Dear Garrett..

The flight from Watsonville to Santa Cruz was short – about twenty miles. When the Santa Cruz deputies didn’t bring the prisoners to me at the Watsonville Airport, I would fly to the Santa Cruz Skypark Airport to pick them up.

The brief flight from Watsonville to Santa Cruz was relaxing. The Monterey Bay coastline was pretty with blue waters washing up on the beaches with its waves. I could see bathers, surfers and fishermen scattered about as I passed over the beaches. The beach was a friendly place to me. Looking down from my aircraft, I imagined the people I’d see below enjoying their time on the beaches away from the routine and rigors of every day life.

I liked to land on the beach when the ocean tide was low enough for me to touch down on the still wet sand left behind from the retreating tide waters. The beach had to be clear of people, of course. But no landing on the beach today. I was flying to the Santa Cruz Skypark Airport to pick up a prisoner.  So today, I could only enjoy the coastline from above which I was able to do often on my prison runs up and down the coast of California.

With the Santa Cruz Skypark Airport in sight, I departed the mesmerizing beauty of the coastline and lined up for a straight in approach to the northwest runway. The Santa Cruz Skypark Airport runway was short and narrow. There was a cliff drop off at the departure end of the northwesterly aligned runway.

This cliff at the end of the runway was either a concern or a blessing depending on the situation. The cliff was helpful on the occasions that I would fly out heavy off the runway to the northwest. On heavy takeoffs, I had room to descend into a valley after passing the departure end of the runway to gain extra airspeed thus enabling the aircraft to climb more comfortably before having to safely clear the Santa Cruz mountains.

As I parked the aircraft after landing at the Santa Cruz Airport on one of my first prisoner runs, I noticed two official looking vehicles waiting to meet me in the prisoner pick up area at the far south end of the airport. I easily recognized one of the vehicles to be a Santa Cruz County Sheriff’s Department vehicle carrying inside it the prisoner that I was to transport to the prison in Vacaville . I would soon learn that the other was a FAA vehicle. This would be the first time I would meet with FAA personnel for other than the pilot certification side of the agency. The two gentlemen now approaching my aircraft were on the enforcement side of the FAA. Completely by surprise, I was about to experience my first official FAA Ramp Check.

As I exited the aircraft, the two men introduced themselves to me by identifying themselves as FAA Inspectors. They then asked me to produce my FAA Pilot and Medical Certificates. After showing them my Commercial Pilot Certificate and Second Class Medical Certificate, the Inspectors obviously realized, contrary to their expectations, that I was legally qualified to transport the prisoner standing by with the Sheriff’s Deputies for the flight. Appearing surprised, with what seemed like a posture of disappointment, the FAA Inspectors released me from their inquiry into the legality of my performing the job of an aircraft Prisoner Transportation Deputy and told me I was free to proceed with the conduct of my flight.

After meeting with the approval of the FAA Inspectors, I turned my attention to the deputies standing by with a prisoner in their custody. Without any introductions, the deputies positioned the prisoner in front of me to perform the standard ritual of removing the handcuffs from the prisoner as I simultaneously installed my waist chain and handcuffs on the prisoner. I then promptly loaded the prisoner on board the aircraft and we departed the Santa Cruz runway and flew to the prisoner’s new home at the Vacaville, California Correctional Facility.

After completing the prisoner transport, I met with Freeman regarding my first ever and unexpected though successful FAA Ramp Check. Freeman explained to me what had happened. I was told that we (Watsonville Aviation Service) had won the Santa Cruz Sheriff’s Department Prisoner Transportation Contract by out bidding another aviation business operator named, James Dahm. In addition to running a flight services business, Jim was also the airport manager at the Santa Cruz Skypark Airport.

Speaking with Freeman, I got the picture that Mr. Dahm had previously held the prisoner transportation contract for quite some time and that James was not pleased that another company had acquired the contract away from him. My employers were owners of the newest flight services company in the area thus eager to acquire what business they could to enable their new business to become successful. Watsonville Aviation Service had submitted the lowest bid of 14 3/4 cents per mile to transport a prisoner by air and we were awarded the Santa Cruz County Prisoner Transportation Contract.

Freeman further explained that Mr. Dahm had apparently reported me to the FAA for illegally flying the prisoners for Santa Cruz County. It sounded to me that it appeared to Mr. Dahm that I was too young (age 20) to be a Commercial Pilot and therefore I was transporting the prisoners illegally. I felt an additional sense of satisfaction as I flew and completed this particular prisoner transport flight to the prison in Vacaville. Knowing that I had successfully passed my first FAA inspection made one of my first prisoner transports all the more exciting.

The cool air that frequented the Monterey Bay area enabled me to lift off the short Santa Cruz Skypark Airport runway comfortably enough before I reached its end. On warmer days or transports with more than one prisoner on board there was less runway to spare. It didn’t take long to learn that every takeoff at the Skypark was a tight one leaving little room for error.

Keeping the nose of the aircraft low after lift off, I eventually gained enough airspeed and lift to climb above the Santa Cruz mountains. Clearing the mountain tops, I could see the outline of Mount Diablo beginning to appear on the distant horizon. My aeronautical charts told me, if I kept the nose of my aircraft slightly to the left of Mount Diablo, I would head straight to the Nut Tree Airport. The Nut Tree Airport was located a few miles from the Vacaville Prison where I was heading to deliver my first prisoner since becoming appointed a Prisoner Transportation Deputy for Santa Cruz County.

Since I was on my first trip to the California Vacaville Prison, I didn’t really know what to expect when I would arrive at the prison with a prisoner. There was no training provided to me for my new job as a Prisoner Transportation Deputy. The only requirement was that I hold a FAA Commercial Pilot Certificate and become appointed as a Prisoner Transportation Deputy by the Santa Cruz County Sheriff’s Department. Everything else the job would involve, I would learn on the fly so to speak. I would learn how to do the job by simply doing the job. I was told what to do then I did it.

Passing to the left of Mount Diablo, I watched the Golden Gate Bridge pass under my left wing. After the Golden Gate Bridge, Alcatraz also passed off to my left. I had already flown over The Golden Gate Bridge and Alcatraz multiple times on other flights to show passengers those popular landmarks. 

Continuing along my planned flight route, I spotted Hamilton Air Force Base further off to my left. My last check points before reaching Vacaville were the south end of the Napa Valley and then Travis Air Force Base. On subsequent trips to the Vacaville Prison, I would frequently see massive B-52’s conducting takeoff and landing practice on the extra long Travis AFB runway. 

After passing to the west of Travis AFB enough to avoid its Airport Traffic Area, the Vacaville Prison appeared in the distance. I could see the prison before spotting the Nut Tree Airport runway. The prison was easy to spot with all the buildings, guard towers and wire. When I did locate the Nut Tree Airport, I headed for the runway and flew directly over the airport to check out the wind direction and traffic pattern indicators. I made a good landing and taxied to the small ramp area, parked and shut down the aircraft engine.

The Nut Tree Airport was much different than I was expecting. It felt more like an amusement park environment than an airport facility. A miniature train picked up passengers arriving at the airport to carry them to the Nut Tree restaurant and shopping area co-located with the airport. Transportation Deputies escorting prisoners were excluded from riding privileges on the train. 

I called for a taxi to pick up the prisoner and myself and drive us to the prison. The Vacaville Prison looked large to me. It was the first prison I’d ever seen close up. It was heavily fortified with rows of tall fencing topped with concertina razor wire. There were high guard towers at intervals occupied by armed guards. The energy at the prison felt eery and solemn.

