Lowflynjack
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Jack Fleetwood
Warning - long-winded story. I wrote this many years ago for a magazine.
I grew up flying, taking my first flight with my Uncle at 3 weeks old (much to my Mother's chagrin!!). As a kid, I loved everything from opening the hangar doors, pulling the plane out, the smell of Avgas, hearing the gyros wind down after we were done, I loved it all. I would be so excited when it was time to go fly, and would cry when told the plane was down for maintenance or the weather was bad. Even as a child, flying would remove everything else from my mind. There was nothing to worry about except enjoying the flight.
When I was old enough, I started taking lessons and would show up at the airport almost every day to fly. Within a year of having my license, I had taken all of my friends up. For most of them, it was their first flight. I still love giving those first rides to this day!
After a while, I got bored with flying the ragged old 172s the local school had to rent. I didn't have the budget to really go anywhere, so the longest journey I took was about 100 miles away to an airshow with some friends.
One day, I went for a ride with my instructor and as we were putting the plane away, I saw it. A beautiful Decathlon taxiied by with it's nose in the air. It seemed to be saying it was better than the 152s and Tomahawks being abused by students that day and I couldn't have agreed more. I mentioned to my instructor that I wanted to fly that plane. The words he would say next couldn't have been any worse... "That's Chuck's plane."
Chuck White was a very well known instructor at the airport. I had the chance to meet him a few times and it was never pleasant. He was the chief instructor and gave me my second stage check.
Now by the time you get to this stage check, you pretty much know how to fly a plane. I was the best pilot that ever set foot in a 172. Well, at least I was until Chuck stepped into it! By the end of the flight, I didn't like Chuck and was pretty sure I would never fly again. He didn't like anything I did. He picked on my rudder usage, my navigation skills, my ability to use a chart... well, you name it and I was bad at it. I was devastated. At that moment I really thought I should just walk away and find a new hobby. Over the next few weeks, my instructor convinced me to get back in the plane and started rebuilding my confidence. Once again I was worthy of wearing the scarf and goggles. Soon enough I had my license and was off to new adventures.
So now, back to my great desire to fly that Decathlon. I wanted it more than anything I've ever wanted. All I needed was my tailwheel endorsement and then Chuck would rent it out to me. Of course he was the only one who could check me out in it. I had to suck up my pride and go talk to him. He told me he kept current parachutes in it and with a little training I could fly aerobatics! There was no turning back now, he had me.
I showed up for my first lesson and sure enough, there was the Grinch waiting for me. He was as grumpy as ever, but not only was I taught to respect my elders, he had the keys to my new style of flying, so I had no choice but to tolerate him. He started showing me how to taxi and I was soon convinced that something was wrong with the plane as it wouldn't go in a straight line. He gruffly told me that I didn't have to S-turn it, it wasn't a Pitts! The Decathlon is a tandem plane, so I was in the front, with him sitting behind me, so he couldn't see my facial expressions! I'm pretty sure that was a good thing. He sure wasn't my favorite person.
I knew that getting your tailwheel endorsement usually takes between 5 and 10 hours. After the first hour of him pecking me in the back of the head (really!), and asking if I'd left my right foot at home, I was sure I'd never make it. I swore he told me to come over the fence at 60 and I was having to add power on every approach and bouncing down the runway. He finally snapped and said he had told me to hold 70-80 over the fence. If I would listen I wouldn't have so much trouble landing. I was ticked off. He had told me 60 and then changed it on me, but I again kept my mouth shut and found I could suddenly land the plane smoothly.
Despite not liking him, I kept showing up for lessons. I made it through three lessons of one hour each and on the fourth day we took off and made a few passes through the pattern. We didn't have much fuel, so it would be a short lesson of only touch-n-goes. After a few circuits, he told me to land and get fuel, so I pulled up the pumps and filled it to the standard halfway point we kept it at. I was ready to go, but he just stood there. He told me to go fly... I had 3.5 hours of training and he cut me free. He said I was ready. I couldn't have been more scared or excited at that moment. As I flew by and looked down at him, I realized our relationship had just changed.
Chuck was the same age as my Grandfather. I was amazed at his flying skills. He'd spent most of his life in a plane. He was one of those instructors you really learn from and rarely find.
Chuck and I became closer and closer over the next few years and he only occasionally grumbled at me. He had emphysema and though he still had his medical (he couldn't teach primary students), he usually didn't feel like pulling the plane out or fueling it. I would go get it ready for him. I would pull the plane out and go hang out in the terminal. He would go fly and I would be at the hangar when he got back to put it away. He was embarrassed that he couldn't do this himself, so often we never spoke a word.
