Tag Archives: children

An Example

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I sit on a flight from Phoenix to Newark next to an example of what’s wrong in this country.

I should have seen it coming. She was too young, too stylish. Her boyfriend had too firm a grip around her waist as they waited for me to pull a few things from my bag before putting it in the overhead bin. The vacant stare, the bored look. She tolerated me only because she had no choice. She wasn’t impatient; just disapproving.

As I now am of her.

She’s been sitting in the seat next to mine for more than three hours now. Not a word to me. How could she? She spent the first 40 minutes of our time on board — time waiting on the ramp to be cleared for takeoff — “sucking face” with her boyfriend and impulsively grabbing for the celebrity magazines she’d brought on board with her. She knows more about fashion than I ever will, but what else does she know? And what else will she know when her mind is so caught up in crap?

Funny, but I was getting to the point where I thought my harsh criticism of today’s youth was just a little too harsh and perhaps a bit misinformed. After all, how many young people do I really know? And are the young people I see really representative of all of America’s youth?

But after studying this prime example beside me, I’m now sure that I’m on the right track. Although I pray that this specimen is an exception rather than the rule, I doubt it.

And no, I don’t have to worry about her reading this over my shoulder. I don’t think her reading skills can stand up to any task more strenuous than reading the caption under a photo of Paris Hilton.

Giving Thanks…

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…and asking questions.

This Thanksgiving season, as I prepare to fly back east to spend the holiday with family members in their comfortable homes, I can’t help but think about the thousands of people left homeless by Hurricanes Katrina and Rita.

I can’t imagine what it must be like to have my home and virtually all my possessions taken away by a natural disaster. I can’t imagine what it must be like to wonder where I’ll be living next week, month, or year. What I’ll be doing for a living. How my kids will go to school. Whether I’ll ever have the same level of comfort — even if that comfort level was low by many standards — as I used to.

We drop canned goods into collection boxes and write checks to aid organizations. Some of us even participate in holiday meals at homeless shelters. But do any of us really think about the people we believe we’re helping? How far do you think a few cans of tomatoes and a couple of pairs of jeans that no longer fit you will go to help the people who lost everything?

Thinking about the Katrina victims, formerly of New Orleans, is hardest for me. The levees broke and the pumps failed partially because they were in serious need of maintenance. Maintenance they couldn’t get because of budget cuts and confusion over who would pay. But where did that money go? What government-funded project got the cash that should have gone to the levees and pumps? A new war monument? A parking lot? Mardi Gras clean-up?

And what of the money that should be funding FEMA in this terrible time of need? Oh yes, I know where that’s going. It costs a lot of money to fund a war. I guess our government believes it’s more important to shove democracy down the throats of the Iraqis than to ensure the safety, welfare, and well-being of our own citizens at home.

So as you’re eating your Thanksgiving turkey this year, stuffing yourself with stuffing and gorging yourself with gravy, take a moment to think about the thousands in need in this country.

And give thanks that you’re not one of them.

131 Passengers

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Maria Speaks Episode 16: 131 Passengers.

This episode is straight from my blog, Maria’s WebLog. It discusses how I spent the last weekend in October. It wasn’t a typical weekend.

Transcript:

It all started during a conversation with Tom at Gold Coast Helicopters in Glendale about 10 days ago. He mentioned that they were going to be giving helicopter rides at the Thunderbird Balloon and Air Classic. That’s a huge annual event that includes balloons, warbirds, aerobatics, rides for the kids, and all kind of vendors. The event usually draws over 100,000 people and it lasts from Friday afternoon through Sunday afternoon.

“You flying the JetRanger?” I asked.

“No, just the R22.”

An R22, as you may know, is a 2-place helicopter. I owned one for about four years. It’s a great little helicopter, but it has one big drawback: it can only accommodate one passenger. That’s the main reason I sold mine and bought an R44, which can accommodate three passengers.

“You’re going to lose a lot of business to couples and families who want to ride together,” I warned, knowing this firsthand. It was a frustration I used to deal with regularly.

What followed was me suggesting that I bring my R44 down and fly with them to take groups of 2 or 3 passengers. I had already tentatively planned to spend Saturday of that weekend in Congress, doing rides at the Trading Post there. But that was tentative and could be easily changed. Tom and I talked money and decided on a reasonable number. Then he told me he’d ask Bill (the owner) and get back to me.

