Gang,Here is another Capt Randy Sohn epistle. Put me in the cockpit....I could smell the leather, the sweat, the av gas. I also picked up some old speeds that I had forgotten as I only have fewer than 100 hours in DC-3's.
Hope you enjoy this one!
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AND THE RACE IS (WAS) ON
In the spring of 1960 when I was hired by North Central Airlines, flights 801 and 803 operated every day from Chicago-Midway to Yipsilanti-Willow Run Airport near Detroit. The two flights were scheduled to depart at the same time and, after first crossing Lake Michigan, served various towns between the two cities. Flight 801 first stopped at Kalamazoo, then flew on to Jackson and then proceeded to Willow Run. Flight 803's first stop was at South Bend, next was Battle Creek and then it departed for Willow Run.
In those DC-3 days the enroute stops were scheduled for three minutes at the gate. A normal stop consisted of taxiing onto the terminal ramp and then making a right turn to a stop. The left engine was shutdown in the turn just prior to the aircraft stopping. The airstair door was lowered by the stewardess (I know, I know! - now it's flight attendant but this was back in the early sixties, remember?) as soon as motion ceased. The passengers started to deplane and any small airfreight containers were quickly dug out of the forward baggage compartment, located immediately behind the cockpit, by the co-pilot. This freight would then either be passed through the "meat-chopper" door ahead of the left engine to a belt-loader placed there by the agent or, the agent would quickly run up the cabin aisle to get it and then return out the main door. The whole idea was to minimize ground time as much as possible since - looking back in my logbook - a day's flying for one crew could consist of as many as eighteen stops.
A ready-made competition existed between these two flights. With an identical number of stops and essentially the same distances the rivalry provided some measure of the crew's abilities and efficiencies. Everyone that I know of conformed to the unwritten rule that any equipment abuse such as higher than normal power settings or extreme non-line procedures prevented a fair evaluation of each crew's abilities. I don't recall anyone that I flew with resorting to such cheating; for one thing I'm sure it would have meant a loss of face in front of the other pilot sharing the cockpit. Headwork and planning thus became the factors of overriding importance enabling success in this game.
Bob Chirhart was one of the captains that the co-pilots universally sought to fly with, I know I held him in especially high regard. Bob was one of the pilots hired by North Central in the spring of 1956. This particular group had a rather daunting task in store; a group that was simultaneously faced with every newly hired pilot's dream and - at the same time - every newly hired pilot's nightmare. A sudden expansion later that year demanded that this group of pilots would have to be ready to pass their captain's training and checkride by the end of their first year's probation. All the demands implied by that situation were present. Operating the DC-3 in a local service environment over a northern U.S. route system required a high absorption of accumulated knowledge from a variety of airline experts and only the best would survive their probation.
The Dakotas presented constant cross wind challenges during landings and takeoffs. The in-flight icing of the Great Lakes region presented another unique set of challenges. Art Hinke, our grizzled and knowledgeable chief pilot, always maintained that "a new DC-3 captain will pick up more ice his first year than he will the rest of his career". This veteran pilot knew that the neophyte captain would become "street smart" as his airline career with DC-3s progressed. Omaha was known as "the center of nocturnal thunderstorms". This fearsome display wasn't limited to North Central, it certainly was well known to the Braniff, Ozark and other pilots whose respect it also captured. In the same vein, Frontier's route system placed some exceptional demands on their captains as regards challenging the "Continental Divide" with DC-3s. This environment demanded the highest standards of "crew resource management", long before that term developed into a modern buzzword. Any other pilot could readily cite their own examples if they were writing this, my use of Bob serves as one example of many who had to sink or swim. He is a sterling example, only twenty-three years old when he flew his first trip as captain.
Flight 801's captain that morning was also a seasoned veteran with many years of US Naval Aviation service, both active duty and reserve, beneath his belt. His aeronautical resume included a plethora of USN aircraft and he preferred to be addressed as "Skipper". This salutation always improved his facial countenance when being spoken to by his fellow cockpit occupant. I'd flown many trips with him and had become fairly conversant with his use of naval terms in the cockpit. It took only a few trips before I figured out that starboard and right both had more letters than port and left. After accruing that small bit of additional aeronautical education I knew just where to look when he'd bid me to "Keep a sharp eye out, matey!" Adaptability will always be one essential element of success in an airline cockpit - even after cockpit resource management began to be taught in ground school. So, we got along just fine when we flew together - "what do I care whether it's a DC-3 or a R4D - they look the same to me!" Come to think of it though, I don't believe I ever heard any former Air Corps or USAF pilot refer to it as a C-47.
