Beachcombing

The recent airplane crashes on the east coast were another reminder of my death-defying experiences in the late 1960s as a pilot, motorcyclist and swimmer. This was around the time that I was getting a bachelor’s degree at Long Beach State and working at Douglas Aircraft Company, designing antennas for the DC-10 jumbo jet and the Navy’s A-4 Skyhawk.

Chuck Nunnelly was my boss in the Engineering Division at Douglas. Occasionally – along with our wives – we would explore Southern California attractions on weekends, once going to the Colorado River. Despite having life-saving certification from the American Red Cross, the river’s rip currents taught me the lesson of how powerful they are regardless of how strong a swimmer might be.

Then there were the times exploring Brea area hills on a dirt bike with fellow students from Long Beach City College. My Honda 150 was great for getting front-row parking at LBCC and Long Beach State. More than once I learned how some drivers on city streets would turn left in front of my bike, creating the need to lay it down to avoid a collision.

Following my 1965 discharge from the USAF as an ICBM electronics analyst I acquired my AA degree in electronics at LBCC without the need to attend any of their electronic or physical education classes. At Long Beach State, my BA degree was in Radio/TV/Film with a journalism minor. Tuition at both institutions was paid by the GI Bill, but there were funds remaining to become a private pilot.

One time on a solo training trip to Las Vegas I attempted to climb above some clouds but they were winning the race. I became disoriented and relied on my training to read the instruments while pulling the yoke back, thereby avoiding a hard collision with the earth.

Another time an instructor was demonstrating to me how to do a short field landing at Meadowlark Field in Huntington Beach. He clipped the top of a tree on approach, damaging a section of the wing. That was the last time I would sign up with that cowboy instructor.

In subsequent years I would rely on my pilot’s license for visiting hospitals in Indio and San Diego as a public relations consultant. When my son was born in 1976 the need for small plane business trips had diminished and I decided to focus on being a daddy.

These experiences taught me that no one is invincible. You learn about the rules for flying at different altitudes according to the direction of travel. You learn what to do when engine power is lost. You learn to plan and avoid running out of fuel.

Armed with this knowledge, it can be a challenge to figure out what caused the aviation disasters in Washington and Philadelphia. The Reagan National Airport crash was due to the insane policy of allowing military helicopters anywhere near the DCA flight paths for any purpose. The Philadelphia situation may be tougher to diagnose. Either way, flying is far safer than driving a motorcycle on the streets of Long Beach, thus becoming a potential organ donor.

In the words of comedian Steven Wright, “I intend to live forever. So far, so good.” Here’s more:

• The early bird may get the worm, but the second mouse gets the cheese.
• Okay, so what’s the speed of dark?
• How do you tell when you’re out of invisible ink?
• If everything seems to be going well, you have obviously overlooked something.
• When everything is coming your way, you’re in the wrong lane.

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