Keep Your Pants On—Please
FROM CAP’N MERYL
Link to this week’s column at USAToday.com/travel:
http://www.usatoday.com/travel/columnist/getline/2005-02-14-ask-the-captain_x.htm
“Keep Your Pants On—Please!”
This week’s column at USAToday.com (through the above
link) features a brand new section of my Photo Gallery,
called “A Much Younger Cap’n Meryl.” To go directly to
this Album now click here:
http://www.fromthecockpit.com/gallery/thumbnails.php?album=13
Some, but not all, of these picture appear in “The
World At My Feet.”
Because I am still on vacation and not having any
current flying adventures (or misadventures), I thought
I’d take this opportunity to tell you about a flight
when I was a pilot in Alaska for a long-gone company
called “Wien Air Alaska.” “Wien” is pronounced Ween
and is the family name of the brothers who founded the
airline.
Before I go on, though, I always like to mention in
passing that a Wien pilot once showed me his pilot’s
license, signed by Orville Wright. I know I’m old, but
not THAT old. It’s just that we sometimes forget, I
think, how very young aviation actually is. Wilbur
died relatively young, but Orville went on to work for
the Civil Aeronautics Administration, which preceded
the Federal Aviation Administration. In fact, he was
awarded honorary license #1. Orville Wright died in
Dayton, Ohio, in 1948, the same city where he was born.
I was born in Dayton just five years later. Did I
mention I was old?
By the way, I have one more thing sort of in common
with the Wright Brothers other than our city of birth:
They had a brother named Loren. I have a brother named
Lorin. Close enough.
In any case, I was the second woman ever hired at Wien.
Although their first woman was a very well-liked
Alaskan and had set at least some precedent for women,
I was the first female to fly on one of their
three-pilot B-727 crews. Earlier, the largest airplane
they’d flown had just two pilots—the B-737. I was the
flight engineer on the B-727. The flight engineer sits
sideways facing a panel of dials and gauges, managing
the fuel, hydraulics, air conditioning and other
systems.
Many of the guys hated the fact I was there. Some
were, or at least acted, ambivalent, and some were very
solicitous, going out of their way to let me know they
“didn’t mind” my presence in the cockpit.
One rather blustery day, I was at my flight engineer
panel doing my preflight chores and was getting ready
to go outside and perform the “walkaround.” From a
Supercub all the way to a B-747 it is mandatory that an
exterior inspection take place prior to each and every
flight.
That job generally belongs to the lowest-ranking member
of the crew; in this case, that was me. However, this
particular captain told me he would do the walkaround
today as it was so nasty outside. I protested a
little, but frankly I was too surprised and pleased at
his friendly attitude to argue much.
I was engrossed in something as he returned to cockpit
from outside, but upon hearing him utter a string of
rather colorful (and unprintable) words, I looked up to
see what was wrong. Somehow, this captain had managed
to rip his pants from the very top inside seam of one
leg all the way to the ankle. I’m still not sure
exactly what happened, but he said his pant leg ripped
when he squatted down too quickly to examine a tire
pressure gauge.
In any case, he was quite a sight with his leg exposed
completely outside his pants. We were bound for
Seattle, which was about a three hour flight. I told
him I’d see if I had a sewing kit with me. I usually
kept a small one in my suitcase, the kind some hotels
give out.
Once we were en route, I rummaged around in my suitcase
and, sure enough, found a tiny sewing kit. After
cautioning this captain that sewing was NOT among my
talents and all I could do was patch him up somewhat,
he took me up on my offer.
He waited a little bit after we leveled off at our
cruise altitude and then, without saying anything, got
out of his seat and started to take his pants off so I
could work on them.
The copilot said to him, “Hey, what’re you DOING?” In
a flash of inspiration I said, “Oh, keep your pants
on!” Then I turned to the captain and said, “No,
no—not you!” Well, I thought I was funny even if
nobody else did.
At that time, which was in the early eighties, our
cockpit doors were not even locked. Some flight
attendants knocked and others just barged in
unannounced, often making me jump.
Of course you know what happened next: the captain was
lounging around behind me in his skivvies when a flight
attendant walked in and surveyed the scene there.
Presumably she came to offer us coffee or something,
but she turned and said, “Maybe this is a bad time” and
left again before I could stop her. I’m afraid we
didn’t see her for the rest of the flight. Well,
that’s not quite true; we did see her once more—just
not in the cockpit.
