As a pilot, much of the same sentiment exists. Airplane people
function as a community and look out for one another. You do not even have to know each other. The fact that you
are a pilot brings you “into the fold”. Today, July 25, 2012 was an
extraordinary day for me. It was a
day when I was the first hand recipient of such caring.
It was a beautiful sunny day. The radar indicated no storms
or inclement weather. I know this because I was rather frustrated at having to
spend the day cooped up behind a desk and at several intervals I looked at the
weather service to see what the weekend would hold in anticipation of a day at
the beach.
Things changed rapidly. As I was at my desk, a huge flash
and a crack of thunder occurred out of nowhere. I tapped the app on my phone to discover radar that was
completely clear except for a bright red indicator over Fort Stewart, Georgia.
I counted it as nothing and continued my work until moments later I received a
call from the manager of the Fixed Based Operations at Mid-Coast Regional
Airport where I keep my plane.
“Tim” stated Charlie, “there has been an incident out here."
"A tornado or something just came through the airport. It ripped your plane from
the tie-downs and sent it airborne. Your plane flew a moment then crashed into
the ground. You better come out here.”
I sat there in disbelief. The sun was still shining. This
had to be a joke. But it was real. I got to the airport to find chaos. Trees
were ripped apart. All of the planes had been twisted in their moorings. Some
of them appeared to have suffered damage to their landing gear. Then there was
mine – nose to the ground, tail in the air. My sturdy, reliable PA-28 was bowing forward as if to offer
to me a formal hello.
The two hours that followed were hectic. The plane was not
in a safe place. It was untied and
sitting near the fuel station. It was also in proximity to other aircraft where
left alone the wind could pick it up and send it crashing into another plane.
We did not want to move it out of concern that the insurance company would need
an adjuster to survey the situation. At 5:30 p.m., I called AOPA. At 5:45 p.m. an adjuster called me. He
was very reassuring. He gave me
instructions on photographing the site and gave me the option of moving the
plane or for him to send a recovery team to move it for me.
I opted to move it myself and returned to the airport to
figure out how to do that. When I arrived, there were a host of pilots standing
around my plane. They all offered their concern and asked if I was okay. No one
said, “I know how you feel.” No one said, “At least you weren’t in there,” or
“you have your health.” Those things were obvious and yes I am grateful. On a
scale of life, the loss of an object does not measure up to the loss of life.
Things can be replaced. But I
think you would almost have to be a pilot to understand the pain I was feeling
in that moment. They did. They instinctively knew that I did not need to hear
those things in that moment.
They also worked in concert to formulate a plan and devise a
way to move the plane in a manner that would not cause further damage. My
friend Charlie called and cancelled his evening engagement to stay and help
solve the problem. Another, perhaps 25 years my senior, insisted on crawling
under the wing with me and together, we lifted the plane with our backs to
place a wheeled dolly under the broken main gear.
Another pilot, who is a new friend and an A&P (airframe
and power plant) mechanic talked to me and to others over the phone as to how
to move the plane safely. He then had the FBO manager open his hanger and
produce the tools necessary to facilitate the move. He also offered to me
several scenarios surrounding whether or not my plane would be a total write
off or repairable and thought he was enroute to Texas, assured me that before
the weekend was over, he would survey the place with me to see if it was
salvageable. He has already located a donor aircraft to scrounge for parts in
the event that the frame on my plane is salvageable.
Dr. Larry Brandenburg, an old and dear friend and mentor stopped
what he was doing to talk me through the process and encourage me. He joked
with me over the phone and let me know it was going to be okay. He reminded me
that it wasn’t “just a plane”. It was my first – a faithful friend that had
been the one to lift me off the ground and experience a freedom others never
understand. A friend in whom I had placed the trust of my life, to lift me up
and bring me safely back to the earth. He said it is appropriate to mourn,
because while it was made of metal, fabric and wires, it was not a mere
inanimate object, but a part of me. It was a representation of that first taste
of freedom. He said, “Timmy, I am
over eighty years old. I have flown for more than sixty-five years. I still
remember my first one.”
This day should have been terrible – and it was. Still in the middle of all the chaos the
day wasn’t so terrible. Those men surrounded me as if it were a part of the
daily process and carried me through the moment. It is how pilots care.
I left that moment to return straight to my pulpit for a
Wednesday night service already in progress. I thanked my congregation for
having the same fortitude in demonstrating care toward others and challenged
them to consider the value of their actions on an even greater level. I also
offered this thought which I now offer to you: “ If we could show that same
love and concern for others – if we could lay aside our agenda just for a
moment when we see someone in need – how much better could we make our world?
What kind of difference would we make in the lives of others? Think about the
difference you can make today.