He called the next day. I was up at Howard Mesa, waiting for the gas guys to arrive, and my cell phone battery was getting low. So we kept it short. Bill had said yes. I should come down and meet with them Thursday before the show.

I flew down to Glendale on Thursday and met Tom face to face for the first time. He let me fly their R22 to the other side of the ramp to reposition it — the first time I was at the controls of an R22 in nearly a year. (I didn’t embarrass myself.) We talked business. We talked people in the business. We knew a lot of the same people and a lot of the same stories that went with them.

He told me to come back on Friday for a meeting at 1 PM. The air show was starting that afternoon. I should tell the controller I was with the show. Otherwise, he probably wouldn’t let me land on the ramp.

I was back the next day with my banners and signs and scale. I wasn’t sure what the GC guys had, so I brought along some of my gear. I had two yellow banners that said “Helicopter Rides” in big letters and some plastic signs that said “Helicopter Rides Today.” I also had my original A-frame sign that said “Helicopter Rides” with an arrow on both sides. I didn’t bring the flags.

I didn’t need the flags. GC had an excellent location for selling tickets. Their JetRanger and their other R22 was parked right in front of the terminal on the ramp. They had an EZ-Up set up between them with a table. My yellow banners decorated two sides of the EZ-UP and my A-frame sign went out in the aisle between booths, pointing in. It was a nice setup.

The airport was packed with other static displays of aircraft, as well as booths for food, aviation-related items, and a few simple rides for the kids. On the north end of the ramp was a parking area for the warbirds that would be participating in the air show. Beyond that was a ramp where 2 F-16s waited for their turn to fly.

There was some confusion, at first, over where we would base the helicopters. The place we thought we’d use was inside “the box” — the area set aside for aerobatics use. But we hopped in Tom’s car and drove around the airport, looking for another place. We found four. The best of the possibilities was right next to the F-16s. We went back and asked all the necessary people — five of them, I think — if it was okay to operate there. Then we talked to the Air Boss, who would be running the show while the airport was closed to traffic, and told him what we’d do. He assigned us call signs of Ride-Hopper-One (me) and Ride-Hopper-Two (the R22) and told us all he wanted to know was when we were departing and when we were returning. “Otherwise, I don’t want to hear anything from you.”

F-16sWe had no problem with that. I repositioned my helicopter to the north end of the ramp and set it down beside the two F-16s.

Heritage FlightThe airport closed at 3 PM and the Air Boss took over. A bunch of the performers took turns practicing their routines. It was mostly aerobatic stuff. The kind of flying that makes you wonder why people think helicopter pilots are crazy. These guys, purposely inverting their aircraft and letting it go out of control in tumbling dives are the ones who are crazy. But it was pretty cool to watch, as long as you didn’t try to think yourself into the cockpit. There was also a bunch of tight formation flying, including a flight with the F-16 and two other fighters: the Heritage Flight. (Not a bad shot with my new camera, huh?)

The gates opened to the public at 4 PM.

I did two flights that afternoon with 2 passengers each. The route was about 12 miles round trip. I’d take off from the ramp and follow the power lines between the Glendale and Luke airspaces. Then I’d either go northwest along Grand Avenue to Bell Road or continue north toward Sun City (which is laid out in a bunch of circles that look pretty cool from the air). Then I’d loop around to the right or left and come back pretty much the same way I’d left. The ride ranged from 8 to 12 minutes. GC helicopters was selling them for $45 per person, which I thought was a little high. (I was eventually proved wrong.)

We did rides while the air show was going on. Since we never crossed into the performance area, there was no danger. It was really weird to see a performer’s smoke trail on the return flight to the airport. We also did rides during the brief period when they reopened the airport to regular traffic. One time, on the second day, the Spitfire, which had to make a right traffic pattern during performances, flew over us. My passengers loved it. Late that afternoon, the GC guys brought their R22 over and I think they did a bunch of rides, too.

Balloon GlowThen the sun set and the balloon pilots started setting up for the big evening event: the desert glow. By 6:30, 19 balloons were floating right over the taxiway, using their burners to light up the night. The ramp was open to the public and thousands of people were wandering around right beneath the massive envelopes. It was magic.

