpretation.

Flight instructing also is a humbling experience. Just when you think you’ve got aviation all figured out, you find out that you don’t.

I remember chatting years ago with several highly experienced flight instructors. One fellow asked why the nose of a tricycle-gear airplane tends to pitch up immediately after liftoff. Seeing an opportunity to strike and establish my street cred, I announced it was obviously the downwash on the tail that caused the effect. Obviously.

I soon created Rod’s rule number one for enhancing street cred: Don’t move your mouth.

Silly me for not picking up on the word “immediately.” It turns out that before liftoff, the airplane rotates about the main gear; the moment the airplane lifts off, however, it rotates about the center of gravity, which lies forward of the main gear.

Since the arm (lever) from the elevator to the CG is longer than the arm from the elevator to the main gear, the sudden increase in leverage applied by the elevator after liftoff pitches the nose upward. This is why you must quickly release elevator back pressure after liftoff, when the airplane is only a few inches off the ground (where there’s very little downwash on the tail).

Teaching others to fly offers you a first-class education in understanding the underlying motivations that drive all human behavior. General wisdom requires an understanding of the biological instincts, natural biases, and willful ways of our fellow human beings (including ourselves). These are behaviors that are considered universal and independent of culture. They also are behaviors that we tend to disguise with a public persona. Flight instructing helps you understand how people are disposed to behave, rather than how they want you to think they’ll behave.

For instance, it’s human nature for people to claim they are better than they actually are in nearly all categories of performance. This is why flight instructors learn to evaluate a student’s abilities based on what he or she does, not what they say they can do. No wise flight instructor would ever solo a student who lands softly one minute and dangerously hard the next. Consistency in behavior trumps any student’s protestations that he or she is ready to fly solo.

While there are many occupations that can teach you to think practically, be humble, and understand human nature, my favorite among them is flight instructing. Perhaps the best part of the job is that you get to fly every day. That’s a mighty good deal in my book.