RECOVERY ACTJohnny Wagner came up to me for his transport pilot’s license test. I was the inspector for the Department of Commerce. Johnny knew I was “tough.” As a matter of fact, he figured I was much tougher than I was.I knew Johnny and liked him. He was crazy about flying and had worked hard to get his flying training. He had pushed ships in and out of hangars, washed them, acted as night watchman and office boy, done anything and everything to pay for his flying time. But I didn’t have the slightest idea how he flew. And after all, you may be a swell guy but not be able to fly worth a cent, and a transport test is supposed to determine whether you are safe to carry passengers.I found out three minutes after Johnny got in the ship how he flew. Nevertheless, I made him go all through the test. When he came to steep banks I made him pull them in tight. He was reluctant to do it, so I took the ship to do it myself to show him. I could see right away why he was reluctant. It was the way the ship was rigged. It had a tendency to roll under in a tightly pulled in steep bank. But I wanted to see what he would do with it, so I made him do it. He did, and rolled right under into a power spin. He had gone into an inadvertent spin, the unforgivable sin in a flight test.I started to reach for the controls but let him go. When he had pulled out of the spin I told him to land.He got out of the ship with his face as long as a poker. He couldn’t even talk, the test had meant so much to him. I didn’t say anything for a moment, then with a stern face I said roughly, “Well,” and waited a moment. The poor kid was getting all set for the worst. I could tell by his face.“Well,” I went on, “you passed,” and I smiled broadly at him.His mouth fell open. “But—but—” he stuttered—“but I spun out of that steep bank!”“Yeah, I know,” I said. “But you also recovered. It was the way you recovered. You stopped that spin like that and recovered from the resultant dive neatly and smoothly, with a minimum loss of altitude and still without squashin’ the ship. It was a beautiful piece of work and told me more about your flying than anything else you did, although I could tell in the first three minutes that you could fly.” I never saw a kid beam so much.Johnny is now flying a regular run over the Andes in South America for Pan American Grace.
RECOVERY ACTJohnny Wagner came up to me for his transport pilot’s license test. I was the inspector for the Department of Commerce. Johnny knew I was “tough.” As a matter of fact, he figured I was much tougher than I was.I knew Johnny and liked him. He was crazy about flying and had worked hard to get his flying training. He had pushed ships in and out of hangars, washed them, acted as night watchman and office boy, done anything and everything to pay for his flying time. But I didn’t have the slightest idea how he flew. And after all, you may be a swell guy but not be able to fly worth a cent, and a transport test is supposed to determine whether you are safe to carry passengers.I found out three minutes after Johnny got in the ship how he flew. Nevertheless, I made him go all through the test. When he came to steep banks I made him pull them in tight. He was reluctant to do it, so I took the ship to do it myself to show him. I could see right away why he was reluctant. It was the way the ship was rigged. It had a tendency to roll under in a tightly pulled in steep bank. But I wanted to see what he would do with it, so I made him do it. He did, and rolled right under into a power spin. He had gone into an inadvertent spin, the unforgivable sin in a flight test.I started to reach for the controls but let him go. When he had pulled out of the spin I told him to land.He got out of the ship with his face as long as a poker. He couldn’t even talk, the test had meant so much to him. I didn’t say anything for a moment, then with a stern face I said roughly, “Well,” and waited a moment. The poor kid was getting all set for the worst. I could tell by his face.“Well,” I went on, “you passed,” and I smiled broadly at him.His mouth fell open. “But—but—” he stuttered—“but I spun out of that steep bank!”“Yeah, I know,” I said. “But you also recovered. It was the way you recovered. You stopped that spin like that and recovered from the resultant dive neatly and smoothly, with a minimum loss of altitude and still without squashin’ the ship. It was a beautiful piece of work and told me more about your flying than anything else you did, although I could tell in the first three minutes that you could fly.” I never saw a kid beam so much.Johnny is now flying a regular run over the Andes in South America for Pan American Grace.
Johnny Wagner came up to me for his transport pilot’s license test. I was the inspector for the Department of Commerce. Johnny knew I was “tough.” As a matter of fact, he figured I was much tougher than I was.
I knew Johnny and liked him. He was crazy about flying and had worked hard to get his flying training. He had pushed ships in and out of hangars, washed them, acted as night watchman and office boy, done anything and everything to pay for his flying time. But I didn’t have the slightest idea how he flew. And after all, you may be a swell guy but not be able to fly worth a cent, and a transport test is supposed to determine whether you are safe to carry passengers.
I found out three minutes after Johnny got in the ship how he flew. Nevertheless, I made him go all through the test. When he came to steep banks I made him pull them in tight. He was reluctant to do it, so I took the ship to do it myself to show him. I could see right away why he was reluctant. It was the way the ship was rigged. It had a tendency to roll under in a tightly pulled in steep bank. But I wanted to see what he would do with it, so I made him do it. He did, and rolled right under into a power spin. He had gone into an inadvertent spin, the unforgivable sin in a flight test.
I started to reach for the controls but let him go. When he had pulled out of the spin I told him to land.
He got out of the ship with his face as long as a poker. He couldn’t even talk, the test had meant so much to him. I didn’t say anything for a moment, then with a stern face I said roughly, “Well,” and waited a moment. The poor kid was getting all set for the worst. I could tell by his face.
“Well,” I went on, “you passed,” and I smiled broadly at him.
His mouth fell open. “But—but—” he stuttered—“but I spun out of that steep bank!”
“Yeah, I know,” I said. “But you also recovered. It was the way you recovered. You stopped that spin like that and recovered from the resultant dive neatly and smoothly, with a minimum loss of altitude and still without squashin’ the ship. It was a beautiful piece of work and told me more about your flying than anything else you did, although I could tell in the first three minutes that you could fly.” I never saw a kid beam so much.
Johnny is now flying a regular run over the Andes in South America for Pan American Grace.