At any rate, when Bob and I taxied out as flight 803 at Midway that morning we were joined on the concrete runup area by flight 801 and "Commander X". Bob didn't have to say anything, when he smiled I knew the race was on. Parked with our wingtip nearly overhanging the boundary fence on Chicago's historic Cicero Avenue near 55th street we completed our early morning runup. We took off nearly side by side from Midway's parallel runways. We turned left and he turned right. Our first stop would be South Bend, 801 was headed for Kalamazoo. As I said, use of higher than normal power or anything of that ilk definitely would have not been sporting, old chap! Bob studied the meager amount of paperwork and weather reports provided to the cockpit back in those days of visual flight rules and selected his best guess of a cruise altitude that might give us some edge. But the demands of unpressurized equipment and stage lengths of between fifty and one hundred miles really permitted only a slight amount of one-upmanship. We rumbled along at the six hundred horsepower cruise setting prescribed for those Wright R-1820s and I assume that 801 did likewise. Gradually we lost sight of him far off to our left out over the lake.
A strange thing has happened in the process of trying to remember the details of this flight and describe it for the reader. I almost feel that somehow I've been transported back in time. Everything seems to be happening all over again, the sights, the sounds, and the smells. Not too long after leaving the sand dunes of Lake Michigan's southern shoreline behind we start a three to four hundred foot per minute descent to permit the passenger's ears a chance to adapt as gradually as possible to the pressure change. A request to the tower and we align ourselves with the straight-in approach to South Bend's runway 9. This is made easier by the sight of Notre Dame's gold dome just a few miles beyond the end of the runway. Bob controls the airspeed precisely enabling our landing rollout to terminate at the right side turnoff leading to the ramp area. Great, they're all ready for us as we stop. I see the red "Door Open" warning light illuminate on the instrument panel and a glance through the open cockpit door reveals the passengers are getting off. Jump out of the seat and toss the freight to the waiting ground agent, then quickly jump back in the right seat. Waiting passengers all on, door closed and "Clear left". Taxi out, ready to go from the intersection near the west end and things are looking good. Into the air and an immediate right turn towards Battle Creek, our next stop. We make the required company radio call back to South Bend and note with satisfaction that we have made the stop in exactly the scheduled time, not a minute lost.
One of our pair of VHF communication radios is always tuned to the company frequency, enabling us to listen to or contact any of the airports we serve. All North Central stations east of Lake Michigan share a common frequency making it easy to keep track of 801's progress. Unfortunately, he can do likewise - so, no advantage there. We hear him make an in range call to Kalamazoo with his fuel on board. This is shortly followed by a visual traffic check from the station agent, routinely made to our flights from the ramp by the station agent at non-tower airports. Kazoo doesn't have a tower so they are free to make the approach according to their own judgment and good sense. Of course we can hope that they find conflicting traffic that would deny them a straight in approach to the northeast runway or worse yet, to go around. We continue to listen with one ear to their progress on the ramp. They correctly assume that they can fly much faster than they can taxi, the most expeditious departure would be a crosswind takeoff to the south with a left turn after takeoff. After they leave the gate the agent picks up the ramp radio microphone and surveys the surrounding skies for three hundred and sixty degrees. He then transmits "No visible traffic" and I hear them quickly reply "O.K., thanks and 801 will be taking off to the south". Listening, we hear their radio transmission giving his out and off times after they were airborne. We always keep a company schedule, which resembled an old time railroad timetable, on the clipboard carried by all co-pilots. A quick reference to it and we quickly conclude 801 hadn't lost any time on the ground either. Score so far - neck and neck.
