Day 142 - Countin' On A Miracle

Since I named my last post after a song by Bruce Springsteen (whom happens to be nearly tied for the honor of my favorite singer, running an extremely close second to Elvis Presley), I think I’ll continue that by naming tonight’s after another one that also adequately illustrates what’s going on today. After nearly six weeks of anticipation, agony, and teeth-gnashing, my recheck for the flight that I failed is tomorrow at 9 a.m. And, lucky me, I get to go fly with the same examiner that busted me last time. I have to fly the same approach that got me last time, and since this one is for all the marbles, I basically have to pass or that’s all she wrote. Needless to say, I’m countin' on a miracle.
I spent much of the day talking to Glenn, who was kind enough to go over the approach with me (even he was a bit lost, admitting that in more than four decades of professional aviation he’s never even shot one), and take me down memory lane from his days as a 747 Captain. A little inspiration never hurts, and neither does insight from an obviously experienced pilot. Glenn says that I’m going to be “fine” tomorrow, and I really hope he’s right. Everyone I’ve talked to says that for the DPE to fail me on this approach is a really low blow, but that doesn’t alleviate his right to do so. The fact of the matter is that I should be able to fly the approach, no matter how ignorant and antiquated it is or to what degree the examiner over-complicates it.

Me and Gordo

And in other news, I had a tremendously moving experience yesterday that I’ll share with you fine folks tonight. As we have previously discussed ad nauseum, I’ve wanted to be an airline pilot for literally as long as I can remember, deciding at a very early age that I wanted to be a FedEx pilot. As I recall I was about eight years young when I made the earth-shattering proclamation. I'll never forget standing at the approach end of Memphis International's runway 27, watching the endless stream of widebodies scream mere feet over my head, deciding then and there that I deserved a purple tail. One day, I thought, that will be me. That dream never faded. As such, whereas most young boys had NFL stars and baseball players for heroes, my heroes wore blue ties and had four-striped Captain’s epaulets on their shoulders. Their's drove racecars, mine flew DC-10s. It worked out nicely.
That admiration has not faded over the years; if anything it has grown now having a true realization and appreciation of that all that accomplishment requires. So needless to say, when the Boss returned from a FedEx trip yesterday, still wearing the coveted uniform, the skies parted and the angels sang. One day, that will be me. What really amazes me is that despite the fact that he is an amazingly successful aviator, he is just one of the guys. He is the nicest, most unpretentious person you will ever meet. He takes outstanding care of me, more-so than he has to, and has become my mentor. I have the deepest respect and admiration for the guy; as much as I've ever had for anyone. His presence has been invaluable to me, and truly given me a reason to believe over the last few months.
The Boss (Joey is his name, better known as "Gordo"), his assistant (Misty), and I (Joey is my name, better known as "Lloyd") were having a conversation yesterday when he was called away on family business. I call Misty his assistant because I really don’t know what her title is, but she handles the operation of Gordo’s non-aviation business ventures on a daily basis and has the opportunity to spend a lot of time with him as a result. Following his departure, Misty and I were discussing the general state of things, as people are apt to do. We discussed my career ambitions, my love for commercial aviation and FedEx, as well as the great things that Gordo has done for me. The conversation moved to the immediate future, specifically my departure, as she was previously unaware that the school had pulled out and that I was being forced to leave.

“Leave?!?” She asked. “But you can’t leave!”
“I know. I don’t want to. I love it here, and I really enjoy working for Gordo.”
“You know he loves you, right?”
Her question elicited a response of laughter from me, but the look on her face was deadly serious. She interrupted me mid-chuckle.
“No, you don’t understand, Lloyd,” she began, her eyes locked on mine. “He talks about you… a lot. I don’t know if he sees himself in you or what, but he doesn’t talk about any of the other guys the way he talks about you, or nearly as often. He mentions them from time to time, but we’ve never had a single conversation where your name didn’t come up. Ever. He loves his two daughters dearly, but I think he sees you as sorta like the son he never had. He knows about all the work you do around here, and he knows how much you care. He believes in you. I don’t know what he’s gonna do without you. He thinks you hung the moon.”
The room was silent. I felt my throat swelling a bit. To have such tremendous approval from someone whom I so deeply admire had left me completely stunned. After a few seconds, I was finally able to force out some semi-intelligible sound. My voice cracked as I managed a single-word response. “Wow.”
“Yeah. Listen, if he says it’s gonna be alright, then trust me it’s gonna be alright. I know you’re having a tough time right now with all this, and it really upsets him to see you get treated this way. But if you can get through it, he’s told me that you are going to be taken care of.”
The Boss had already told me that he would gladly sponsor me at FedEx when the time came, years down the road, to apply for a job there, but I had no idea that he believed in me so much. I was moved literally almost to the point of tears. You can pass all the checkrides you want and have all the alphabet soup you want behind your name, but when Superman stamps you with the seal of approval, then suddenly the other issues seem to shrink considerably. It felt great.

Well folks, bedtime. The return flight from my checkride tomorrow will be my last flight into this airport; at least in one of the company’s aircraft. I’m sure that will be a sad experience for me regardless, but the results of my checkride will greatly determine how exactly I fly the final landing. If I fail, it’ll be a non-descript, low-key arrival. I'll taxi to the ramp and try to figure out where to go next. Passing the ride, on the other hand, will obviously be cause for celebration, and worthy of one last radio call of “geeeeeeeeeear stop!” A requisite pass down the runway will be in order also. I’ll let y’all know which one happens.


Wish me luck!

Joey