Much later in the flight, his pants semi-repaired with
rather loose and very inexpert stitching, this
sweet-tempered captain, instead of letting me know he
needed to leave the cockpit, climbed over his seat
instead. I could have scooted my chair in toward my
instrument panel to leave him plenty of room to get by,
but I was so engrossed in whatever I was doing I simply
didn’t notice him.
The backs of the pilots’ seats in the 727 are rather
high and when he climbed over he apparently caught the
top edge with his foot. The first thing I became aware
of any of this was when our cockpit door was suddenly
flung open from the inside as my captain hurled through
the cockpit and out into the cabin like he’d just been
shot out of a cannon. He landed face-down halfway back
in the first class, to the passengers’ shock. If I
hadn’t been in such shock myself, I could not have
resisted saying, “And STAY out!” and slamming the door
shut. I always like to go for drama.
But I wasn’t that quick and initially I couldn’t quite
piece together exactly what happened. The copilot saw
it all and although concerned for the captain was
laughing so hard he couldn’t speak. I went and got my
captain, (who later became a dear friend), who wasn’t
actually hurt so much as in surprised— dusted him off
and escorted him back to the cockpit, but as it became
clear what had happened and what it must have looked
like from first class, I started laughing and the
flight attendants were almost hysterical with laughter.
This was an extremely well-liked guy and nobody wanted
to make him feel bad, but it was just too funny for
words and he laughed, too, when the shock finally wore
off about 45 minutes later.
The flight attendant who had come up while I had been
mutilating his pants with needle and thread earlier was
also laughing, but at the same time had her hands on
her hips and a quizzical look as if asking, “What in
the world is going ON up there?”
In any case, after we three pilots were again settled
in our seats, I got the sewing kit back out, my captain
took his pants off a second time without a word—the
copilot had the good sense to keep his mouth shut this
time—and I sewed up his pants the second time that
flight. My flimsy repair job did not survive his
unexpected flight out of the cockpit.
Readers often write telling me they want to know what
really goes on up there behind closed doors. Now,
aren’t you glad you asked?
Until Next Time,
Maintain Airpseed!
Cap’n Meryl
To UNSUBSCRIBE………
Link to this week’s column at USAToday.com/travel:
http://www.usatoday.com/travel/columnist/getline/2005-02-14-ask-the-captain_x.htm
“Keep Your Pants On—Please!”
This week’s column at USAToday.com (through the above
link) features a brand new section of my Photo Gallery,
called “A Much Younger Cap’n Meryl.” To go directly to
this Album now click here:
http://www.fromthecockpit.com/gallery/thumbnails.php?album=13
Some, but not all, of these picture appear in “The
World At My Feet.”
Because I am still on vacation and not having any
current flying adventures (or misadventures), I thought
I’d take this opportunity to tell you about a flight
when I was a pilot in Alaska for a long-gone company
called “Wien Air Alaska.” “Wien” is pronounced Ween
and is the family name of the brothers who founded the
airline.
Before I go on, though, I always like to mention in
passing that a Wien pilot once showed me his pilot’s
license, signed by Orville Wright. I know I’m old, but
not THAT old. It’s just that we sometimes forget, I
think, how very young aviation actually is. Wilbur
died relatively young, but Orville went on to work for
the Civil Aeronautics Administration, which preceded
the Federal Aviation Administration. In fact, he was
awarded honorary license #1. Orville Wright died in
Dayton, Ohio, in 1948, the same city where he was born.
I was born in Dayton just five years later. Did I
mention I was old?
By the way, I have one more thing sort of in common
with the Wright Brothers other than our city of birth:
They had a brother named Loren. I have a brother named
Lorin. Close enough.
In any case, I was the second woman ever hired at Wien.
Although their first woman was a very well-liked
Alaskan and had set at least some precedent for women,
I was the first female to fly on one of their
three-pilot B-727 crews. Earlier, the largest airplane
they’d flown had just two pilots—the B-737. I was the
flight engineer on the B-727. The flight engineer sits
sideways facing a panel of dials and gauges, managing
the fuel, hydraulics, air conditioning and other
systems.
Many of the guys hated the fact I was there. Some
were, or at least acted, ambivalent, and some were very
solicitous, going out of their way to let me know they
“didn’t mind” my presence in the cockpit.