During our climb Bob again consults the weather for the winds at our next stop, Battle Creek. Not a very long leg so we won't climb too high. I'm flying this leg so I'm anxious to do everything the way I imagine Bob would, the highest possible complement is if he offers no comments or suggestions. It looks like we'll be able to make a straight-in approach to the northeast on this landing - if the tower permits. Throughout this race we've been operating with somewhat of a handicap, we'll traverse two tower-controlled airports and they have none. If everything doesn't go just right our task becomes much more difficult! Bob makes an in-range call to our Battle Creek station and shortly thereafter contacts Battle Creek tower to enlist their aid in our efforts. They, of course, know our daily game and concur with our request for a straight in landing to the northeast. I concentrate on making our descent work out so that just a few miles southwest I'm slowing from the descent speed to the maximum gear speed of 140 knots. With a thumb down motion I visually request Bob to lower the gear, after losing an additional five or ten knots I signal for the extension of the first quarter flaps with my index finger. So far, so good. Bob has calmly accomplished each action as called for so I must be duplicating his intention of providing a good ride but wasting no time. Progressively more flaps are requested with my use of two, three and finally four fingers while bleeding off the airspeed on final. Carry just a little power and then, just before starting the round out, throttles fully closed. Tail low touchdown and good, we're on the ground just where we want. Bob spills the flaps; I settle the tail to the runway while gently braking. Bob takes over the controls and unlocks the tailwheel, then makes the taxiway turnoff effortlessly. I run through the UP-OPEN and OFF drill, making sure the flaps are retracting while opening the cowl flaps, then moving both controls to the off position after they are finished. Talk to ground control on the radio and consult the printed DC-3 checklist to make sure everything is accomplished. Cut the left mixture on the captain's command, then grab the clipboard to enter the on and in times on the flight plan as he sets the parking brakes. Next I jump out of my seat and repeat the airfreight drill.
All this time we've kept one free ear listening to the company radio for indications of 801's progress. Just what time he gets to his next stop at Jackson is the key. The agents do a good job and we're out on schedule. Battle Creek tower authorizes a takeoff to the south as we leave the ramp. As Bob expertly maneuvers the ponderous DC-3 smoothly but expeditiously towards the active runway I complete the takeoff checklist. After swinging into position, then locking the tailwheel as I read this last checklist item Bob smoothly applies forty-five inches of manifold pressure for our takeoff with just enough left aileron to keep the wings level. After rotating at 81 knots we're soon at an altitude that permits a smooth left turn on course. We're on the final lap now; I wonder where 801 is? Climbing out we hear him make his radio call in range to Jackson. Bob looks at me and voices his thought; "I wonder how quick they'll get him out?" Jackson is another non-tower airport so that won't hinder his operation with needless turns and all. We continue our climb to cruise altitude and then level off. We anxiously listen to the company radio and then finally hear Jackson's ramp agent transmit "No visible traffic in sight, 801". We know that we will have a race here, the runway he uses for takeoff will probably determine the outcome. His intention is revealed on the Unicom frequency, he'll be using the runway to the northeast enabling a straight out on course departure. We continue our cruise and now can see the Jackson airport ahead.
Our clear view of Jackson's airport from cruising altitude allows us to see 801 make his last taxiing turn onto the runway and then begin his takeoff roll. Normally he'll be climbing at one hundred and five knots. However he might use a little higher speed to help negate the one hundred and thirty seven knots we are indicating at cruise today. All aviation is a series of compromises, give a little of this to get a little of that. If he increases his climb speed then his climb rate will be less and it'll take him longer to climb to equal our altitude. Gonna be close. Gradually, gradually our speed differential allows us to creep up on him from his seven o'clock position. I don't think he can see us and, of course, we are silent from our vantagepoint above him. Oh-oh, he's no amateur, he's leveling off at a lower cruise altitude so he can pick up his cruise speed earlier. The overtaking process is now barely perceptible as we creep up towards his left side. We do have a slight speed advantage, maybe from the result of our higher altitude but we don't have far to go, the checkered flag's fast approaching.
Ahead I can see Chrysler's proving grounds near Chelsea, Michigan. This concentration of twisting roads and hills and vehicle testing terrain is located approximately twenty miles west of Yipsilanti. It was one of the first landmarks pointed out to me by the captains I flew with on this run. It is the specified landmark for any aircraft approaching from the west to contact Willow Run approach control. This radar tracking facility located at the airport will determine the traffic sequencing of the various aircraft approaching to land at Willow Run's airport. Upon receiving the initial radio contact they note the position and altitude of each aircraft while identifying them on radar, then assign them a sequence for approach and landing. Sometimes we've suspected favoritism between the way competing airlines are sequenced or treated but that's not a factor here, we're both "ducks". This light hearted appellation was applied many years ago to the North Central fleet, whose tail logo is a mallard duck super-imposed against a bright moon. Approaching the proving grounds we begin a slow three hundred foot a minute or so descent in consideration of the passenger's ears. A by-product of this gentle descent is a small airspeed increase. This is the slight advantage it takes for our aircraft to slowly gain on 801. Just to the west edge of the landmark we have gained a position directly abreast of 801 and some distance off to his left.
