IMAGE

During WWII my father worked for a contract flying school that trained British pilots.  After the war the company formed Pioneer Air Lines, a regional carrier in Texas.  Dad landed the job of station manager in Abilene,  a small city 150 miles west of Fort Worth.

My clearest memories are between 1947-1950.  I spent a lot of time at the airport and when pilots had a layover in Abilene they would stay at our house.  How well I remember those men.  All were veterans and treated me like a little prince.  They would regale me with stories of flying the "Hump" in Burma or flying cargo and personnel around China.  Some flew bombing raids into Germany.  I had models of the airplanes they flew hanging from my bedroom ceiling.  These men were like gods to me.  Their image was seared into my mind.  I dreamed of being just like them when I grew up.

As sometimes happens in life things turn out the way you hoped, so in time, I found myself a pilot for Delta Air Lines.  Those young gods I had admired in my youth were now senior captains for Delta and other airlines.   Their image was still seared in my mind.  I still wanted to be just like them.  However, I was soon to learn that the image I revered came through many experiences that shaped their character.

My education began on one of my first flights as a new Second Officer.  The gold braid on my sleeves was still shiny and my hat hadn't taken on that "20 mission" look.

I was Second Officer on a DC-6 flying from Chicago to Atlanta with stops in Cincinnati and Chattanooga.  In the 60's airport terminals hadn't changed much since the war.  We parked parallel to the gate, as close to the terminal as possible, then stairs were rolled out to the airplane.  Passengers had to walk across the ramp, as did the crew.

There had been a late snow in Cincinnati so the ramp was covered with a dirty slush as I walked back to the DC-6 from Operations.  I had been there to get the paperwork for the next leg of our flight.  Back then paperwork meant real paper, people talked to people and information was sent by teletype.

As I approached the tail of my aircraft, a catering truck was parked at the aft service door loading box lunches.  I looked over at our gate and could see the passengers watching me.  I could also see my image in the windows, gold braids shining, wings flashing.  I was very impressed with myself.  So much so I forgot about the catering truck, and as I passed behind it it backed into me, knocking me down.  I landed on my hands and knees, covering my gold braid and pants legs with slush.  My hat was lying upside down in the dirty snow.  Fortunately, the only thing hurt was my image.

Quick as a cat I jumped up, brushed myself off, picked up my hat, and imperially walked to the stairs and boarded the aircraft.  I entered the cockpit, shut the door and remained there for the rest of the flight to Atlanta.

Over the years I had many other character building experiences and in time I to became a Captain.  I had joined the ranks of those men that I had so revered.  On my first trip I was both excited and anxious, so I went to my aircraft a little early just to sit in that hallowed left seat and reflect on my new elevated status.  When the flight attendants boarded I got up, went to the toilet, and headed back to brief the A line attendant.  I introduced myself and gave my most professional briefing.  After the little ceremony was over, a smile spread across her pretty face and she said, "Captain, I could take you more seriously if your fly were zipped up."

Kim Warren