A prison guard met me as we entered the prison. The prisoner had no idea how I felt passing through the prison doors. He had no way of knowing it was my first time to ever enter a prison. As far as he could tell, I knew what I was doing. I handed the paperwork that I carried with me showing the orders to deliver the prisoner to the prison. The paperwork also contained a body receipt which had to be signed by a prison official upon satisfactory delivery and acceptance of the prisoner.

After reviewing the paperwork, the guard stamped the top of my left hand with an invisible identifying substance of some kind. I later learned the invisible seal would be my authorization to exit the prison after successfully releasing the prisoner to the prison authorities. The prison guard then directed us through a series of massive locked gated doors leading us further into the interior of the prison.

Following another guard, we began walking down long corridors enclosed by windowless walls on both sides. We passed through heavy iron bar gates along our way to the inmate processing area. The gates opened and closed with the sound of the heavy metal doors rolling across concrete floors. I could hear and feel foreboding sounds of loud slamming and clicking metal as the gates closed and locked behind us after we passed through them. As I looked back to see the gates after hearing them complete their closing sequencing, I became aware that I was stepping further into a place completely foreign to me. The thought crossed my mind, “I hope whatever they stamped on my hand when I walked into the prison would remain on my hand so I could get out of the prison when it came time to leave.” I looked at the back of my hand and still couldn’t see anything.

We eventually reached the inmate reception area. It was a large area with a 12 by 12 foot cage in the center made of heavy iron bars. I wasn’t sure what was going to happen when we reached the reception area. There were more than a dozen men standing around, some attending to chores and others just watching us as we entered the reception area. Some of the men were guards and some were prisoners which I assumed to have trustee privileges.

We walked up to a desk outside the caged area. The guard escorting us handed the prisoner’s paperwork to another guard sitting at the desk. After talking a bit, another guard, carrying a flashlight in his hand, approached the prisoner directing him to enter the caged area. Once inside, he removed my handcuffs and waist chain from the prisoner and handed them out to me.

The guard positioned the prisoner into the center of the caged area. The prisoner was then instructed to face the guard and remove all of his clothing. When the prisoner was totally naked, his clothing was removed from the caged cell. The guard then issued a series of instructions which the prisoner obeyed as directed.

“Open your mouth. Stick your tongue out. Raise your tongue up – move it left – move it right.” Following the prisoners compliance with each command, the guard shined the flashlight into the prisoner’s mouth. Then the guard said, “Turn your head left – turn your head right.” The guard inspected each ear opening and behind the ears. “Hold your hands out and spread your fingers.” After inspecting the hands, the guard instructed the prisoner, “Spread your legs and lift your scrotum – now drop your scrotum and hold your penis up – now drop your penis.” The prisoner continued to promptly obeyed all of the guard’s commands.

I could never have imagined what I was currently witnessing as I stood a few feet away from the cage as I was waiting to be handed a signed body receipt. Everyone in the reception area was watching along with me what I would learn was termed a “Body and Cavity Search.” I assumed the prisoner must have felt an indescribable sense of humiliation enduring the all revealing body search procedure by the prison guard and an audience of onlookers.

The inspection continued. “Turn around. Lift your left foot. Lift your right foot.” After inspecting the underside of each foot, the guard instructed the prisoner, “Bend over.” Once bent over the guard instructed, “Spread your cheeks.” When the prisoner spread his butt cheeks apart with his hands, the guard stepped in close with the flashlight and looked inside the prisoner’s rectum opening.

After inspecting every body area and cavity of the prisoner, the guard handed the prisoner a set of inmate clothing and told him to get dressed. While the prisoner was dressing himself in his new prison clothes, a guard signed the body receipt and handed it to me. I thought to myself, “Wow, so that’s how you get a body receipt when you drop off a prisoner here.”

With receipt in hand, I followed a guard to the exit point of the prison. When we reached the exit desk, I was instructed to place my left hand underneath an ultraviolet light. Fortunately the invisible stamp placed on the back of my hand when I entered the prison was no longer invisible. When the image of the stamp appeared on my hand, the desk guard told me I was free to go. I breathed a sigh of relief when the stamped image appeared and I was released to depart. I felt a strange sense of satisfaction that I was approved to leave the prison when others couldn’t.

I returned to the Nut Tree Airport following my first successful Vacaville Prisoner delivery, preflighted my aircraft and departed the runway for my flight back to Watsonville. I had seen some new life experiences during my prisoner delivery today. The images seen in the prisoner inspection cage today gave me some extra things to think about during my flight home. Due to their intense nature, I still think about them, decades later.

I don’t know how much innocence I relinquished during my first prisoner transport to the Vacaville Prison. I’m sure it was some. I would fly many prisoners over the next year to Vacaville and other prisons around the State of California and see repeatedly what I witnessed today at Vacaville.

Chapter 23

WHEN IT RAINS IT POURS 

“When something good or bad happens it will happen again in a short period of time – or it will get worse”

More Flying and Another Girl

Although the prisoner transport flights kept me plenty busy over the next year, they didn’t consume all my time. When I wasn’t flying prisoners, other opportunities showed up to occupy my waking hours – and sleeping hours too! 

As nice as Marie was (chapter 16), I didn’t get to see her again. Like Marie, completely by surprise, I soon discovered another girl liked me too. I had known Jennifer for several months but I wasn’t aware of how she felt about me beyond basic friendship.  Within a few days following my visit with Marie, Jennifer decided to take it upon herself to teach me more about women.  

Jennifer (not her real name) had blue eyes and blonde hair. She was three years my senior when we got to know each other – Jenifer 23 when I was 20. I was glad for my year with Jennifer. She was always in a good mood. We got to do some things you only read about in books!  When the military decided I was more needed in Vietnam than in California, Jennifer and I had to say goodbye. Decades later Jennifer told me when I left her in California for the military, I didn’t leave her alone. 

My daily flights continued to intensify now that I was flying the prisoners for Santa Cruz County as well as other corporate type flying responsibilities. Weekends kept me busy flying shuttle flights for one of my employers. During the summer months, I would depart Watsonville for a flight to the Clear Lake Lampson Field Airport regularly on Friday afternoons with my boss and one of his other employees on board. After dropping them off in Clear Lake, I would return home alone to Watsonville.  

The following morning, Saturday, I would fly my employer’s wife and children to Clear Lake for the remainder of the weekend. I would spend the weekend at my employer’s beautiful Clear Lake, California home. My weekends at Clear Lake were lonesome. I was a pilot and an employee for my bosses family but not family. 

I never knew how the other employee I had flown up to Clear Lake with my employer on Friday’s returned home to Watsonville to resume her job at the company cemetery on Monday mornings? I didn’t see her again on weekends after dropping her and my employer off at the Lampson Airport on Friday afternoons. When I arrived at Clear Lake on Saturday mornings with my employers family, she was always gone?? 

Between flying, Nate’s Bar and Jennifer, life was keeping me plenty busy! When I wasn’t flying a night prisoner flight, I was hangar flying with my colleagues and mentors at Nate’s. I learned a lot at Nate’s about life from our nightly beer drinking and talks together there. After Nate’s, it was time for more girl lessons with Jennifer. I’ll admit I’d show up tired at the airport for work more often than not. Sometimes I even told myself I was giving up the beer drinking all together!  But somehow my resolve to give up the beer and fun with the boys at Nate’s would always dissipate as a day progressed. Regardless of any morning resolve I may have made, when five o’clock rolled around or when I finished flying in the evening, I would promptly head to Nate’s to meet up with the boys. After an evening at Nate’s, missing another lesson with Jennifer was never an option.

