Middle in case I forgot to click Submit for that part: Once, when Rachel was on the plane and babbling about the cool and crumby pilots she knew, I asked her to invite me over to share stories. She took me up on it. I was anxious to see this place to see if Rachel and Kate and the house lived up to the stories. Brought over a bottle of Scotch as a gift. Rachel had stuff to do so Kate and I had Scotch Sours in the basement bar for a couple hours. At 5, the ‘hostess’ appeared in a ….whatever you wear over pajamas ….to tell us dinner was on the table. Roast-ta-da-beef (if you speak Italian) and some sides. Had to wobble to the bathroom to make a quick stop before sitting down. Lifted the lid and there it was. Just like I was told. Rachel had printed, in large letters, a message all around the bottom of it: It’s nice to have a man around the house. Jack’s buddy and now my buddy. Good meal. Never invited back. Probably a message there.
Airline procedures today are different than they were then. For example, it seened important for the Captain and the company to know how much the plane weighed before taking off. You know. Today, it’s all automatic. Numbers, untouched by human hands. Back then, the Agent carried the final passenger count down to Dispatch. They already knew how much baggage was loaded on. In the summer, they counted each passenger and multiplied by 125 lbs. In the winter, according to some imaginary calendar, they upped this standard weight to 175 lbs. for coats and things like that. All very exacting. But nobody crashed. The final results were scribbled down and handed through the door as the Agent closed it. We used these ‘final’ figures to calculate our take off speeds and so on. Critical information. Can’t leave home without it sort of stuff.
That fall day we were on the ‘almost late’ side. The stairs were pulled away from the plane and the door closed. The ‘A’ stew gave us the count. Just before the tractor pushed us back, a mechanic came up to the copilot side of the plane with a long pole. On top of the pole, pushed in to a small sort of cone, were the ‘final numbers’…the critical stuff. Rolled up yellow sheet. Jack saw this and told Tony Keffer or whoever was the copilot of the day to motion the mechanic around to the Captain side. The man crouched around the nose wheel and held up the pole with the magic numbers for Jack. He opened the cockpit window and held the pole with his left hand. With his right hand, he lighted the Weight Manifest with his Zippo. Torched it. Then closed the window. Put the Zippo away to light his cigar later that day. You know…..I never actually saw him smoking one of those.
Then there were the times when we were sitting on the ground for forty-five minutes or so between legs with little to do. I remember, on occasion, when Jack would invite one of the fresh, new Flight Attendants to come on up to the cockpit to play a special game. It was called “Bombardier”. This was when Jack was on the 727 for a while. The stew sat on the chair behind the Captain’s chair. Jack turned around and sat on the pedestal, facing the stew. He showed her how to make two circles with her fingers and then put the two middle fingers together. He’d pull this arrangement down so he could look through the circles with his nose in the triangle made by the other fingers. As he leaned over, he told the girl that she was a Norden Bombsight…hallmark of WWII. Saved the war. Check out https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Norden_bombsight
“Okay honey,” (Jack had rough edges). . . . he said, “Make a noise like a bomber.” And he taught her how to do this. MMMMMMMMMM. “Louder!” MMMMMMMMM
“Okay. Here we are. Coming up on Berlin. Make more bomber noise!” MMMMMMMMMMMM
“Getting closer. Closer” MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM
