In conversation I’ve often referred to my Dad as “The Captain.”
Rank mattered to him and he worked hard for much of his life to attain that status. As a young guy he flew F-86s for the US Air Force. They said he was a captain and all the rest of us agreed.
Later he transitioned to the C-119, the so-called Flying Boxcar. In 1964 Pan American picked him up as a new engineer. Six months later he was flying right seat. It wasn’t long until he moved a few feet to the left and once again earned the title “Captain.”
I assumed this is how everyone saw my Dad. My siblings did. My Mom did. Pretty much all our friends and extended family members thought of him as a pilot first and foremost. That’s what he did. It’s who he was.
A while back Dad went on to whatever comes after being here on Earth. My siblings and I stood in a receiving line at the Glastonbury Funeral Home where we greeted a long line of people Dad had interacted with, many of whom I’d never met.
It was an interesting group of folks. A girl who works the counter at the local McDonalds came by, because my dad ate lunch there every day and she wanted to say goodbye. A former president of Travelers Insurance came, too. So did a few local and state level politicians. As I say, an interesting group of folks.
The grandchildren had worked with my mom to select a series of photos from my Dad’s life to decorate the room.
There was evidence of his flight to China in 1972. He was one of the pilots who flew the press when Nixon visited. There was a letter from former President Gerald Ford congratulating him on breaking the round-the-world speed record over the poles, which he did in a B-747SP.
And, of course, there was a large framed photo of a beaming 21-year-old fighter pilot, his helmet securely in place, with 60 years of future laying out before. His excitement and enthusiasm for the journey was obvious for anyone to see.
As the line of mourners passed by those photos, making their way toward my siblings and me, they learned something completely new about my Dad. He was a pilot. They had no idea.
For the last 20 years of my Dad’s life he worked with Habitat for Humanity on a regular basis. His specialty was rehabbing houses in downtown Hartford, Connecticut. Houses that were abandoned and run-down. Houses that were reborn, rebuilt, and now inhabited by families.
“I thought he was a carpenter,” they said. We heard that refrain over and over again. Friends he’d known for two decades were completely unaware “The Captain” had traveled the world, strafed the desert floor of Arizona and Nevada, looked down on the North and South Poles, and carried untold hundreds of thousands of people from here to there and back again in Pan American level comfort aboard B-707s, L-1011s, and B-747s.
He just never told them. Not a word. When he was done, he was done, and he apparently never spoke about his life in the air to folks outside our little network of friends.
My Dad rarely took anyone flying, either. My brother flew with him once or twice, in a rented C-172 out of Brainard Airport in Hartford. I was completely unaware of that until years later.
My Dad and I never flew together. Not once. He never invited me to fly with him, and he declined whenever I invited him to fly with me. I have no idea why that is.
While my Dad had a stellar career in aviation, his affection for aviation didn’t translate well to others. I’m sure he was a great mentor to the first officers sitting to his right, but outside the cockpit he rarely encouraged anyone to follow in his footsteps.
I have no idea why that’s the case. It seems entirely foreign to me to love something so much yet keep it almost entirely to yourself.
My Dad was locally cool. That’s undeniable. The reception line at his wake was four hours long, after all. That’s pretty impressive. But his impact on aviation, his great passion, is almost nil.
That saddens me. He had a lot of great stories to share, I’m sure. All gone now. Lost to the mists of time and space.
My Dad was not an Internet kind of guy. In fairness, the Internet wasn’t really in the public consciousness when he was actively flying. But even when it came along in full force, he didn’t use it to tell his story or share his enthusiasm for aviation.
Social media gives pilots like us — you and me — the ability to share our adventures, our passion, our experiences, and even some worthwhile cautions others might benefit from. We can stoke the fire in the belly of Rusty Pilots, and encourage the participation of wannabe pilots who haven’t taken the plunge yet. We can make friends with pilot in far off places, some of whom we’ll never actually meet. But we can still have fun, share our stories, and encourage the participation of others by using the digital world to our advantage.
It doesn’t matter whether you’re piloting a transport category turbine powered beast from one continent to another, or poking along at 60 knots and 500′ AGL in a J-3 Cub. Flying is flying. And flying is as close to actual magic as humans will ever get.
Tell your story. Share your excitement for what you do, whether it’s your career or just a hobby. Plot a course for adventure and take a few virtual passengers along whenever you can.
Get Internet famous and spread the good word about general aviation as you do it. You’ve got a phone within arm’s reach right now that can get you started.
Let’s do this.
Thank you Jamie!