It wasn’t that I was lacking for worthy activities to keep me busy. Between my prisoner transports, company flying, Nate’s and Jennifer, I managed to find time to work on the additional training required to earn my next FAA pilot certification credential, my CFI (Certificated Flight Instructor). CFI is the official nomenclature for a person who has become federally licensed to train other persons to become licensed pilots.

Between my other duties (and endeavors), I worked on my CFI training with multiple instructors. I trained with Stephen Wells Canty, Fredrick Brice Crunch (not his real name), Ed Nervino and Darrell Freeman.

Though an exceptionally sharp pilot, Freeman was not a CFI. Nonetheless, I learned a lot from Darrell that equipped me to become a CFI.

Stephen Canty was a stickler for accuracy when flying on instruments. Plus or minus 20 feet was his acceptable altitude tolerance. If I deviated more than 20 feet off an assigned altitude when flying with Stephen, I heard about it!

Frederick had recently showed up as a freshly minted pilot trained by American Flyers, a nationally renown pilot training school in Ardmore, Oklahoma. Though a young and new instructor, Frederick was hired and declared to be the Chief Pilot and Chief Flight Instructor for our company.

Frederick could best be characterized as a “strange bird.” Though young (early 20’s), he already had a hunch shouldered posture. Frederick was maybe 5′ 8″ in stature and about 150 pounds. Unless someone got him to laughing about something, he continuously wore a guilty looking expression on his face. His entire countenance appeared to look guilty about something!

Frederick was the first person I’d ever seen with different colored eyes – one green eye and one blue eye. You could tell having different colored eyes bothered him. He’d look away if he could tell you were looking in his eyes while trying to figure out what the deal was with his eyes.

To add to the challenges of dealing face to face with Frederick, there was the matter of his mustache too. Frederick sported a mustache shaped like the grill on the lower front end of a locomotive. Instead of laying flat below his nose, his mustache angled outward at about a 30 degree as it descended downward toward the top of his upper lip.

Between his perpetually sheepish looking expressions, his different colored eyes and his locomotive shaped mustache, you had your work cut out for you handling a conversation with him.

Frederick’s primary interest in life didn’t seem to involve flying. Although he was a licensed professional pilot, the aviation profession seemed to be of little importance to him. Frederick didn’t talk about flying like most pilots do.

After beginning his employment with us, it didn’t take Frederick long to take a liking to our company secretary. And it didn’t take her long to reciprocate! Her name was Edith. We called her Twiggy because she looked like Twiggy (the actress).

I first noticed the connection between Frederick and Twiggy one day while walking from the hangar to our office. Leaving the hangar, I looked out at Frederick’s Twin Beech aircraft parked on the ramp out a ways from the hangar. Also parked was Twiggy sitting on Frederick’s lap facing Frederick. I saw them sitting together through the fuselage window of Frederick’s Twin Beech! Twiggy looked like she was trying to churn butter while sitting on Frederick’s lap?

Another strange thing about Frederick was his habit of drinking water from a faucet on the outside of our hangar. Frederick had a daily routine of walking out to his car – – a blue MG MGB GT – – and get a clear plastic cup out of his vehicle. Then he would walk over to the hangar faucet and fill his cup with water. Then he would return to his car and sit in it while drinking his water. I still wonder what else he put in his water during his daily ritual. I eventually came to suspect vodka.

I remember flying a night training mission with Frederick and Canty over to Salinas to have an evening meal together. Frederick and Canty enjoyed a few drinks during the meal. On the way back to Watsonville later that evening, it was decided that I should do some upper airwork maneuvers to complete a more thorough night training flight. Frederick was the instructor and I was flying.

I remember thinking while I was flying the steep turns and slow flight maneuvers, “Should Frederick be giving me night dual flight instruction in an aircraft since he’d been drinking just prior to the flight?” I figured since I was the one actually doing the flying and I hadn’t been drinking that we were legal. Though it didn’t feel right or good at least we were legal for my part in the flight.

Soon after the sparks began flying between Frederick and Twiggy, it was announced they were going to both take time off from work – – maybe for a week. We were informed that Frederick had a sailboat in a Southern California harbor and that they were going to spend some time on his boat sailing.

A month and a half later they returned to Watsonville to resume their work with our company. Twiggy told us that during their month and a half on the boat, they never untied the boat from the dock. They both looked pretty worn out when they returned to work.

Having four instructors meant that I could get one of them to work with me on my CFI training whenever I needed one of them to work on my CFI maneuvers training. My fourth Instructor was Ed Nervino. Ed was a pharmacist by trade. He owned a pharmacy on Freedom Boulevard around the corner from the Watsonville Airport.

Like everyone else at our airport, Ed had a special name astutely originated for him by Freeman. Freeman called him “Nervous Ed” when he wasn’t around to hear his assigned airport name. Ed was an extremely kind hearted person. He was a somewhat heavy set Italian. Ed really did look nervous. I never saw him when he didn’t look nervous. Even when he would smile or manage a slight laugh about something, he looked nervous.

Ed was smart enough to purchase a WWII Army surplus North American AT-6 Aircraft. The AT-6 was new, still in a crate, in perfect condition when Ed acquired it for $600. Ed could fly his AT-6 really well. He would take anyone of us flying with him whenever we asked him to or when we were invited.

Our pilots could also depend on Ed for more than just pilot training and flights in his AT-6. Ed, being a pharmacist, was a good resource when a pilot needed help in handling germs he may have run across during possible periods of indiscretion. Ed handed a big pill to one of our pilots one day and told him, “This will take care of anything you might be worried about.”

Thanks to all the help generously provided by my distinguished instructors, I completed my FAA CFI Training requirements and got “signed off” (legally recommended) by Stephen Canty for my CFI Checkride to be administered by an Oakland, California FAA GADO (General Aviation District Office) Inspector.

Chapter 25

Flight Instructor Checkride  – “Only the Brave Teach”

Another big day had arrived two days following my 21st birthday. Less than a year after receiving my first pilot license, I reported to the Oakland, California GADO for my Flight Instructor Certification checkride. All FAA checkrides test the strength of your nervous system. The Initial Flight Instructor Certification checkride was especially known to do so. Close to 50% of Initial Flight Instructor applicants are typically denied the Flight Instructor Certification on their first attempt at the rigorous qualification checkride.

I was a particularly prime candidate to fail my first Flight Instructor Checkride with the FAA for a few reasons. My young age was definitely a factor. FAA Inspectors are commissioned with the responsiblity of licensing well qualified pilots to become Instructors who are capable of producing other good pilots.

A cold wind blew hard at the Oakland Metropolitan Airport as I landed the Cherokee 140 there on March 6, 1968. I was glad to be flying in N7438R. It was my favorite Piper Cherokee 140. It was the newest Cherokee we had at Watsonville Aviation.

I felt like an inexperienced skinny kid walking across the ramp towards the FAA GADO Office after I tied down the Cherokee 140 on the Oakland Airport ramp. I was young and inexperienced and I knew it. Regardless of how I felt about why I was arriving at the Oakland GADO, I was willing to show up to meet with an FAA Inspector for an Instructor Certification Flight Test.

I’d never been to the Oakland GADO facility but it felt comfortable to me. I told the receptionist that I was scheduled to take a checkride with Inspector James Lecke. Mr. Lecke was summoned and came to the reception area to escort me to his office.

Mr. Lecke conducted himself very business like. His office was sterile, nothing fancy. A desk, table and a couple of chairs. Mr. Lecke wore black dress slacks, a white shirt and a simple basic tie. He was in his mid forties with black hair, parted on one side with a slight wave. He was a plain, nice, serious looking guy. There was neither a warm greeting nor a smile. He just got down to the business of administering a checkride.