The morning airwaves are momentarily jammed with radio calls from other aircraft, preventing either of us from contacting Willow Run. Since Bob is flying it's my duty to make the radio calls. I hope that when I make the call that we'll be the ones to win the lottery in this photo finish, though any means of one-upmanship escapes me. There is a 50-50 chance for us here since our two aircraft would be two blips side by side on the radar screen. The controller would perceive no definite advantage to either of us. Just as I am reaching for the microphone to initiate a radio transmission Bob slightly wags one free finger at me, grins slightly and winks conspiratorially as he picks up his own microphone. I remove my hand from my microphone and briefly contemplate just what trick Bob has up his sleeve to convince the controller. Maybe he thinks that his tone of voice or inflection might possibly tilt the controller's sympathy towards our cause.
Bob's finger is poised, waiting for the radio transmission from the aircraft currently using the airwaves to finish. The instant the concluding word is heard Bob keys his microphone and says, "Willow Run, this is North Central 801, we hate to bother you but is there any chance you could work in a practice GCA for us this morning? Willow Run responds without the slightest hesitation, "Roger, North Central 801, we'd be glad to give you a practice Ground Controlled Approach, it'll help to keep our controller's quota up, turn right to one hundred and thirty degrees". I picture the startled expressions and exchange of comments that must be occurring in the other cockpit, they too were poised to jump into the radio traffic but just got slightly beaten. Now what are the options available to them? They can try and unclutter the confusion that will almost certainly result if they radio back that they are 801 and that it must have been 803 who called. They could try to reverse the request that they have apparently just made of Willow Run. Or, they can accept the slightly off course vector to align them with runway 5, normally used for GCA approaches. Bob and I watch and listen with bated breath, will they get involved in a long, confusing exchange regarding call signs or will they turn off to the right? In a couple of seconds the answer is apparent, their wings slowly tilt off into a bank to the right and a voice I perceive somewhere between exasperation and resignation responds. "W-e-l-l okay, 801's turning right to one hundred and thirty degrees for the practice GCA, what altitude do you want us to maintain?"
We, of course, keep on truckin' straight ahead towards Willow Run's runway 9, never slackening in our sprint for the finish line and the imaginary checkered flag. Bob points at my microphone and I, with all the straight face (and voice) I can muster while laughing, pick it up anew to advise Willow Run of 803's position and that we'd like to land straight in on 9. Responding to this new voice over the air, he tells us to please keep our speed up, if we'd be so kind. We'll be number one for the airport, there's a company flight 801 off our right side but he's now turned southeasterly in order to make a practice instrument approach to runway 5. I acknowledge the traffic and thank him with great, albeit feigned, sincerity. Bob keeps the DC-3's speed up and we make an uneventful straight in landing. We taxi to the gate and hurriedly accomplish both the parking and securing checklists.
The last of our passengers are deplaning down the air stair doors as we conclude the checklist's securing items. As soon as the last one is off, we begin a dash towards the terminal. Entering this World War II bomber plant, converted in later years to its second career as a passenger terminal, we turn and run down the concourse. We make a quick right turn into Al Green's restaurant, hastily depositing our black pilot cases in an unused corner of the entryway. Sliding behind a table in the corner we assume a languid pose, devoting our attention to a leisurely study of the breakfast menu, attempting to appear as though we've been there for quite some time. Keeping the focus of one eye barely above the upper edge of the menu we are rewarded shortly by the appearance of 801's crew. Their appearance in the doorway is abrupt, eyes searching left and right, obviously looking for us. I haven't been at the airline very long but, in the middle of my first year's probation, have already figured out that co-pilots should be seen and not heard. Therefore I become even more engrossed in an intense head-down scrutiny of my breakfast menu. However Bob is the very epitome of detached and weary indifference, raising a coffee cup in salutation and calling out, "Hey guys, c'mon over and sit down, we've been waitin' for you FOREVER!" Randy Sohn - 1996 ©
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I was fortunate to fly many trips with Bob Chirhart's brother who was hired by NWA in the late 60's. I never met Bob, but I can tell you that Duane Chirhart, my copilot on literally hundreds of 727 flights, was a super pilot and a real pleasure to fly with....not hard for me to imagine why Randy liked Bob so well.
And again, if you have not yet done so and can find the time....here is a real nice feature article on Randy Sohn, writer and pilot and just plain all around good guy!
http://www.avweb.com/articles/profiles/rsohn
I first flew with Randy in 1966....while we were on separate airlines of course. He owned a Stearman bi-plane....and that was my first ride in an open cockpit....let alone with 4 wings out their flapping in the wind. I owe Randy a ride.....in my Curtiss...and we are going to do that someday!
By the way...you might notice that Randy has a copyright symbol at the end of most of his writings. Not to worry...permission has been granted for me to post these!
Regards,
Cap'n Tarmack
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