I flew home in the dark, disappointed by the amount of work I’d done. Four passengers was not enough to even cover my transportation costs.

The next day — Saturday, October 29 — was distinctly different. Mike and I blew out of Wickenburg at 5:30 AM to arrive at the airport by 6 AM. It was dark in Wickenburg — especially dark since a power outage had affected the airport and none of the lights there worked. But I took off into the dark and soon saw the glow of Phoenix ahead. At 6 AM, I was three miles outside of Glendale. I made a radio call, which was answered by airport management. They told me the airport was closed. I told them I was part of the show. They told me to use caution when I landed.

I set down between the R22 and 2 F-16s again. The rent-a-cop the Air Force had hired to watch their birds overnight was standing exactly where he’d been the night before.

The balloons were already inflating for their morning flights. This was when the balloon owners actually made money — they sold hour-long rides as part of the show. Mike and I had taken a balloon ride back in New Jersey at an event like this years ago. It was expensive but something everyone should experience at least once.

Balloon ClassicI started flying at 7 AM, when the balloons were just lifting off. They drifted to the west-northwest, toward Luke Air Force Base. My pattern was a bit more north, so although I flew between a few of them, most of them were to my south. The view on the return part of our loop was incredible — dozens of balloons hanging in the early morning sky.

I flew on and off throughout the morning. The R22 did, too. Then somewhere around the middle of the day, things got busy. I flew nonstop for several hours, taking a break for fuel and another break when the F-16s flew. (For some reason, they didn’t want us in the air while the F-16 were flying.) Just after sunset, after finishing my last ride for the day, I consulted the tiny notebook where I’d been ticking off the passengers. 84 passengers. Wow.

I had a little excitement just after that last ride. The show had included a pair of rocket powered cars that sped down the runway, drag-strip style. I was still in the helicopter, listening to the radio, when someone told the Air Boss that one of the rocket cars had gone off the runway. The Air Boss acknowledged his words, but said nothing else. The other guy came back and said, “Well, can’t you send someone down there to make sure he’s alright?”

“I have no one to send,” the Air Boss replied.

“Ride-Hopper-One is spinning with no passengers,” I said. “Do you want me to go down and take a look?”

“Could you do that?” the Air Boss replied.

“Will do.”

I took off and sped down the taxiway while thousands of spectators watched me. It was dark and my navigation lights and landing lights were on. I probably looked like a blur of lights to them. I got down to the end of the runway around the same time as a pickup truck. The rocket car was pointed on an angle to the extended centerline, about 100 feet past the end of the runway. It was upright. Someone who looked like he could have been the driver was walking around. I reported all this to the Air Boss, along with the information that the pickup truck was there to help.

“We’re sending a fire truck down there,” the Air Boss said over the radio.

I started back along the runway. “The car is upright and there’s no smoke or flames,” I added.

I came back to my parking space on the ramp, set down, and shut down.

Mike and I watched the balloon glow together, walking among the balloons. It was still going on when we climbed back into Zero-Mike-Lima and went home. The next day, we arrived at the airport at 7 AM. Some of the balloons were already lifting off. The day got off to a slow start for us. But by 11 AM, we were cranking. I flew nonstop for several hours, then sent in the word that I was getting seriously tired and that they should stop selling tickets. By the time I finished at about 2 PM, I’d flown another 43 passengers.

I should say here that two things really amazed me. One was that folks thought nothing of spending $45 per person to take every member of the family for a ride. Mike thinks at least a dozen of the people I flew were kids under the age of 5. How many of those kids will remember the ride? A bunch of them were really excited and happy. One little red-headed boy had a smile bigger than the Cheshire Cat’s. I’m so accustomed to people balking at $30 or $32 per person for a flight that the idea of them lining up to spend $45 on multiple family members really surprised me.

The other thing that amazed me is how good kids are at buckling their seat belts. I don’t have kids and never had. I don’t spend much time at all with kids. But every once in a while, Mike would sit a kid in the front seat beside me for a flight. I’d tell him (they were mostly boys) to reach over and get his seat belt. He’d immediately locate the buckle (not just the strap), adjust it in the strap, and fasten it. Kids did this better than adults! I even watched one sharp 6-year-old untwist the belt before buckling it. Mike says it’s because kids that age are geniuses. They absorb everything they’re taught. I wish they could stay that way.