One rather blustery day, I was at my flight engineer
panel doing my preflight chores and was getting ready
to go outside and perform the “walkaround.” From a
Supercub all the way to a B-747 it is mandatory that an
exterior inspection take place prior to each and every
flight.
That job generally belongs to the lowest-ranking member
of the crew; in this case, that was me. However, this
particular captain told me he would do the walkaround
today as it was so nasty outside. I protested a
little, but frankly I was too surprised and pleased at
his friendly attitude to argue much.
I was engrossed in something as he returned to cockpit
from outside, but upon hearing him utter a string of
rather colorful (and unprintable) words, I looked up to
see what was wrong. Somehow, this captain had managed
to rip his pants from the very top inside seam of one
leg all the way to the ankle. I’m still not sure
exactly what happened, but he said his pant leg ripped
when he squatted down too quickly to examine a tire
pressure gauge.
In any case, he was quite a sight with his leg exposed
completely outside his pants. We were bound for
Seattle, which was about a three hour flight. I told
him I’d see if I had a sewing kit with me. I usually
kept a small one in my suitcase, the kind some hotels
give out.
Once we were en route, I rummaged around in my suitcase
and, sure enough, found a tiny sewing kit. After
cautioning this captain that sewing was NOT among my
talents and all I could do was patch him up somewhat,
he took me up on my offer.
He waited a little bit after we leveled off at our
cruise altitude and then, without saying anything, got
out of his seat and started to take his pants off so I
could work on them.
The copilot said to him, “Hey, what’re you DOING?” In
a flash of inspiration I said, “Oh, keep your pants
on!” Then I turned to the captain and said, “No,
no—not you!” Well, I thought I was funny even if
nobody else did.
At that time, which was in the early eighties, our
cockpit doors were not even locked. Some flight
attendants knocked and others just barged in
unannounced, often making me jump.
Of course you know what happened next: the captain was
lounging around behind me in his skivvies when a flight
attendant walked in and surveyed the scene there.
Presumably she came to offer us coffee or something,
but she turned and said, “Maybe this is a bad time” and
left again before I could stop her. I’m afraid we
didn’t see her for the rest of the flight. Well,
that’s not quite true; we did see her once more—just
not in the cockpit.
Much later in the flight, his pants semi-repaired with
rather loose and very inexpert stitching, this
sweet-tempered captain, instead of letting me know he
needed to leave the cockpit, climbed over his seat
instead. I could have scooted my chair in toward my
instrument panel to leave him plenty of room to get by,
but I was so engrossed in whatever I was doing I simply
didn’t notice him.
The backs of the pilots’ seats in the 727 are rather
high and when he climbed over he apparently caught the
top edge with his foot. The first thing I became aware
of any of this was when our cockpit door was suddenly
flung open from the inside as my captain hurled through
the cockpit and out into the cabin like he’d just been
shot out of a cannon. He landed face-down halfway back
in the first class, to the passengers’ shock. If I
hadn’t been in such shock myself, I could not have
resisted saying, “And STAY out!” and slamming the door
shut. I always like to go for drama.
But I wasn’t that quick and initially I couldn’t quite
piece together exactly what happened. The copilot saw
it all and although concerned for the captain was
laughing so hard he couldn’t speak. I went and got my
captain, (who later became a dear friend), who wasn’t
actually hurt so much as in surprised— dusted him off
and escorted him back to the cockpit, but as it became
clear what had happened and what it must have looked
like from first class, I started laughing and the
flight attendants were almost hysterical with laughter.
This was an extremely well-liked guy and nobody wanted
to make him feel bad, but it was just too funny for
words and he laughed, too, when the shock finally wore
off about 45 minutes later.
The flight attendant who had come up while I had been
mutilating his pants with needle and thread earlier was
also laughing, but at the same time had her hands on
her hips and a quizzical look as if asking, “What in
the world is going ON up there?”
In any case, after we three pilots were again settled
in our seats, I got the sewing kit back out, my captain
took his pants off a second time without a word—the
copilot had the good sense to keep his mouth shut this
time—and I sewed up his pants the second time that
flight. My flimsy repair job did not survive his
unexpected flight out of the cockpit.
Readers often write telling me they want to know what
really goes on up there behind closed doors. Now,
aren’t you glad you asked?
Until Next Time,
Maintain Airpseed!
Cap’n Meryl
To UNSUBSCRIBE………
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