At seven, the next crew rolls in, and our chief, Donald Raymond “Ray” Thomas arrives bearing news. He drinks his coffee from a cup that says, “I love the smell of jet fuel in the morning.” He was a flight engineer on 727s way back when, but then realized that being on the road every day of his life was no way to run a family.
“Norm, don’t forget about the career fair at State today. I hope you’ve got something prepared?”
I’ve known Ray a long time. He was a trainee of mine back in the day. At this moment, he was sporting a greyish-white beard and resembled a thinner Santa Claus on Key West. His face was rugged, but kind, and he always had a joke ready. When I knew him before, he had a head full of wavy black hair.
He moved up and stayed on the job when the rest of us walked. I can’t blame him because he was at a very uncertain time in his life. He was in the middle of a divorce and needed a paycheck to keep up his alimony. He called me the night before, seeking some sort of absolution. I told him, he had to do what he had to do. Now, twenty some-odd years later, he’s my boss. Ironic? Yeah. But I can’t hold it against him.
“Dickie is already there.” He said. Now that, I could hold against him. My gaze said all I needed to say, and everything I was thinking. “I know, Norm, but I can’t get anyone else out.”
“That’s because he’s a third-rate hack. I don’t know how the hell he ever made it here. Or anywhere else for that matter.”
Dickie McCallen was a scab, a parasite. He crossed the line, but unlike Ray Thomas, who was in dire need, Dickie was an opportunist. He wasn’t even checked out yet. He had a few more hours to get under his belt before he’d get signed off, certified to work on his own. But then, the guys walked, and he saw his chance. He showed up, and they told him, “You’re close enough.” The powers that be gave him the blessing and, poof! He was a journeyman without finishing his apprenticeship. So they moved him up to a bigger tower, working jets. Big jets with people in them. “Nevermind the close calls, we’ve got a job to do.” He thought he was God’s gift to ATC, and no one ever told him otherwise.
For a few years, Dickie got by on his wing and a prayer, but he was sloppy and inattentive. And that’s how the first guy died. Dickie never was much for book learning, but there’s a lot of reading to be done in this job, things like emergency procedures and notifying people when there are overdue aircraft. So when the guy didn’t call back and tell Dickie he landed, Dickie should have called the cops to go and have a look around. It took the guy hours to bleed to death. If Dickie had called after half an hour, by the book, that young guy flying boxes around at midnight might have gotten that dream job at the airlines. Instead, he got a free flight six feet underground. Up periscope; continue taxi. Poor bastard.
Dickie got off easy on the next one. There was a glitch in the tracking software and the computer-generated track dropped and never reacquired. The pilot never knew he was lost to the radar controller, and probably never knew what hit him, or rather, what he hit. “Controlled flight into terrain” was the ruling by the NTSB, but Dickie was probably yapping away at someone in the control room, not watching his scope.
So what do you do with a killer? Make him a supervisor, of course, before he does in three more planes for the Ace ranking.
“Well, I better get over there before he does any more damage.”
“C’mon Norm. Be nice.” Ray knew I was the nicest asshole in the world.
“He’s a scab, Ray. And a killer.”
“I’m a scab.”
“You knew what you were doing. Moreover, you didn’t have to kill anyone to get where you are.”
Ray frowned. He knew I was right, but Ray was a nice guy who didn’t like to criticize anyone, if it could be avoided. As for me, well, my greatest asset (and curse) is my ability to be brutally honest, though I do show some discretion.
As I was walking down the stairs, the phone rang, and I could hear Ray fielding a call from some concerned citizen about some low-flying aircraft or noise. As I walked out the door, the door failed to close, again. Lowest bidder.