We managed to escape from Glendale right before one of the F-16s fired up for its part of the show. I called the Air Boss as I hovered into position for departure. “Ride-Hopper-One departing to the northwest.”

“Ride-Hopper-One, proceed as requested. This will probably be your last flight until the F-16 lands.”

“This is my last flight for the day,” I told him. “I’m going home. You guys have been great. Thanks.”

“My pleasure,” the Air Boss replied.

On my way back to Wickenburg, I pointed out the small herd of bison I’d spotted in a pasture less than a mile from Glendale Airport.

The Mohave County Fair

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We give Kingman residents and visitors helicopter rides.

I started planning for the Mohave County Fair at least a year ago. I exchanged phone calls and e-mails with the folks who handle the concessions for the fair, including Betty Watters and her son Phil Richardson. I flew up to Kingman in June to check out possible landing zones. That’s when I paid the fee for my “booth” in the north parking area. The dates September 15-18 went from pencil to ink on my calendar.

Mike and I went up to Kingman early Thursday morning. I flew, Mike drove. Mike brought our camper up there. It’s a 3-horse slant trailer with living quarters. I left about an hour after Mike and arrived at the fairgrounds the same time he did. I did a lap around Kingman, planning my route for rides, while Mike parked and secured my landing zone. Then I landed in a huge cloud of dust, cooled down the engine and shut down. We spent the next two hours setting up boundaries for the landing zone, putting up banners and signs, and doing housekeeping chores in the camper. The nice folks at the fairgrounds allowed us to park the camper at one end of the landing zone. On the other side of the fence were a few portable toilets (which we wouldn’t need) and the trailers and living quarters for the carnival folks. Beyond that were the carnival rides and attractions. And beyond that was the rest of the fair.

Photo

Mike made a trip to the local True Value hardware store to pick up a sprinkler and another hose. Phil had run his own hoses to the landing zone and we decided to use a sprinkler, which we’d move periodically throughout the day, to keep the landing zone damp. That would keep dust down. Mike also had to take a trip to town to fill the camper’s two gas bottles so we’d have refrigerator, hot water, and stove use. The camper also has a full bathroom with two holding tanks, so we could use our own clean toilet and shower daily.

We also had Jack the Dog and Alex the Bird with us. Jack had to stay on a leash. Alex stayed under the trailer’s awning in his cage. Neither of them were bothered by a helicopter taking off and landing about 150 feet away from them.

Betty had asked her neighbor, Tony, to give us a hand. Tony is on permanent disability after being hit by a truck years ago, but he was fully capable of helping us with the things we needed to do. He wound up working with us on Thursday and Friday and lending moral support on Saturday.

By 2 PM, we were ready to do rides. The only thing we needed were passengers. That was the problem. It was 2 PM on a weekday. Kids were in school, parents were at work. No one was interested in the carnival or our rides.

The ride took off from the north parking area. I had to make a crosswind departure, since heading into the wind would have taken me right over the carnival rides. From there, we flew up the east side of Centennial Park, north of Wal-Mart, just north of the I-40 pass through the mountains, down to the Beale Street exit on I-40, along the south side of Andy Devine Boulevard, across Hualapai Mountain Road, and up the east side of the fairgrounds. I made a 1807deg; turn at a cell tower north of I-40, then came straight in to the landing zone, landing right into the wind. Total time was about 6-8 minutes.

I’d priced the rides at $25 per person including tax. This was before fuel prices went up, so it was a real bargain. My usual ride prices are $30 to $35 per person for an 8-10 minute flight, but the fair folks practically begged me to keep the price down. So I did, depending on the cheaper price to attract more passengers and shorter ride length to make it profitable.

We managed to give 11 rides on Thursday. Very disappointing. We went to the Dambar restaurant for a good dinner, though.

On Friday, things weren’t much different. I walked over to the nearby junior high school around 10 AM, suggesting that a few of the teachers might want to walk students over to see the helicopter and get one of my presentations on aerodynamics or how helicopters fly. The school was very interested, but Fridays are half days so classes are shorter. There wouldn’t be enough time for any of the classes to walk over and back and get the presentation.