Great and truthful written indeed! I grew up on the airport and my father also didn’t encourage any of us to follow his passion! I am one of three brothers and the only one who got the bug from day one! I made him put up with me and took several lumps along the way but persevered and eventually made my way up the ladder to a Commercial license however had no desire to fly commercially! Ended up having a good relationship and was able to take him for his last flight! I am always proud to take anyone who wants to go with me and make all the fly-in events I can. Thanks for all you do for us all!
Wonderful and poignant story, Jamie. I would liked truly liked to know your father. He sounds like an exceptional person and my heart goes out to you and your family. I’m so sorry you never flew with him — a deep loss, indeed. (I never flew with my dad either, and I feel it every day.)
Thank you Jaime, for sharing. I loved your story about your Dad, about flying and about the in-between that is not always discernible but there nonetheless.
Some folks view flying as a job.
They just don’t have the fire in their belly.
It doesn’t make them bad. It does make them different.
We have a lot of that today. In airport managers for one.
It is a job they go to like working in the lumber yard.
I guess they like something about the job. Maybe the money?
But they don’t love aviation like a lot of us do.
Doesn’t make them bad, just makes them different from us.
RIP, Captain and thanks for sharing, Jamie.
Hi, this is Luis ( Ticky) Hernandez, in San jJuan,JOY FLYI P.R.(TJIG) I havel enjoyed this good stories ,Etc in this issue, also have joined you guys.
I have been flying commercially for 62 yrs, have been all over the world, been to places that I didnt know they excisted, but most of all , have enjoyed all my flying, good , bad or indiffderent.
And li. Buu most of all, I HAVE ENJOYED AND STILL ENJOY FLYING .
At 82 I still fly. Right now I am flying an Aero Commander 680 S, and an Piper E Aztec. Anything that can contribute feel free to ask.
Luis E. Hernandez (Ticky)
isla b
Grande Airport,
Down town San Juan, P.R.
Jamie your dad was not just a pilot or just a Captain , he flew with Pan Am , he was a Sky God , and his story is truly an American Saga , pilots that flew for Pan Am in those early years , broke all kinds of records highest altitudes , longest non stop flights , fastest trips etc. I miss Pan Am and their flying heroes , I was an Inspector with Pan Am at JFK Hangar 19 until the gates locked and they turned off the lights . Don’t despair for him he is once again a SKY GOD.
A nice story of your Father, It just pains me to hear that he didn’t take time out to encourage his family and to share his love of flying with his family members or friends or even acquaintances. He had so much to give and share, why take it all with him and all the joy that could of been just as much yours as it was his. So sorry to hear he didn’t take you flying not even once!! Sorry, but that is not good. Can you imagine how many people he would of made really glad it he would of taken people up that asked him to?? Wow, with all the knowledge he had and experience of flying airplanes I’m sure he would of been better remembered, instead of taking it all with him…Nice man, rather selfish though, sorry Jamie..
My ten years flying in the Navy and afterwards with Pan Am were the most adventurous years of my life. I wish I had kept a diary. I flew with your father, Jamie, in Pan Am and am sorry to hear of his passing.
Thanks for the note, Roger. I’m sorry we’ve never met (to the best of my knowledge) but it’s always good to make the acquaintance of another afficionado of the blue ball. My dad really loved his time at Pan Am, and from what I’ve gathered from pilots he flew with and trained with, he was very good at what he did.
Currently I belong to a flying club where one of my fellow members, and a good friend, is a former US Navy pilot. He truly enjoyed being shot off the front of a ship for all those years and loves to talk about it. I love to listen, too.
We are an interesting bunch, that’s for sure. Share your stories with anyone you can, Roger. Even the mundane ones may be exciting and inspirational to someone else who doesn’t have the background you do.
Onward and upward.
Hi Jamie! I enjoyed this story about your dad. It wasn’t what I expected when I clicked through, it was far better. Thanks!
Another great article and a salute to your obviously talented dad. He seems to have had a rare humility and warmth for human contact (which you have inherited BTW!) Now we suffer from the exact opposite; “excessive public sharing” of every insignificant event in life! I would encourage pilots to post carefully and wisely…but YES, let’s share the excitement of flying; we need more pilots!
Well written! Unfortunate that the sentiments expressed had to be negative. The emotions and relationships between fathers and sons are frequently difficult to express, and as a result, often are left too late flowers on the grave are nice, but better to show our love when both parties are still alive.
I enjoy your columns, Jamie … Keep ’em coming
I second that emotion, in person and in print Jamie is a beacon radiating warmth and welcome to all the aviators and soon to be aviators. Keep up the great work. BZ
Y’all are going to make me blush. Thank you for the high praise and thanks for reading General Aviation News.
If you ever see me on the ramp somewhere, please come say, “Hi.” It’s always good to meet another aviator with a true appreciation for what we get to do.