One time after a rough biennial where he again criticized my skills with a chart, he said something that I'll never forget. He said I was a great stick-and-rudder pilot. He couldn't find anything to correct me on when flying. I could work on my navigation skills, but I was a natural when it came to flying. From him, this meant the world to me.
Once he let a guy borrow his plane to go get something from another airport. When the guy landed, he started bouncing and ended up blowing out the tailwheel. Chuck called me and asked if I would go get his plane. The pilot who blew it out would take me to it in his Bonanza. He said he couldn't breathe and trusted me to take care of it. I went to his hanger, picked up the spare tailwheel and we were off. Again, this was a huge compliment to me.
I flew that plane for many years. I did learn aerobatics in it and I was proud to fly it anywhere. Even though it was a 1973, it was in perfect shape. I flew over 330 hours in it and loved every minute.
One time he moved the plane from one school to another. I went to the new school to pick up the books and go fly. The guy behind the desk told me I had to get checked out in it before I could rent it. I laughed and told him I had hundreds of hours in it. He said he didn't care how many hours I had, I had to get checked out first. I thought maybe he didn't understand me, so I told him I meant I had hundreds of hours in this exact airplane. He got mad and told me I was going to get a checkout in it or not fly it, my choice. Out of the corner of my eye I saw movement and stepped out of the way as Chuck came flying out of his office (I didn't even know he was there.) He told the guy I could fly any blankety blank airplane they had and to never talk to me like that again. As the guy sheepishly handed me the books, I felt a little sorry for him!
One day Chuck called me to tell me he had to sell the plane. My heart sank. I couldn't afford it. His health was declining and if something happened to him, he didn't want his wife to be stuck with it when he was gone. I still miss that plane, N36013.
On April 10th of 2009, I lost my Grandfather. I was very close to him and I was out of town for awhile. I was completely out of touch as I tried to make sense of his loss. When I got home, I found out that Chuck died on the same day. For all of the many students he shared his passion of aviation with, for all of the the lives he touched, I couldn't believe how simple his obituary was: WHITE, Charles Edmond, 80, retired aviator and instructor, of Austin died April 10. Survived by wife Patricia. No services planned.
Chuck, I miss you buddy. Thank you for all you taught me. I still hear your words of wisdom when flying. Sometimes I still feel your finger tapping the back of my head! You taught me skills that have no doubt saved my life a few times. I will never forget you. Happy flying up there where the winds are always calm, there are no thermals, and you can take a deep breath of that sweet air. I wish every pilot could have a mentor like you.
I grew up flying, taking my first flight with my Uncle at 3 weeks old (much to my Mother's chagrin!!). As a kid, I loved everything from opening the hangar doors, pulling the plane out, the smell of Avgas, hearing the gyros wind down after we were done, I loved it all. I would be so excited when it was time to go fly, and would cry when told the plane was down for maintenance or the weather was bad. Even as a child, flying would remove everything else from my mind. There was nothing to worry about except enjoying the flight.
When I was old enough, I started taking lessons and would show up at the airport almost every day to fly. Within a year of having my license, I had taken all of my friends up. For most of them, it was their first flight. I still love giving those first rides to this day!
After a while, I got bored with flying the ragged old 172s the local school had to rent. I didn't have the budget to really go anywhere, so the longest journey I took was about 100 miles away to an airshow with some friends.
One day, I went for a ride with my instructor and as we were putting the plane away, I saw it. A beautiful Decathlon taxiied by with it's nose in the air. It seemed to be saying it was better than the 152s and Tomahawks being abused by students that day and I couldn't have agreed more. I mentioned to my instructor that I wanted to fly that plane. The words he would say next couldn't have been any worse... "That's Chuck's plane."
Chuck White was a very well known instructor at the airport. I had the chance to meet him a few times and it was never pleasant. He was the chief instructor and gave me my second stage check.
Now by the time you get to this stage check, you pretty much know how to fly a plane. I was the best pilot that ever set foot in a 172. Well, at least I was until Chuck stepped into it! By the end of the flight, I didn't like Chuck and was pretty sure I would never fly again. He didn't like anything I did. He picked on my rudder usage, my navigation skills, my ability to use a chart... well, you name it and I was bad at it. I was devastated. At that moment I really thought I should just walk away and find a new hobby. Over the next few weeks, my instructor convinced me to get back in the plane and started rebuilding my confidence. Once again I was worthy of wearing the scarf and goggles. Soon enough I had my license and was off to new adventures.
So now, back to my great desire to fly that Decathlon. I wanted it more than anything I've ever wanted. All I needed was my tailwheel endorsement and then Chuck would rent it out to me. Of course he was the only one who could check me out in it. I had to suck up my pride and go talk to him. He told me he kept current parachutes in it and with a little training I could fly aerobatics! There was no turning back now, he had me.
