President's Position: Our saving grace

I’m talking about pilots such as John Glenn, the first man to orbit Earth, and later a U.S. senator and the oldest person to go to space at age 77; Gene Cernan, the last human to walk on the moon; Bob Hoover, a fighter pilot, test pilot, record-setter, and airshow innovator; Carroll Shelby, a military pilot and flight instructor who became best known for his auto racing and Shelby Cobra car design; and even Arnold Palmer, a legendary golfer and lifelong pilot who famously said that learning to fly was the third best decision he ever made—after marrying his wife and learning to play golf.

And there were so many more—perhaps less famous, but no less impressive. Among them was Ron Alexander, a Vietnam-era Air Force pilot who later worked tirelessly to restore aircraft from the golden age of flight and guide young people to careers in aviation.

All these men are gone now. But they were among my heroes, and they left me—and so many others whose lives they touched—with a lasting impression of something good, strong, and nearly magical. I call it grace.

We’ve all had that moment when someone looked at us with a touch of awe and said, “Wow, you’re a pilot!” What if, instead of basking in their admiration, we said, “Yes, and you can be, too!”These were gracious and graceful people, who were always happy to talk with a fellow aviator or enthusiast. They were amazingly generous and willing to give of their time, knowledge, and expertise. They went out of their way to show newcomers that they are welcome and wanted in the aviation community. They embraced everyone and anyone who shared their interest in flying. Every pilot was a kindred spirit. They didn’t boast about their own achievements, though they certainly had a right to do so. Instead, they listened and they shared.

They gave more than they took. They were humble. They were leaders. They were aviators, above all else.

I’ve spent plenty of time in other industries and activities, and nowhere else have I seen this kind of grace embodied by so many amazing people—not on the golf course, or at the boat dock, or in the boardroom.

It’s something I admire deeply, and something we need more of in aviation—and the world—today. In fact, I think mirroring their grace is something we owe to our great aviators and all those who will one day follow in their flight paths.

We can’t all be astronauts, or test pilots, or race car designers. We may never set records or win championships. But we can all be gracious. And when we are, we help ensure that the freedom to fly outlasts us.

Each of us can do something, small or large, to build our community. We can share what we know. We can answer questions about flying, take friends or their children or grandchildren for a first flight, and encourage the people we meet to give aviation a try.

As pilots, we’ve all had that moment when someone has looked at us with just a touch of awe and said, “Wow, you’re a pilot!” What if, instead of basking in their admiration, we said, “Yes, and you can be, too! I’d like to help.”

When we take the extra step to show people that there’s a place for them in our flying community, when we actively invite them to join us, when we take the time to answer their questions or offer our help, we’re exhibiting a kind of grace.

I’m making a personal commitment to do more to emulate the grace of the great pilots I’ve known, to be generous in spirit and action, to reach out to those who want to fly, and to share what I’ve learned through a lifetime in aviation. I hope you’ll join me. In a world that gets a little less civil every day, living with grace could be the best legacy we can hope to leave for the aviators of tomorrow.

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