Chapter Four – Part Two
Keep Your Pants On, Please!

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.

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 painfully inexpert stitching, this sweet-tempered and well-meaning 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 time 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 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.  He wasn’t actually hurt as much as surprised.  I 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 had not survived his unexpected flight out of the cockpit.

People ask me all the time, “What really goes on up there, anyway?”  Not that we’re telling, but I’m sure this particular display from the cockpit was enough to severely pique the interest of both the passengers and the flight attendants.