Learning to Fly at Age 70

Guest Blog by Don Dick

Note:  Don was a pilot friend of mine who passed away several years ago.  Not long before he died, he forwarded to me the text of a speech he gave in 1999.  He gave me permission to publish it in my blog.  I miss him, the many hours we spent flying airplanes together, and the lunches we had together from time to time.

(Presented at the annual dinner meeting of the Rochester Flying Club on April 24, 1999)

When it was mentioned to me that we didn't have a speaker for our meeting tonight, I enthusiastically volunteered because I'd like to shout from the mountain tops that flying is not just for adventuresome young bucks. Some of us older folk do very well, thank you, and it is never too late to start. I was 70 when I took my first lesson, earned my private pilot's license just about a year later, and since then have been having a ball spending my kids' inheritance.

There are many choices of new things to do when one retires. I worked at an Eastman Kodak division where the General Manager each month met with employees about to retire. He always asked each what he or she was going to do. I was present when one responded, "I have this cottage down on Conesus Lake. It has a dock going out into the water. I've got this rocking chair, and I'm going to put it out on the end of the dock and sit in it. Then, maybe after about 6 weeks, I'm going to start to rock." The alternative is to find something that is totally captivating and challenging, something that makes it exciting to get up every morning. In my view, flying is one of those passions.

One of the other wives here tonight asked my wife, "What is it with these pilots? All they think about is flying. All they talk about is flying. It's like a disease. They're like "druggies," having to get their flying fixes." She may be right. There might just be something unique in our genes. Most of us have always been fascinated with airplanes and finally made that dream of flying come true.

In my case my dad came very close to building a glider when I was very young, intending to sail it from a nearby hill. Mother prevailed, however, and he put family responsibilities ahead of his dream. A few years later (I was about 6) we were visiting in Houghton, Michigan when Dad saw a sign advertising Ford Tri-Motor airplane rides for $5.00. $5.00 was a lot of money in those days, but he couldn't resist, and my older brother and I joined our parents in our first ever flight in an aircraft. I still vividly remember the inside of that airplane, the inclined cabin floor (tail wheel, of course), wicker seats, and that large steering wheel type yoke just visible through the opening to the cockpit. What a thrill when the airplane lifted off and the ground fell away. The flight was all too short for me, even at 6.

From where we lived in northern Wisconsin it was about 10 miles to the nearest airport. Now it is IWD, just north of Ironwood, Michigan with a 6,501'x150' paved runway. Back then it was just a large grass field. Only one aircraft, a Piper Cub, occupied the hangar. Most of the other aircraft were transient, open cockpit bi-planes. Whenever one flew over my house in the general direction of the airport, I'd jump on my bike, pedaling the 10 miles each way, hoping it would still be there. Usually it would not.

One of my dad's younger brothers was the first in our family to learn to fly. When I was about 10 we vacationed in Ann Arbor, Michigan where this uncle lived. He was taking flying lessons but had not yet received his pilot's license. However, he arranged with his instructor to take me up for a half-hour lesson in a Piper Cub. After a very cursory briefing about the stick and rudder pedals, what not to touch, and what hand signals he would use, I climbed into the back seat and we were off. It really wasn't much of a lesson, but he did let me move the stick and rudder pedals enough so I could later brag to my envious friends that I had actually flown an airplane.

When I was a senior in high school, our math and physics teacher volunteered to mentor an Aeronautics Club. About a dozen of us joined, including 2 girls as I recall, which surprised me that this interest was not just a guy thing. Our activities mostly dealt with the theory of flight although we did take an airport field trip near the end of the year, but the club helped keep my interest in flying alive.

During WWII, I was fortunate to attend the U.S. Naval Academy in Annapolis, Maryland where summer of the second year included an aviation program at the Navy seaplane base across the Severn River. Again, it was mostly theory, but I did have two flights in a Navy OS2U, an observation/scout aircraft normally catapulted from the stern of battleships and cruisers. It had two open cockpits and a single large pontoon under the fuselage. The first flight, with me in the back as a passenger, was rather docile, consisting mainly of water take-offs and landings and water taxiing. However, in the second flight, the pilot climbed considerably higher and purposely stalled that sucker, kicking over the rudder putting it in a spin. I literally grabbed the edge of the cockpit opening and hung on for dear life. Up to that point I knew I wanted a flying career in the Navy. Right after that, I wasn't so sure. Even now I wonder how he recovered from the spin with that heavy float underneath swinging like a pendulum.

A short while later I had a ride in a Navy PBY amphibian patrol aircraft from Annapolis to the Naval Air Station at Chincoteague, Virginia. That convinced me that I really did want a Navy flying career and I submitted a formal request for flight training at Pensacola. At that time, though, there was about a 2-year waiting period, which time I spent as a line officer on an aircraft carrier operating out of Newport, Rhode Island. That was at the end of WWII, and the good mechanics were leaving the Navy in droves, resulting in numerous maintenance problems and an increased accident rate. Also during that interim, I married the girl of my dreams and even though the fire was still burning to fly, decided (like my dad) that my priorities should put a stable home and family first, and I left the Navy for a career at Eastman Kodak.