Mr. Lecke spent several minutes reviewing my Flight Instructor Application and my logbooks. He didn’t say anything about the fact that I had acquired both my Private and Commercial Pilot Certificates less than a year ago and now I wanted to be licensed to train other pilots.  I imagined that and the fact that I had just turned 21 must have raised concerns in his mind as to my qualifications and experience to become a federally licensed Flight Instructor.

After completing the application and logbook audit, the questioning began to officially commence the oral portion of the checkride.  As if he wasn’t already leery of my ability to train other pilots, I managed to miss the first question he asked me.  “How old do you have to be to become a Private Pilot?” queried Mr. Lecke. Strange as it may sound, I had never paid attention to the age requirement. “16,” I answered. Mr. Lecke said, “17.” First question and I missed it! I looked down thinking, “Gosh, he must already be thinking I’m not knowledgeable enough to be an Instructor.” His already serious look deepened following my incorrect answer but he went on with the questioning.

“Teach me about ‘Turns around a point’ was Mr. Lecke’s next question. Fortunately, I had already completed an extra explicit drawing of the ground reference maneuver. I laid my pencil drawing of a twelve sided regular polygon on the desk in front of Mr. Lecke. Placing the drawing in front of Mr. Lecke seemed to excite his face with an expression of curiosity. His eyebrows raised and eyes opened wider as I began to explain intricate details pertaining to wind correction angles and ground speeds that an aircraft flying at a specific airspeed would experience on each of the twelve legs of the polygon if the aircraft was to maintain a constant radius while flying around a defined point on the Earth’s surface.

By the look on his face and his sudden change in demeanor, I could tell Mr. Lecke had never seen anything explained in that depth before regarding the “Turn around a point” ground reference maneuver. I think that one maneuver may have been the point at which Mr. Lecke began to feel that maybe I was going to pass a Flight Instructor Flight Test on the first try after all?

Over the next four hours, I made two more mistakes on my checkride. “Regarding off-runway accidents that occur at high elevation airports, do most pilots land prior to the approach end of the runway or run off the far end of the runway?” queried Mr. Lecke. I answered, “They land short of the approach end of the runway.”

Well, that became my second wrong answer. “Off-runway accidents normally occur when a pilot runs off the far end of the runway,” responded Mr. Lecke. Noticing that I was obviously unaware of the accuracy of his response to my question, Mr. Lecke patiently and concisely explained, “Pilots fly their final approach speeds faster than the prescribed final approach indicated airspeeds in attempts to avoid a common tendency of stalling an aircraft at high elevation airports. This mistaken faulty procedure causes fast and long landings rather than stalled and short landings resulting in aircraft landing accidents.”

I completed the oral testing of my checkride with one more wrong answer. “Can an airplane fly 300 pounds over gross weight?” asked Mr. Lecke. It didn’t take him long to realize I didn’t know how to answer that question either. I had never been asked that question. I did know you weren’t suppose to fly over gross weight but I’d never thought about how much over gross would be too much. Neither did I think of all the complications that could arise by flying over gross weight other than the possibility of not getting an aircraft off the ground during its takeoff roll?

It didn’t take long for Mr. Lecke to see by another blank look on my face that I wouldn’t have anything to say about his question. Once again, he graciously took it upon himself to answer his own question. “An airplane can fly 300 pounds over its gross weight assuming the runway is long enough. More than the problem of the extra weight placed on an aircraft during takeoff can be the loads placed on an aircraft experienced in flight when turbulence is experienced. An aircraft in flight encountering a four “G” turbulence load is now 1200 pounds over gross weight.”

I understood Mr. Lecky’s excellent explanation.  I could see that he was an extra sharp Aviator and really knew his stuff.  It seemed like he knew everything a pilot could possibly know about flying and he was really good at teaching what he knew.

The oral exam lasted an hour.  By missing three questions, Mr. Lecke could easily see that I still had a lot to learn about flying. Nonetheless, Mr. Lecke continued to move forward with the flight portion of my checkride. Mr. Lecke said, “Let’s see you preflight the airplane.”

It was still cold and windy when we stepped out to preflight the Cherokee 140.  I was extra well prepared for the preflight. Freeman had taught me more about the mechanics of an airplane than pilots typically learn.

Mr. Lecke followed me around the aircraft as I conducted my preflight. It didn’t take him long to begin telling me to hurry up with the preflight. I carefully walked around the right wing after preflighting the cabin, I explained everything to check on the 140 in explicit detail. Mr. Lecke could quickly see that I knew how to preflight an aircraft extra well. I checked everything on the 140’s preflight checklist plus multiple other items Freeman had trained me to check that weren’t on the Checklist.

I could tell Mr. Lecke was relieved when I had all of the preflight checks completed. It felt good to get out of the cold wind and settle into the 140. I ran the aircraft prestart checklist, started the engine and called Oakland Ground Control for our taxi clearance. The 140 runup checked out good and we were cleared for takeoff.

Mr. Lecke instructed me to fly towards Livermore to the east of Oakland. Once in the practice area west of the Livermore, I was instructed to fly the series of maneuvers required for the Private and Commercial Pilot Certifications. All the maneuvers turned out well.

During my steep turns, Mr.Lecke surprised me when he blocked my view of the turn and bank indicator. I’d never had anyone do that before! I watched him for a bit to see what he was up to?  Though I found his unusual hand placement in the cockpit distracting, I continued to pay attention to my altitude and bank angle to fly a good series of steep turns. I figured Mr. Lecke was checking my ability to fly a coordinated steep turn without the use of the slip skid ball in the turn and bank indicator.

After completing the upper airwork maneuvers, we descended to perform the ground reference maneuvers. Those turned out good too. Then Mr. Lecke directed me fly to the Livermore Airport and perform a series of normal and speciality takeoffs and landings.

When I’d completed the traffic pattern procedures, Mr. Lecke said to take us back to the Oakland Airport. I departed the traffic pattern at Livermore, climbed up to 3,500 feet and headed directly to Oakland. When I leveled off and set the power and trim for cruise flight, Mr. Lecke did another thing which surprised me. He slouched down in his seat and closed his eyes for a nap while I flew us back to Oakland. I thought, “Wow, he must really trust my flying if he’s comfortable taking a nap while I flew us back to Oakland. He’s comfortable trusting me with his life!”

I felt comfortable on the way back to Oakland. I didn’t feel like I’d made any mistakes on the flight portion of the checkride. Mr. Lecke’s napping on the return flight to Oakland seemed like a good sign that he was happy with my flying. Although Mr. Lecky would not officially inform me of my checkride results until we returned to his office at the GADO, I assumed I had passed the test which contributed to my sense of comfort on the flight back to Oakland.

Mr. Lecke sat up from his nap when he heard me talking with the Oakland tower controller. I called the Oakland tower ten miles east to begin working on acquiring our landing clearance. My approach and landing didn’t scare me or Mr. Lecke. Both actually worked out well, precise and smooth.

Mr. Lecke headed into his GADO office while I secured the Cherokee on the parking ramp. When I walked into his office, I looked to see what color certificate Mr. Lecke was filling out on his typewriter. Throughout the checkride, Mr. Lecke didn’t complain about a single procedure or maneuver that I had performed. I saw no reason he should have given me a “pink slip” for failing my checkride. And he didn’t. My certificate was white! I had been awarded my FAA Flight Instructor Certificate!

