Humorous Moments as a Pilot

Hello, My Friends,

Northwest Airlines had a tug driver at New York’s LaGuardia Airport who looked exactly like Rod Stewart.

Same hair. Same chiseled facial features. Same stature. Same demeanor.

It was always amusing to be pushed back from the gate and see “Rod Stewart” driving the tug.

One day, a mechanic came up to the cockpit, and I asked him about the tug driver. The mechanic shuddered.

“Oh, yeah—Joe. Don’t say anything to Joe about looking like Rod Stewart. He doesn’t like it! He’ll get upset!”

Speaking of tug drivers...

I once descended the jet-bridge stairs in Chicago to conduct a walk-around inspection of our DC-9.

A young man was sitting in the tug driver’s seat. He was surrounded by five or six ramp guys, all giving him instructions on how to drive the tug. The poor kid looked overwhelmed.

I walked up in my pilot uniform. Everyone stopped talking and turned toward me.

I chimed in with my own expert guidance:

“Don’t listen to them. Just floor it and pop the clutch—you’ll be fine!”

Back to LaGuardia...

One night, I was conducting the preflight inspection of a Boeing 757. It was late, and this was our last flight of the night.

Between the main landing-gear wheels was a large puddle of ink-black fluid.

I was immediately concerned that the airplane had sprung a hydraulic leak.

Taking off with a hydraulic leak would leave us with an emergency on our hands.

We had been flying all week and had only one flight remaining—a quick trip home to Detroit—and then we would be finished.

A hydraulic leak could require an overnight repair. The last thing I wanted was to cancel the flight and get stuck in New York.

I found my way to the office and discreetly asked around for a mechanic. When I located one, I asked him to follow me out to the jet.

I pointed to the pool of black fluid and expressed my concern that we might have a hydraulic leak.

Airliner hydraulic fluid is highly corrosive. It eats away at the paint on aircraft fuselages—and will ruin your shoes.

The mechanic dropped to his knees, stuck his finger into the mysterious black fluid and tasted it.

He looked up at me.

“No, it’s just coffee.”

He motioned toward the airplane’s sink drain.

“A flight attendant must have poured a pot of coffee down the sink.”

I couldn’t believe he had tasted that mystery fluid! LOL.

But I was certainly thankful—and relieved.

Airports publish hourly weather reports called ATIS. They are broadcast over dedicated radio frequencies and transmitted electronically to the cockpit through ACARS, which is essentially a text-messaging system for airlines.

The first report is labeled “Alpha,” the second “Bravo,” and so forth through the alphabet. This lets controllers and pilots confirm that everyone is working with the latest information.

It is customary to print the ATIS and place it on the center console for reference.

One summer night at LaGuardia, we were approximately number 20 in line for takeoff.

The air traffic controller asked the lead airplane whether they had ATIS information Foxtrot.

The crew replied, “Affirmative. We have Foxtrot.”

The controller then proceeded down the line, asking every crew whether they had information Foxtrot.

Every crew responded in the affirmative.

This was very odd. I had never witnessed a controller go down the entire line asking every crew whether they had the latest ATIS.

I checked our printed report.

We did not have Foxtrot.

We had information Golf—the next report in sequence.

Thinking this was strange, I requested the ATIS through ACARS again.

The electronic report was indeed Golf.

Intrigued, I tuned the radio to the ATIS frequency and listened to the recording.

It was Golf.

Then it was our turn.

The controller called us with the same question:

“Do you have information Foxtrot?”

I replied:

“Negative, sir. We have information Golf. It’s Golf on ACARS, and it’s Golf on the radio.”

The frequency went silent.

Not another word was spoken on the air about the ATIS.

Did they have a running bet in the control tower to see how far down the line they could get before someone called their bluff?

Many more humorous moments come to mind. I’ll share a few more next week.

Come visit the Airpark on a Sunday, and I’ll give you a tour of the hangar and Private Tasting Room. A dozen models of airliners I have flown are on display—and every one of them is a trigger for another flying story.

Blue Skies,

Lorenzo Lizarralde