Now, fast forward through 6 children, teeth straightening, college education expenses, etc. to about 1994 when the kids had all left the nest. Our number 1 son, a dentist, started taking flying lessons at Ledgedale Air Park (Brockport, New York). The flying genes must have been passed along. He kept me informed of his progress, let me view his King videos, and unintentionally rekindled my passion, except that after having had open heart by-pass surgery, my new goal was just to be somewhat helpful in the right seat. I even bought myself an E6B calculator. He earned his private ticket just prior to my 70th birthday and said, "Dad, where would you like to go?" That was easy as I had long before planned a dream trip. We flew in a Cessna 150 from Ledgedale south to the Geneseo VOR, then east across the Finger Lakes (Conesus, Hemlock, Canadice, Honeoye, Canandaigua, Keuka, Seneca, Cayuga, and Owasko), landing at Skaneateles. Then we took off, heading north to Lake Ontario near Sodus Bay and followed the lake back to Rochester and Ledgedale. What a great ride! And what gorgeous countryside we are blessed with to fly over in this area. I was hooked.

On my 70th birthday the entire family assembled in my honor and presented me with a pot of money, suggesting that I splurge and spend it on something I wouldn't normally consider buying. That was the easiest decision of my life. I turned the money over to my son's instructor at Ledgedale and said, "Bob, I'd like to take flying lessons until this money runs out. Then I will stop. I don't expect to learn to fly, but I would like to sample of as much as possible of the training my son has gone through." He was agreeable, and that is exactly what we did for 6 lessons. I was flabbergasted at the first lesson, when after walking me through the preflight, he insisted that I sit in the left seat. From that point on we did just about every requirement, including stalls, at least once. He even had me taking off and trying to land the airplane. The last landing he said I did all by myself, but I'm suspicious that he may have helped a little bit.

After that I continued to fly right seat with my son, but as those occasions became less frequent, I realized I just had to get my "fix" on a more regular basis. So I called the instructor and found him agreeable to going up with me once a month. Even that wasn't enough, so we made it about every 2 weeks. By that time I was getting serious, passed the written, and somehow managed to get Oklahoma City to issue me a special 3rd class medical. Unfortunately, Ledgedale discontinued flight training and I had to switch to Cardinal Aviation at the Rochester airport, but flying Beech Skippers out of Class C airspace turned out to be a big plus in my training. I earned my private pilot license shortly after my 71st birthday, joined the Rochester Flying Club, and have since tried to fly at least once a week.

I often think of that retiree sitting out on the dock waiting to start rocking, and other acquaintances who are mainly glued to the boob tube most of every day. Some people play bridge, do crossword puzzles, read, or whatever, to keep mentally active. To me nothing beats flying for the motivation to keep studying and learning. It is a continual and exciting process which really keeps those brain cells jumping.

As demanding as flying is, it's not beyond what an older adult can do. In fact most of the normal limitations of aging are easily accommodated. For example:

* Flying is usually not physically demanding, except perhaps when I am alone and have to push the aircraft back into the tie-down spot. Thankfully, it has wheels and rolls pretty easily on a flat paved surface.

* As a retired person I have a lot more discretionary time for flying. If ceilings are a little low today, I'll fly tomorrow, or whenever. I can even afford to be generous and not fly evenings or weekends so the working club members can use the airplanes during those popular times. It also allows me to take on more flying club responsibilities. (My wife says I have to go to the airport nearly every day to powder the airplanes' noses.)

* Eyesight usually deteriorates with age but has not adversely affected my flying. My trifocals are perfect: upper lens for looking out the windows, middle lens for viewing the instruments, and lower lens for reading the charts. Made to order!

* I do have a minor hearing loss, but no problem. I just turn up the volume on the radios, intercom and headset.

* Of course there is always the concern that I may lose my medical, but that won't mean I can't fly. One can always go up with a CFI.

I will admit to one age-related problem, however, for which I haven't yet found a good work-around. My urologist tells me I have a tired, 70+ year-old bladder and an enlarged prostate that even surgery didn't completely fix. But looking on the bright side, I have a built-in timer and never have to worry about running out of fuel when flying. Also, when I have to get up in the middle of the night and have trouble getting back to sleep, I do better than counting sheep. I say the phonetic alphabet forwards and then backwards. After that comes the Morse code, alphabet and numerals (dit dah, dah dit dit dit, dah dit dah dit, dah dit dit, etc.). Did you know that we have 13 visual checkpoints around Rochester? I mentally recite these in order, clockwise from Webster around to Hilton. And can you recite the names of the 11 Finger Lakes from west to east (Conesus to Otisco)? If still awake I review FAA requirements for cloud clearance, transponder use, emergency procedures, etc. Somewhere in this litany I'll drop off to sleep.

There are friends who question my sanity, and some ask, "Aren't you afraid up there, especially with all those big airliners flying around?" My stock answer is that I'm not afraid until after the airplane is tied down and I get in the car and try to merge into the Scottsville Road traffic flow. It's even scarier trying to get on the I-390 expressway, competing with all those zooming zombie auto drivers.

I'd like to close with a favorite story. Back in the days of the 4-engine, piston-driven airliners like the Constellation, this guy (we'll call him Herman) came on board and sat next to a seat partner. Everything went well during the first part of the flight. Then the pilot came on the intercom. "We've just lost our outboard starboard engine. It's o.k. though. This airplane flies perfectly well on 3 engines, but it will take us an extra half hour to get to our destination." A little later the pilot made another announcement. "More bad news. We've just lost our outboard port engine. But don't worry. The airplane can fly on two engines but it will add another half hour to our trip." A short while later there was a third announcement by the pilot. "Sorry to have to tell you this. We just lost the inboard starboard engine, which means that our arrival will be delayed a bit more." At that point Herman turned to his seat partner and said, "I sure hope we don't lose our 4th engine - or we'll be up here FOREVER."

Being up there forever is an interesting thought. While none of us will be able to continue to fly forever, the potential is there for continued enjoyment and fulfillment well into our final "golden" years. I offer myself as evidence of that premise.