Mr. Lecke didn’t have anything to say about my checkride other than wishing me good success using my Flight Instructor Certification to train other pilots. Just handing me the Certificate was all I needed to hear. My checkride turned out better than I could have imagined or hoped for.
My flight back to Watsonville felt extra good. The acquisition of my Flight Instructor was a huge success for me. It wouldn’t have happened without the great job I had acquired with Watsonville Aviation less than a year earlier and the help Mr. Sambrailo gave me to complete my Commercial Pilot Certification.

Freeman was working in the big hangar as I parked the Cherokee on the ramp. When he saw me exit the airplane he stopped what he was doing and took a few steps in my direction with a wondering expression on his face. “How’d it go young man” he asked as I walked up to him. “I passed” I replied. Darrell’s reply was simply a reflective ‘huh” with a slight smile. He didn’t make a big deal about me passing my checkride but I could tell Darrell was pleased and probably proud of me.

Four days following my Flight Instructor checkride, I conducted my first official lesson with a student. The prisoner transport trips continued to keep me busy flying over the next few months as students began to arrive at our flying service for me to train too.

Another routine prisoner transport wasn’t a big deal until I checked in with the prison official at Sacramento. The call came in mid morning to pick up a woman prisoner in Sacramento and fly her to Santa Cruz County. I thought, “A simple flight out to Sacramento and back to Watsonville…great…easy trip.”

Transporting a woman prisoner meant that I’d have to find woman to fly the trip with me acting as a matron for the female prisoner. The matron did not have to be a Prisoner Transportation Deputy like me, just a woman. I could take any woman willing to fly the trip with me. There was no compensation, just the excitement of flying a prisoner run with a twenty year old Prisoner Transportation Deputy!

My bosses wife, Gwen, normally flew the prisoner trips with me but she wasn’t available to help with this particular trip. I asked my girlfriend, Jennifer, next but she couldn’t help either. The only other woman I could think to ask was my brother’s wife, Elaine.

Elaine and I departed Watsonville in the afternoon for Sacramento. It was a pretty day, no clouds or whether to worry about. The flight to Sacramento was just a 100 nautical mile trip. Even though we departed later in the day, I wasn’t expecting to have any problem making it back to Watsonville before dark. When we departed Watsonville, little did I know that I had a big surprise in store for me before returning to Watsonville!

I never knew ahead of time how big or small a prisoner might be until I’d arrive wherever the prisoner was located for me to pick up. Today Elaine and I would pick up an extra light prisoner. She was an elderly woman seemed like in her early sixties. I was surprised when the guards told me she weighed only ninety-eight pounds. “Wow” I thought. “She’s really a tiny sweet looking woman.”  For a few moments, I wondered about even handcuffing her to a waist chain? I chained and cuffed her anyway deciding to err on the side of safety best thinking that even a tiny woman could create problems if she decided to act up. I didn’t want to fly with a mad woman!

While Elaine was inside the facility helping with the inmate out processing, I was notified that a message had arrived informing me that I was to pick up another prisoner at the Vacaville prison on the return trip to Watsonville. No details were given, only that I was to pick up another prisoner. That was a turn in events I wasn’t expecting – darn.

We departed Sacramento later than I was expecting. Elaine and I loaded the woman prisoner into the aircraft and departed Sacramento for Vacaville. Night time fell during our flight to pick up the second prisoner. The Nut Tree Airport wasn’t easy to see at night. Elaine said she couldn’t see it until we were landing. The airport was dark and quiet when we stepped out of the aircraft onto the ramp. I would need to take the woman prisoner and Elaine with me into the Vacaville prison.

The usual taxi service drove us to the prison. After securing Elaine and the female prisoner in the reception area, a guard accompanied me into the reception area inside an interior section of the prison where prisoner receiving and releasing took place.

I noticed a normal compliment of guards and trustees strategically positioned as I entered the release area. Visually scanning the area, I could feel an extra somber and quiet mood among the guards and trustees. I checked in with the head guard seated at the inmate release desk. He looked surprised when he saw me. Everyone looked surprised when they saw me. When I followed the guard’s eyes shifting his attention from me to the caged area twenty feet in front of his desk, I saw the reason for every ones concern. My prisoner was twice my age and nearly twice my size! Obviously concerned too, I asked the head guard, “How much does he weigh?” “242 pounds” replied the guard. I could see the 242 pounds was muscle weight, not fat. I had a tall strong prisoner to transport.

I was dismayed at the weight and the appearance of this prisoner. I wasn’t flying a 727!  I was flying a Piper Cherokee 140. And three of the four seats in the 140 were already filled! As the guards prepared the prisoner for release to me, I contemplated this unexpected predicament.  An already amply loaded small single engine airplane and now a 242 pound male prisoner to pack into the aircraft with us! Gosh, I wasn’t expecting nor prepared for this situation!

Without much time to think on my dilemma, the guards motioned me into the caged release area. Approaching the prisoner, I looked slightly more than half his size. The guards had to be wondering how is this young kid going to handle transporting this huge seasoned prisoner? I was wondering the same thing myself!

With guards standing on each side of the prisoner, I placed the handcuff chain around the prisoner’s waist and ran the cuffs through the chain. When I cuffed his left wrist the cuff would only tighten to the second click. I cuffed the right wrist. I thought, “Darn, the cuffs barely fit! Two clicks is too tight, I don’t want to cut off his circulation.”  The guards and prisoner looked on as I deliberated over the handcuff situation.  With seemingly little choice, I inserted my key into the handcuffs and loosened each cuff to one click. At one click, I could see the prisoners circulation wouldn’t be cut off but I wondered how well the cuffs would hold at just one click if the prisoner decided to break loose?

I stepped out of the caged area and signed a form accepting control of the prisoner. Guards escorted the prisoner and me out through the multiple corridors and gates to the entrance of the prison where I had left Elaine and the woman prisoner waiting for me.  A guard scanned my hand and I was cleared to exit the prison.

It felt good to step out into the fresh cool night air.  I left the prison in the waiting taxi with my thoughts stirring with the handling of the two prisoners. I contemplated how well our Cherokee 140 aircraft was going to handle the demand I was getting ready to place on it to fly the four of us safely to the Watsonville Airport. The size and weight of the extra large and heavy male prisoner concerned me most of all.

The Nut Tree Airport was quiet, dark and lonesome as the taxi driver dropped us off at the aircraft ramp area and then drove away.  As we walked toward the Piper Cherokee I thought, “The moment of truth has arrived. Is this going to work or not?”  I wasn’t concerned about the job of flying to Watsonville. My concern was fitting everyone into the four seat Piper Cherokee! Accommodating one tall and heavy prisoner in the back seat of the Piper Cherokee was asking a lot much less a second prisoner in back too!

When the male prisoner saw the airplane he’d soon be flying in he had to be shocked. He could have filled the entire back of the airplane by himself. But on this flight he will have to share the back with the woman prisoner. I was surprised he didn’t hesitate to get into the airplane when he saw its size!

I stepped up on the Piper Cherokee wing then leaned into the cabin and slid the two front seats fully forward to make room for the prisoners to get into the aircraft’s rear seats. I boarded the female prisoner first seating her behind the pilot’s seat. When the male prisoner stepped on the boarding step and wing, I heard the right side landing gear strut collapse. I seated the male prisoner behind the matron’s seat. After securing the prisoners in their seat belts and performing my aircraft preflight, I climbed into the pilot’s seat. I latched the cabin door after the matron boarded in the right seat next to me.

The Cherokee 140 let me know it was heavily loaded as I taxied to the south runup area. The squatting main landing gear struts over extended the nose gear strut pointing the nose of the aircraft higher than normal.