Things picked up late Friday afternoon. We did 10 rides, most of which were after sunset. The moon was big and full and beautiful and the carnival rides looked great from the sky.

By that time, our two helpers, Alex and his college buddy Ryan, had come to help out. There wasn’t much for them to do. They pitched their tent behind our camper, uncomfortably close to those portable toilets on the other side of the fence. We ate carnival food for dinner and walked around the fair.

We were pretty disappointed at the turnout so far.

Saturday changed everything. Although I wasn’t supposed to start flying until 10 AM, my first passenger arrived at 9, before the fair even opened. Heck, I didn’t care. I gave him a ride. For the next two hours, I did a few rides. Then the dam burst (so to speak) and I had a nonstop flow of passengers. Mike, Alex, and Ryan loaded 2 or 3 people on board for each flight. The only time I shut down was to get fuel at the local airport 5 miles away (three times!) and to take a 20-minute lunch/bathroom break. I put 5.5 hours on the helicopter’s hobbs meter that day — quite a bit when you consider that the hobbs only ticks when I’m in flight so my time spinning on the ground didn’t count. I figure I took about 100 passengers for rides that day. Most of them were in a helicopter for their very first time. I gave all the kids who flew with me helicopter toys (while they lasted). One guy liked it so much he went up twice.

We celebrated with four steak dinners at the Dambar.

Sunday looked as if it might be a repeat of Saturday, but the flow of passengers was starting later. The wind was stronger than the previous few days and it was warmer, so taking off with a crosswind (rather than a headwind) when I was heavy was tough. I did about 20 rides before we decided to call it quits. It was 1:30 PM. We packed up, said goodbye, and got ready to go.

I stopped off at the carnival office to leave a card for the carnival owner. I’d had a good event and was interested in working with carnivals to do it more often.

Mike left with the camper and I took off with Alex and Ryan. We took the scenic route home: to Bullhead City and down the Colorado River to Parker, where we refueled (at $4.54 per gallon!). From there, we hooked up with the Bill Williams River, overflew Swansea and the Alamo Dam, and returned to Wickenburg.

We’ll go back to the Mohave County Fair next year. But we’ll just spend all day Saturday and Sunday. I’m already looking forward to it.

My thanks to Betty and Phil for all their help.

People Just Don’t Want to Work Hard

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I watch a documentary about the Kolb Brothers on PBS and realize something tragic.

KAET, Channel 8, is one of our local PBS television stations. Last night, it showed a 30-minute documentary about the Kolb Brothers.

Emery and Ellsworth Kolb made their name as Grand Canyon Photographers. They started their business in 1903 (or thereabouts) and it remained in business until 1978 (or thereabouts; I’m good with dates, but not perfect). The studio where they lived and worked on the Grand Canyon’s South Rim still stands. It’s a bookstore now, with a gallery downstairs where their old movie theater used to be.

Because of a shortage of water at the Rim, when the Kolbs were first starting out, they printed their photographs down at Indian Gardens, which had a year-round creek. It was a nine-mile hike down and back and the Kolbs did it almost every day.

They’d start out at the top of the Bright Angel Trail, where they’d take photos of the mule riders as they began the descent. Then they’d run back to their studio on the rim and create proofs, often using muddy water collected from puddles and ponds to wash them. Then they’d hurry down the trail, on foot, and catch up to the mule riders before Indian Gardens. At the gardens, they’d show the proofs to the riders. The riders would order prints, then continue to Plateau Point or the river by mule. The Kolbs would create finished prints at Indian Gardens, where they could wash them with clear water. Then they’d hurry back up to the rim and be there when the riders returned at the end of the day to finish the sale.

Having been into the Grand Canyon less than 2 months ago, the thought of doing that hike every day sends chills down my spine. Of course, the Kolbs were young and weren’t carrying around extra weight, like I am. I think if I started doing it (and didn’t die of heart failure soon after starting), I’d drop my extra weight, strengthen up my muscles, and feel pretty good after a few months.

The point, of course, is that these guys came up with a plan to succeed and they worked hard to make it happen. Harder than 98% of the U.S. population would be willing to work. And that’s a problem.

It seems to me that people are soft these days, more interested in how much money they can make with the minimum amount of work than how much work it would take to really succeed and get ahead.

