It had been a hot day in February 1973 over the Los Angeles Basin, even by L.A. standards. I was a flight instructor at Jack Northrup Field/Hawthorne Municipal Airport (HHR), which is only a few miles from Los Angeles International Airport. On several occasions over the years I had seen Boeing 707s on short final to Hawthorne before the pilots realized that the single, 4,956-foot Runway 7/25 at HHR did not match the configuration of LAX’s four runways, which includes parallel runways around 12,000 feet in length.
While much can be debated about flying in the L.A. Basin, our student practice area was off the beautiful Palos Verdes peninsula over the Pacific Ocean. On many occasions we would view migrating gray whales and other interesting sights.
A friend of mine had a female acquaintance who was not in the best of health, even though she had a bright outlook on life. On this hot February day I asked if she would like to take an airplane ride that evening to view the spectacular lights of the L.A. Basin. We met that evening about 8 o'clock. I had already preflighted the Piper Cherokee 140. She took her place in the left seat and I was in the right seat.
We departed the runway and began the climbout. Then, when I was about to start the 45-degree turn to depart the traffic pattern, my passenger said that cold air was coming in, and asked if we could close the vent.
In the Cherokee there were two air vents, one by the left seat on the upper left-side panel, and another in the same location on the right-side panel. I said sure, and told her to reach up along the panel, where she would feel the handle and could pull it to close the vent.
Moments later, and while still in the initial climb—probably 800 to 900 feet above the ground—the engine suddenly stopped. Silence is not golden while climbing out in an aircraft with an internal-combustion engine. I immediately knew that she had accidentally turned the fuel selector valve—also located on the left-side panel—to the Off position.
Without hesitation I lowered the nose a bit, held the control yoke with my right hand, and reached across her lap while somewhat on my back. With my left hand, I felt for the fuel selector valve, and quickly turned the valve to the left tank position. The engine fired back up immediately and we flew on. My passenger said, “Whoops, I must have done something wrong!”
I told her that no, I had done something wrong—and that everything was now all right. We continued on and enjoyed the night’s lights over the Basin.
I learned that night that I needed to make sure that I familiarized passengers with all elements of the cockpit—and that I should not allow anyone to touch or move anything in the aircraft without my direction and exact knowledge of what they are doing.
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