There wasn’t a peep on the radio as I completed the engine runup and takeoff checklist. I rechecked the cabin door latch and lined up on Nut Tree runway 2. The Cherokee accelerated slower than normal when I pushed the throttle full forward to its takeoff power setting. We used more runway than usual but the Cherokee lifted off okay when we reached our rotation speed. The Cherokee could tell it was carrying a heavy load!

The night was cool and dark as we headed south to Watsonville. The sparkling lights of San Francisco and the entire bay area made navigation easy and pretty. Maybe the beauty of the flight was a treat for the prisoners.

Santa Cruz Sheriff Deputies arrived to pick up the prisoners shortly after we landed at Watsonville.  I removed my handcuffs and waist chains as I turned the prisoners over to the deputies.  After thanking Elaine for serving as the matron on today’s flight, I headed to Nate’s Bar. The boys at Nate’s would be eager to hear all about this prisoner run!

Chapter 27

Extra Long Day…and Night

I rarely heard why I was transporting a particular prisoner. I could have asked the deputies and guards that handed them over to me if I had wanted to know. It was probably best that I didn’t know because, when I did know, I would think about that person a lot throughout the flight wondering what motivated them to get into the predicaments that earned them their prison sentences.

I’d been flying long enough now where handling an aircraft required minimal effort. Though I could fly and think about other things simultaneously, it was best to keep my mind on the task at hand of piloting the aircraft rather than concerning myself with the cause and nature of the misdeeds of a prisoner I was transporting.

A call came in to fly a prisoner to a correctional facility in Atascadero, California. This prisoner was going up because he murdered his wife! He looked to be around age sixty.  I thought he had to be plenty sick to murder his wife.  He looked spaced out during the flight.  Deputies met me at the San Luis Obispo Airport and assumed control of the prisoner. I removed my handcuffs and waist chain from the prisoner and headed back to Watsonville.

This day was going good! I completed my prisoner run early, had lunch after landing back at Watsonville and got in a training flight. Our 5pm happy hour time at Nate’s Bar was nearing when Freeman stepped out of the hangar.  I could tell something was up when he walked toward me    with a more serious expression than usual on his face. Stopping in front of me he said, “Young man, Santa Cruz County just called. You have a prisoner to pick up at the Orange County Airport.”

I enjoyed the pretty sunset as I departed Watsonville and climbed to my cruising altitude for the three hour flight to southern California. Out in the distance to the west, I could see the coastal fog bank hovering low over the waters of the Pacific Ocean. It would be eight hours later and well after midnight before I’d be returning to Watsonville with my prisoner on board. Beating the coastal fog to the Watsonville Airport was always a concern for me on the night time prisoner transports.

I didn’t see the terrain below me as I crossed over the mountains on the northern side of the Los Angeles basin. A moonless night had completely darkened the mountains below me which I was accustomed to seeing on my day time prison runs into the LA Basin. I was glad when I picked up the runway lights at the LAX Airport. It was comforting to know I had an airport nearby I could land at if my engine mechanically failed which seldom occurs.

This would be my first flight to the Orange County Airport. There were a lot of lights in the LA Basin that needed sorting through to find the right airport for my landing. All of my prisoner transports in and out of the LA Basin to date had been flown during daylight hours. The basin looked a lot different at night without the sunlight to illuminate my navigation ground track.

My approach and landing on a north runway went perfect. The airport was quiet. I was able to enjoy the stillness of the late evening as I walked across the airport ramp area to the FBO. It had already been a long day but I still felt good.

The prisoner was a young male. He looked around age 20, thin with long straight dirty blonde hair and a pimply complexion. I could see he was depressed and resigned to the predicament he found himself in. Sheriff deputies had picked him up in Orange County and learned he had a warrant for his arrest in Santa Cruz County.

After a brief exchange of information, the deputies removed their handcuffs from the prisoner as I secured him with my waist chain and cuffs.  The deputies released the prisoner to me and we left the FBO. Realizing it was in his best interest, the prisoner remained quiet, solemn and alert as I secured him into the right rear seat of the Cherokee 140 where I could keep a continuous watch on him via my peripheral vision during the three hour flight back to Santa Cruz County.

The calm night provided for a smooth takeoff as we departed Orange County for Watsonville. Air traffic was still active below our flight path as we crossed over the LAX Airport at midnight. I’d been at work since early that morning and still had another three hours to go before returning the prisoner to Santa Cruz County.

Deputies picked up the prisoner around 3 am at Watsonville making this my longest work day as a professional pilot to date. The airport felt lonesome as the deputies drove away with the prisoner, not busy with the activity I was used to seeing there in the daytime. There was no one else at the airport, Nate’s Bar was closed, and Jennifer would be asleep by now, not that she would have minded me paying her a visit. She was always eager to see me and I her!  In just a few hours I’d show up to work tired again. But this would probably be the only time I’d show up for work tired for a legitimate business reason during my employment at Watsonville Aviation Service as a Prisoner Transportation Deputy.

“TO BE CONTINUED”

Chapter 28

BIG TRIP
COPS and ROBBERS
DON’T MESS WITH TEXAS
MORE SEX EDUCATION?

I was called in to discuss a week-long prisoner transport trip. This was an “extra special” transport. In the transport briefing I was informed that I
would be flying to TEXAS to pick up two highly dangerous prisoners.

“Wow, Texas,” I thought. Being a young Aviator, I hadn’t flown a trip that far before. All of my flying experience to date had been in the state of California with the exception of one out of state trip to Reno, Nevada.

But this trip wasn’t big just because of the distance. This was a big trip for several reasons. First I was told that I would be picking up two exceptionally dangerous prisoners in TEXAS. It was explained to me that they had robbed a liquor store on East Lake Boulevard in Watsonville, California. When the police arrived, as the robbery was still in progress, the robbers shot up the police car.

The robbers got away after committing the hold up and headed east to evade capture. When they made it to near Houston, TEXAS, they managed to get themselves arrested. The Houston Police Department discovered that the two robbers had arrest warrants out for them in California, having left that state on bad terms.

I was further informed that the two robbers were brothers. The news about this trip kept getting worse the longer I was briefed. I was further informed that the robbers were too dangerous to be transported on an airline because the eldest brother was a “six time loser.” And furthermore, both prisoners had inactive tuberculosis. When the briefer mentioned the inactive tuberculosis, he said that I would have to wear a mask while the prisoners were on board the aircraft.

This trip was beginning to sound like I should be getting paid more than the $8.00 per hour compensation I was currently receiving. As more details were gradually disclosed to me, I started feeling like some Hazardous Duty Pay might be in order?

I was also informed that this would be the second attempt by Santa Cruz County to extradite these two prisoners out of TEXAS and back to California. It was explained to me that on the first extradition attempt, two police officers were sent out to bring the prisoners back to California but were unsuccessful due to a legal technicality. “On this trip you’ll be flying with a Deputy District Attorney to handle the legalities of the extradition and a police officer to guard the prisoners during the transport” the briefer
informed me.

I didn’t meet the Deputy DA and the police officer who would be making the transport with me until early morning the day of our departure from Watsonville. The Deputy DA showed up well dressed in a suit and tie. The police officer was dressed casually in jeans and a shirt for the trip to TEXAS.

I had the aircraft preflighted and ready to go when they arrived. I liked the aircraft we’d be flying on this trip. It was a new Piper PA 32-260 Cherokee Six. I had been flying this Piper Cherokee Six for the past few months and was comfortable handling it. It was the aircraft that I had been flying frequently on the Watsonville and Clearlake weekend shuttle runs with one of my employers and his family as well as the aforementioned cemetery employee. I also made occasional prisoner runs and other corporate trips
in the Cherokee Six from time to time.