I showed up for my first lesson and sure enough, there was the Grinch waiting for me. He was as grumpy as ever, but not only was I taught to respect my elders, he had the keys to my new style of flying, so I had no choice but to tolerate him. He started showing me how to taxi and I was soon convinced that something was wrong with the plane as it wouldn't go in a straight line. He gruffly told me that I didn't have to S-turn it, it wasn't a Pitts! The Decathlon is a tandem plane, so I was in the front, with him sitting behind me, so he couldn't see my facial expressions! I'm pretty sure that was a good thing. He sure wasn't my favorite person.
I knew that getting your tailwheel endorsement usually takes between 5 and 10 hours. After the first hour of him pecking me in the back of the head (really!), and asking if I'd left my right foot at home, I was sure I'd never make it. I swore he told me to come over the fence at 60 and I was having to add power on every approach and bouncing down the runway. He finally snapped and said he had told me to hold 70-80 over the fence. If I would listen I wouldn't have so much trouble landing. I was ticked off. He had told me 60 and then changed it on me, but I again kept my mouth shut and found I could suddenly land the plane smoothly.
Despite not liking him, I kept showing up for lessons. I made it through three lessons of one hour each and on the fourth day we took off and made a few passes through the pattern. We didn't have much fuel, so it would be a short lesson of only touch-n-goes. After a few circuits, he told me to land and get fuel, so I pulled up the pumps and filled it to the standard halfway point we kept it at. I was ready to go, but he just stood there. He told me to go fly... I had 3.5 hours of training and he cut me free. He said I was ready. I couldn't have been more scared or excited at that moment. As I flew by and looked down at him, I realized our relationship had just changed.
Chuck was the same age as my Grandfather. I was amazed at his flying skills. He'd spent most of his life in a plane. He was one of those instructors you really learn from and rarely find.
Chuck and I became closer and closer over the next few years and he only occasionally grumbled at me. He had emphysema and though he still had his medical (he couldn't teach primary students), he usually didn't feel like pulling the plane out or fueling it. I would go get it ready for him. I would pull the plane out and go hang out in the terminal. He would go fly and I would be at the hangar when he got back to put it away. He was embarrassed that he couldn't do this himself, so often we never spoke a word.
One time after a rough biennial where he again criticized my skills with a chart, he said something that I'll never forget. He said I was a great stick-and-rudder pilot. He couldn't find anything to correct me on when flying. I could work on my navigation skills, but I was a natural when it came to flying. From him, this meant the world to me.
Once he let a guy borrow his plane to go get something from another airport. When the guy landed, he started bouncing and ended up blowing out the tailwheel. Chuck called me and asked if I would go get his plane. The pilot who blew it out would take me to it in his Bonanza. He said he couldn't breathe and trusted me to take care of it. I went to his hanger, picked up the spare tailwheel and we were off. Again, this was a huge compliment to me.
I flew that plane for many years. I did learn aerobatics in it and I was proud to fly it anywhere. Even though it was a 1973, it was in perfect shape. I flew over 330 hours in it and loved every minute.
One time he moved the plane from one school to another. I went to the new school to pick up the books and go fly. The guy behind the desk told me I had to get checked out in it before I could rent it. I laughed and told him I had hundreds of hours in it. He said he didn't care how many hours I had, I had to get checked out first. I thought maybe he didn't understand me, so I told him I meant I had hundreds of hours in this exact airplane. He got mad and told me I was going to get a checkout in it or not fly it, my choice. Out of the corner of my eye I saw movement and stepped out of the way as Chuck came flying out of his office (I didn't even know he was there.) He told the guy I could fly any blankety blank airplane they had and to never talk to me like that again. As the guy sheepishly handed me the books, I felt a little sorry for him!
One day Chuck called me to tell me he had to sell the plane. My heart sank. I couldn't afford it. His health was declining and if something happened to him, he didn't want his wife to be stuck with it when he was gone. I still miss that plane, N36013.
On April 10th of 2009, I lost my Grandfather. I was very close to him and I was out of town for awhile. I was completely out of touch as I tried to make sense of his loss. When I got home, I found out that Chuck died on the same day. For all of the many students he shared his passion of aviation with, for all of the the lives he touched, I couldn't believe how simple his obituary was: WHITE, Charles Edmond, 80, retired aviator and instructor, of Austin died April 10. Survived by wife Patricia. No services planned.
Chuck, I miss you buddy. Thank you for all you taught me. I still hear your words of wisdom when flying. Sometimes I still feel your finger tapping the back of my head! You taught me skills that have no doubt saved my life a few times. I will never forget you. Happy flying up there where the winds are always calm, there are no thermals, and you can take a deep breath of that sweet air. I wish every pilot could have a mentor like you.
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