Waypoints: Tailwinds, Richard

Typical of Richard L. Collins. No flowery language. No criticism sandwiched between compliments. Just matter of fact. I was 27 and had about 90 hours in my logbook when I made my first cross-country flight with Richard in his beloved Cessna P210. He had started as editor in chief of AOPA Pilot a few months earlier, four days before I started as an associate editor. The trip was from Maryland’s Carroll County Airport to Vero Beach, Florida, where we flew a new Piper Super Cub at the factory. That was 30 years ago.

Richard died April 29 at his home in Ijamsville, Maryland. He was 84.

He left behind a lifetime of work as an aviation writer and safety advocate. He studied accident reports and frequently wrote about them, helping pilots glean bits of knowledge from the mistakes of others. Over 60 years, he wrote thousands of magazine and online articles, a dozen books, and appeared in dozens of training and safety videos. I can think of no other writer who influenced more pilots than Richard. And he considered himself a writer. I was amused by all the headlines and Facebook postings after his passing by those proclaiming him the greatest aviation journalist ever. He despised the “J” word and didn’t want any of us to call ourselves that. The public, he said, doesn’t trust journalists. That smarted a bit for me, with a fresh journalism degree, but I got over it.

Richard was methodical about everything—his daily routine (in early, out the door at 5 p.m. sharp), his preflight planning (reams of faxed weather data from WeatherFax were waiting for him at every fuel stop), his preflight walk-around, and his inflight detailed note taking of engine performance and times. Yet he seldom seemed to take notes when talking with a manufacturer about a product. But when he wrote about said product, he got it right—and fast. No one could turn around copy faster than Richard, and he wrote a lot of it—a column and multiple features a month.

He had nearly 9,000 hours in the P210 when he retired it in 2007. He stopped flying by himself at about the same time and stopped flying altogether a few years later. We staff who used to fly the pressurized 210 with him secretly referred to it as the Pig 210 because it wasn’t exactly a pleasurable airplane to fly. Years after he retired it he finally admitted that it “flew like a truck and climbed like a dog in hot weather.” But he knew it well—and its weaknesses. He carried a spare alternator and vacuum pump in the baggage compartment. And he needed them frequently.

Once, we were flying from Maryland to Ohio and somewhere in between the alternator failed. Fortunately, the weather was good—which was not a frequent occurrence when flying with Richard. He loved flying in instrument conditions and analyzing the weather every which way. We stopped in Akron and rolled up to a shop he knew. He rambled around in the back and brought out an alternator and asked the shop to change it while we went to lunch—he knew where all the restaurants were on and near airports all across the middle and eastern United States.

He knew everybody, and everybody knew him. On that first cross-country flight to Florida, we were approaching Florence, South Carolina—his usual fuel stop when headed down the coast. Upon hearing the N40RC call sign, a controller chimed in—with that same southern drawl that Richard had—“Is that you, Mr. Collins? Welcome back to Florence.”

“Good to be back,” he replied, dialing up his Arkansas twang.

Color me impressed.

As usual, I took his critique of my radio skills to heart and got a handheld transceiver to listen to ATC communications. Having only ever flown from nontowered airports and flown few cross-countries, my radio skills were poor. Once I was better on the radio, he encouraged me to get an instrument rating and then made it easy by working with Piper to lease a brand-new Warrior for me and two other editors to use for instrument training. Eight months later, flying after work on dark winter nights, I passed my instrument checkride on my birthday. I’m not sure who was prouder, Richard or me.

Richard didn’t teach me to fly, but he taught me a more important skill: how to use an airplane. A lot of people learn to fly; few truly learn to use a GA airplane to its fullest. Because of the wisdom he shared, I have had some amazing experiences. And for that I am forever grateful and indebted. Tailwinds, Richard.

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