The Deputy DA handled the introductions before we boarded the aircraft. “I’m Jay Starling and this is Barry Birdwell. You can call me Jay. Barry likes
to go by BB.” I introduced myself and told Jay and Barry it was nice to meet them. Jay was the polished and refined one of the two that would be flying the trip with me. Barry was your basic stout, strong police officer. Jay weighed 165 and Barry weighed 220. I weighed 150. As usual, I had no idea how much the prisoners weighed. I would worry about that later and make sure we’d keep the aircraft within its prescribed weight and balance limits with the five men we’d have on board our six-seat aircraft.

Following the brief introductions and customary passenger briefing, we boarded the aircraft and departed Watsonville for Houston. It would take us a while to reach Houston with a speed of 137 knots true airspeed in the Cherokee Six. After departing Watsonville we logged an hour of night flying before flying into a beautiful sunrise on our first leg of the trip. It took 4.5 flight hours to reach the Phoenix Sky Harbor Airport in Arizona for our first fuel stop. Four hours later we landed at El Paso International Airport where we would encounter the first non-flying excitement of our trip.

Little did I know what all I was in for when I set out on this trip with two law enforcement officials. In my mind, this trip would strictly involve the serious
business of picking up two prisoners in TEXAS and returning them to California to pay for their crimes. What I didn’t know was the unofficial activities this trip would involve.

After landing at El Paso and checking into our hotel rooms, Jay and BB unexpectedly announced that we were going across the border to check out Juarez. So I was up well before daylight to get the aircraft preflighted, departed Watsonville an hour before daybreak, flew all day to reach TEXAS, and now the boys wanted to run around Juarez, Mexico for more
than half the night. Wow! “So much for my pilot crew rest following an already extra long day and another busy flying day tomorrow” I thought.

Like most young boys, I’d heard stories about some wild goings on in Mexico. It seems like my law enforcement escorts had more than just heard stories judging from the way they got us around once we crossed the border into Mexico. Actually getting around in Juarez was quite simple. All Jay and BB had to say when we climbed into our first Mexican taxi was, “Take us to where the girls are!”

When we crossed back over the border and made it to our hotel room after midnight my awareness of various sex related practices had definitely been
expanded. At one point during our time that evening in Juarez, BB disappeared for awhile upstairs in a bar at the invitation of an extra friendly girl leaving Jay and me sitting at the bar until he returned. For some reason, BB remained extra nervous for the remainder of our trip. Jay repeatedly asking BB “Is it burning yet?” seemed to add to his anxiety about whatever happened upstairs in the bar in Juarez.

We landed at the Houston Hobby Airport early afternoon the following day. At our hotel, I was able to get some rest while Jay and BB spent the afternoon at the Houston Police Department working on the prisoner extradition legalities. Unbeknownst to me, I would need that afternoon rest to prepare for what Jay and BB had in mind for our first evening in Houston.

A weather system had followed us into Houston. It would take two days for the weather system to clear before we could head back to California with our two prisoners. This weather system would become a contributing factor for me to experience more sex education under the guidance of my two law enforcement officials.

When Jay and BB returned to the hotel, they were ready for more sight- seeing. I didn’t know what sight-seeing they had in mind for us in Houston
but I was about to find out.

Leaving the hotel, we headed down Telephone Road. All the sightseeing we did over the next two days occurred along Telephone Road. What was sight-seeing for Jay and BB turned out to be more sex education for me! Telephone Road, in the 1960’s, had an abundant supply of establishments where boys could enjoy drinking beer while admiring the natural beauty of the opposite sex.

During our spare time in Houston, it became obvious to me that Jay and BB felt free to do away from home what would likely not be wise for them to do back home in Watsonville.

Especially nice during our sightseeing along Telephone Road was when the girls would come by and visit with us at our table following their on stage performances. They would visit us wearing nothing above the waist and very little below the waist. “Gosh, getting to see them up close like this is amazing!” I thought.

Jay would ask the girls good questions when they would come and stand at our table to visit with us for a while. “Where are you from and what are your goals in life?” Jay would ask. The girls seemed to speak comfortably with us thanks to Jay’s ability to know how to carry on a good conversation with young girls around my age. I enjoyed hearing what the girls had to say as well as getting to see them up close. BB seemed to be enjoying the conversations too, as well as seeing the girls, of course. The girls seemed to enjoy speaking with us.

While enjoying the beauty of the girls, it did occur to me to wonder what a girl’s father would think about males like us looking at his daughter without any clothes on. I couldn’t imagine that this would make any Dad happy.

Following two nights of more sex education on Telephone Road, the inclement weather lifted and we were able to head back to California with our two prisoners. After seeing and spending time visiting with the pretty girls, I was glad when it came time to head back to Watsonville. I was especially eager to get this prisoner transport mission successfully completed. Returning to Watsonville also meant I’d be extra ready to see Jennifer again!

Although we had a hard trip ahead of us, I was pleased to be flying again. I told Jay to let the Watsonville, California police department know that we would be landing there around midnight.

We departed Houston Hobby Airport with Jay seated up front with me. We seated the two prisoners in the center seats. BB sat in the aft seat section by himself where he could handle the prisoners if they needed handling.

The prisoners wore marked orange prison coveralls. BB secured their legs with leg chains. Around their waist was a thick heavy duty leather belt with
handcuffs on each side so their hands were cuffed to their sides instead of in front. Jay, BB and I wore face masks since we'd been briefed that the prisoners were both inactive tuberculosis carriers. “I hope it’s inactive” I thought off and on throughout the flight.

Three hours after departing Houston, we landed at Midland, Texas for our first fuel stop. After parking at the Midland fixed base operator (FBO), I ordered fuel for our next leg to El Paso. BB got the honors of helping the two prisoners use the restroom in the FBO while their hands remained cuffed to their sides.

For lunch, we walked across the ramp to the restaurant in the Midland passenger terminal. Jay and I walked in front with the two prisoners trailing
behind us and BB bringing up the rear as we made our way across the ramp, through the airline terminal and into the restaurant.

Seeing our procession making our way through the terminal had to be quite a sight for the airline passengers. Two prisoners in orange prisoner suits wearing handcuffs and leg chains being escorted by three guys wearing regular clothes? In the restaurant, Jay and I sat at a separate table while BB got to feed the prisoners at another table while their hands remained cuffed.

During this fuel stop and at all of our other fuel stops, BB would plead with Jay to release him from duty so he could take a bus back to Watsonville.

Jay simply shook his head smiling and told BB he could not take the bus home and that he was going to remain on board the aircraft with us for the entire transport.

BB wasn’t kidding with Jay. He was truly frightened of flying our return trip home but he managed to tough it out the entire trip. Jay, occasionally reminding BB of his indiscretion with the girl in Juarez, wasn’t helping BB calm his anxious state of mind.

We landed and refueled at El Paso and then departed for Tucson. We encountered a dust storm on this leg. Flying into the blinding sunlight and dust in the turbulent air mass made this leg of our flight very uncomfortable.

It was night when we landed at Tucson for our final fuel stop. We parked next to a white Learjet painted all over with pink polka dots. I wondered what’s up with the unusual paint scheme? When I walked into the FBO facility, I asked who the Learjet belonged to? The attendant answered, “That’s Al Hirt’s Learjet.” I thought, “Wow, Al Hirt, the famous trumpet player from New Orleans. That explains the paint scheme.”

Departing Tucson began the longest leg on our return trip to Watsonville. We were on track to reach Watsonville around midnight as I had originally calculated when we left Houston. Fuel availability on this leg of our trip would be more scarce due to the late night hours we’d be flying. I didn’t like how I’d have to stretch our fuel on our final leg. I instructed the Tucson FBO line crew to squeeze every drop of avgas possible into each of the four fuel cells.