I’m not talking about time here. People don’t seem to care about how much time they spend at work. In my old corporate America days, when I worked in Corporate Headquarters for Automatic Data Processing (ADP) as an auditor and later, financial analyst, I often saw people staying late in their cubicles, heads buried in documents that were likely just giving them something to focus on in case their bosses came by. The goal, of course, was to be seen by your boss at your desk after quitting time as often as possible. That supposedly showed how hard you worked. To me, it showed how little regard you had for your family or how little life you had outside the office. I didn’t play that game. I started at 8 and quit at 4 (to beat the traffic both ways) and got a lot of work done in between. No one ever bothered me about leaving so early — probably because I always had the coffee ready for them when they got in at 8:45 AM.

These days, promotions seemed based more on how long you’ve been on the job than how well you do that job. People are constantly looking for ways to minimize the amount of work they do. Few people ask to do more work than they’re given. Instead, they stretch that work out so it takes as long as possible. They look busy, but they’re taking their blessed time. After a while, they naturally slow down. Then they can’t keep up. And they complain.

I think being an employer here in Wickenburg woke me up a bit. As fuel manager, I had a staff of employees who spent the day sitting in the airport terminal, providing airport condition information on the radio, pumping fuel into the few airplanes that stopped by, and keeping the place neat and clean. The vast majority of the 8-hour day was spent sitting at a desk that looked out over the fuel pump area. On a windy or rainy or very hot day, no one would fly in. Otherwise, they could expect 10 to 20 planes a day, 25% of which might actually stop for a bathroom break or soda or fuel. Sometimes, people would drive in to chat or check the place out. So the employee chatted — that was part of the job, too. “Ambassador to Wickenburg,” was one of the phrases that was thrown around by the town. Whatever.

I’d created a checklist of things that had to be done every day. Things like check the fuel farm for leaks (a 5-minute walkaround), get the mail (2 minutes if you used the back door), fill the fridge with soda (5 minutes with 2 trips to the closet in the hallway), clean out the bathrooms (15 minutes; they were seldom used and seldom dirty), take morning and afternoon readings from the fuel pumps (5 minutes each trip), mop the floor (15 minutes) — you get the idea. There was about 2 hours of real work on that checklist and, on a really dead day, that would only take about an hour to do (bathrooms don’t get dirty, soda isn’t sold, etc.). Most of my employees did the job without complaining. After all, there really wasn’t much to do and they had 8 hours to get it done. But one or two of them just couldn’t do it without complaining and whining. Sometimes they’d skip things on the checklist and try to tell me that it had been too busy with aircraft fueling at quitting time to do it. Of course, they didn’t mention that they were too busy reading a book or talking on the phone the rest of the day.

One of these guys quit when I reminded him that he had to do everything on the checklist. He just quit with no notice. Sheesh. Did he think I was going to back down? He obviously didn’t know me very well.

It was employee problems that caused me to sell out my Airport fuel manager contract. I just couldn’t deal with the mentality of the one or two people who couldn’t be thankful for a job that paid them to sit on their butts most of the day, in a relatively comfortable place (heat and air conditioning at their command), chatting or reading or just watching the planes go by.

One of the guys tried getting his new boss to pay him more. A lot more. Like almost double what he was making, which was already too much. When the new boss refused, this guy quit. No notice. It really put the new boss in a bad spot, especially since he was already shorthanded and this guy worked 5 days a week. And the boss’s uncle had just died in Idaho and he needed to make a trip to the funeral. This employee obviously thought he’d get his way. But the new boss was a lot like me in one respect. He doesn’t back down. So the guy was unemployed for a long time and I heard he even filed bankruptcy. (He tried to tell the Airport Manager that I’d gotten him fired. Can you imagine that?)

The new boss wound up getting the guy who’d quit working for me to work for him. Recently, when he reminded that guy about his work responsibilities, he quit again. At least he gave two weeks notice this time.

It’s this kind of mentality that has me worried about the U.S. It isn’t just adults who think and act this way. It’s kids, too. In fact, I think the kids are worse. They spend more time and effort thinking about how little work they could do to get by rather than actually doing work that’ll help them get ahead.

I think of the Kolb brothers running up and down that trail. I can’t think of one person — myself included — who would do that kind of work to make a business succeed. Maybe that’s a problem.