Without any moonlight, the final leg of our flight to Watsonville was extra dark. I was concerned about the likelihood of making it to Watsonville non stop. It would depend on how we fared with the winds aloft at our flying altitude. The forecast winds had indicated it would be tight to make it non stop. But those were aloft winds which were only reported as forecast winds. The actual winds could either help us or hurt us which I would have to monitor along our leg to Watsonville to see if we could actually make it
there without another fuel stop.

Either way, I was pushing my luck to make it back home to Watsonville without having to stop again. Most, if not all, of the FBOs would be closed along our route of flight as we neared our midnight ETA at Watsonville.

Four hours into our final leg it was looking like we could make it to Watsonville though it would be tight. Having flown this particular aircraft on several previous flights gave me experience reading the four fuel gauges that I would be working with extra carefully to stretch this last leg of our trip like I was doing.

During this last hour, all four fuel gauges crept closer and closer to their empty readings. Jay seated up front next to me could see what our fuel situation was looking like. I had the panel lights dimmed low so BB couldn’t read the gauges from his position in the aft seats of the aircraft and seated behind the two prisoners.|

Still a ways out from Watsonville but with the airport coming into sight it was time to suck dry (completely drain) each of the four fuel tanks without letting the aircraft engine quit running in the process.

With all four tanks now showing only slightly above empty, I turned on the electric fuel pump and placed my right hand on the fuel selector lever below the throttle quadrant. With my hand on the fuel selector, I would focus my attention on the fuel pressure gauge while continuing to navigate to our destination airport and watching for the fuel pressure gauge to begin to fluctuate. When the fuel pressure gauge began to fluctuate, it was time to move the fuel selector to another fuel tank before the engine would cease running. Once I began this sequencing between fuel tanks, it would take about five minutes to squeeze every last drop of usable fuel out of each of
the four fuel tanks.

I followed this sequence completely draining the two aux fuel cells first. The engine only sputtered slightly when I switched the fuel selector from the left aux fuel tank to the right aux fuel tank. After completely running both aux fuel tanks dry with only the slightest engine sputter between switching tanks, BB became concerned.

With only two fuel cells remaining for me to completely exhaust of fuel, BB surprised me with what he did when I switched to the first of the two
remaining main fuel tanks. After hearing the engine begin to sputter between switching fuel tanks again, BB leaned forward in between the two prisoners and shined his flashlight on the aircraft instrument panel. Part of what surprised me is that BB knew precisely where to shine the flashlight! His flashlight beam went straight to the fuel quantity gauges. That in itself was impressive given all the instruments to choose from on an aircraft instrument panel and given that BB was not a pilot. BB swept the flashlight’s beam of light from left to right across all four fuel gauges. All four fuel gauges read empty. BB didn’t say a word. He just returned to his seating position in the rear of the aircraft and remained silent. What BB didn’t realize that I did realize was that I had a bit more fuel to squeeze out of the two remaining tanks that the fuel quantity indicators were not accurately accounting for.

As I began exhausting the remaining fuel from tank number three, I could see Monterey and Salinas off to my left and Watsonville dead ahead of me. Dead ahead? Not the best term to use now! I knew I was cutting this final leg way too close.

When tank number three ran dry, I switched to my fourth fuel tank, my last tank with any fuel remaining, very little remaining! Salinas and Monterey were no longer options for landing when I switched to my last tank with any fuel. The only airport we had remaining for the possibility of an “on airport landing” was now Watsonville. It was only Watsonville now, a “Make it or break it” situation. Now it would only take us a few minutes to find out if we were going to make a landing on the Watsonville runway.

Given our meager fuel status, I remained at altitude longer than normal before beginning my descent for landing. When I knew I could make it to Watsonville with or without power, I began my descent to the touchdown zone for runway 19. I reminded myself there would be no possibility of a go around. My descent now had to be perfect, neither too high nor too low for the low fuel situation I had allowed us to get into.

The descent and landing worked out perfectly. I breathed a sigh of relief that we were safe and sound on the ground at Watsonville. Jay and BB didn’t say anything but I could feel their relief too and sense of gratitude that we had completed our mission successfully.

We pulled up to the ramp at 15 minutes after midnight, not too far off the midnight ETA I had announced before departing Houston that morning.
Several police cars greeted us. Officers gathered around our aircraft as we prepared to deplane. The officers were armed with shotguns. Our two prisoners had shot up a police car while escaping from the Watsonville liquor robbery scene, so the officers greeting us weren’t taking the prisoners’ capture and return to Watsonville lightly.

The prisoners were promptly loaded into a police car and a procession of accompanying patrol cars departed the airport. After saying goodbye to
Jay and BB, I secured the aircraft and headed to Nate’s for a couple of beers with Freeman.

Enjoying our beers together, I briefed Freeman on the trip details emphasizing highlights of the trip. I also told him I wasn’t happy about how closely I had cut my fuel supply on the final leg of the transport.

After briefing Freeman on the week-long prisoner transport mission, it was time to see if Jennifer was okay. Jennifer was more than okay, always happy, eager and ready to see me.

Chapter 29 coming next…

Chapter 29

PARTY OVER?

ORDER TO REPORT FOR ARMED FORCES PHYSICAL EXAMINATION

A notice arrived unexpectedly in my mailbox indicating to me that the two happiest years of my life might be coming to an end.

When I turned 21, my life was running smoothly, actually wonderful, better than I could have ever imagined or hoped for. I had my new aviation family. I lived and worked in the beautiful Monterey Bay California area. I had my great flying job and spent time at Nate’s Bar with the boys every night when I wasn’t flying. Jennifer was always eager and ready to see me.

I could have enjoyed things staying that way indefinitely. But there was this notice that showed up which looked like something that would require my attention.

I didn’t know exactly what to make of the notice. I kinda knew. I could read and understand the words. It said that I was supposed to be at a certain place on a certain day for a physical exam. I needed to speak with someone more familiar with what all this notice and physical was about.

Darrell Freeman and I were alone at Nate’s Bar the evening the notice arrived. All our other airport colleagues were unusually absent which made it a good time to show Freeman this notice and have a serious talk about it.

After a brief scan of the notice, I could sense that Freeman knew instantly what was in store for me. Upon seeing the notice, Freeman’s expression immediately turned somber. Observing his expression, I could sense this notice didn’t hold any good news for me.

Though Freeman knew it had become my turn to be drafted into the military for likely service in Vietnam he didn’t say anything about that. He didn’t have to. Freeman turned as serious as I had ever seen him. It’s the only time I ever saw Freeman obviously pained by something he saw or heard.

I could feel that Freeman realized the notice potentially held grave consequences for me if I was to successfully pass the physical exam.

Sitting at the bar with our beers in front of us, Freeman looked down and closed his eyes to gain his composure to speak to me. Freeman had raised me up from a fledgling young Aviator and now he was going to see me go away for a while and face the terrors of war in a place far from home. Freeman knew I’d be taking a part of him with me. I held a special place in his heart and thoughts which would be going to war with me. To Freeman, I was still a young kid now being called on to do a very big man size job. Freeman had to be wondering if I would be able to handle the job the military would train me to do.

Freeman took a few sips of his beer preparing himself to deliver his recommendation on a course of action for me to take in response to the notice I had received. Turning his head in my direction but without looking at me Freeman simply said “Go see the Army recruiter tomorrow. Tell him you want to join the Army and become a Warrant Officer. Tell him that you want to fly Mohawks.”

“TO BE CONTINUED”