Not All Dreams Come True

"Oh, I have slipped the surly bonds of earth,

and danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;

Sunward I've climbed and joined the trembling mirth of

sun-split clouds-and done 100 things you have not dreamed of-

wheeled and soared and swung high in the sunlit silence.

Hov'ring there,

I've chased the shouting wind along and flung

My eager craft through footless halls of air.

Up, up the long delirious, burning blue

I've topped the wind-swept hills with easy grace,

Where never lark, or even eagle flew;

And, while with silent, lifting mind, I trod

The high untrespassed sanctity of space,

Put out my hand, and touched the face of God!"

-John Gillespie Maggee, age 19

Royal Canadian Air Force

Throughout my entire life, I have always loved flying. In a commercial airliner, a private plane, a hang glider, it didn't matter. As long as there was "air" between me and the ground, I could be happy. Some of my fondest memories are flying with Dad. I used to dream about him being able to take me up in a fighter. Those dreams have continued throughout my life, even after he passed away in early 2003. To be able to "watch him work" would have been great. The closest that I got to that was when he was assigned the task of, well,. . . I'm not sure was he was doing. But it involved taking an Air Force car out and parking between two runways. Dad was able to communicate with the pilots that were taking off or landing. Seeing fighters race by us on either side, hearing that tremendous roar on takeoff, listening to Dad "talk to the planes" was, in a word, "awesome". (And Dad had been worried that I might get bored!) All too soon, it was time to go home.



After Dad retired, he managed to stay in the air. I think he was living in Ohio at the time, but he and Judy and Jenny flew down for a visit. When the time came for them to return home, he offered to make a "detour" and fly me to Mississippi where I was going to visit a friend. That flight was way too short. One hour and forty minutes from Ft. Walton Beach Florida to Hattiesburg Mississippi. It would have taken me most of a day to drive it.



I had wanted to be a fighter pilot when I grew up. My eyesight hampered that dream, although I could have flown transports, or maybe even heavy bombers, with eyeglasses. But, to me, that was more like "driving a bus". I wanted to "drive the sports cars". I have alternately regretted and justified that decision made so many years ago. I could have transitioned into commercial flying after getting out, either with a freight company or an airline. (I'd probably have made more money). And I would have been flying.



When Dad got "his wings clipped", I know that it must have been really hard on him. Having spent a large portion of his life in the air, going high enough to see the curvature of the Earth, going so fast that he could be there and gone before someone even heard him coming, facing Death countless times and coming out on top, "touching the face of God",only to be grounded. It must have been tough. I promised myself that "when I could afford it" I would get my pilot's license and take Dad up and hand off the controls to him. He deserved it. And, I know that I couldn't have given him a "gift" that would have touched him more. Dad, like I have said before, was born to fly.



When Dad passed away, I realized that I would never be able to fulfill my dream of giving him the controls and let him "do his thing" one more time. Nonetheless, I still planned on getting my "ticket" and flying. But there would be no "handing over the reins", now. I would have to be satisfied in the knowledge that Dad would always be my "co-pilot". But, the problem of actually getting my wings still was out of my financial reach. I could have taken out a loan, but by this time my credit was just above lousy, and I couldn't have guaranteed that I would be able to pay it back.



When a company I had been working for had to "close its doors" in late 2004, I searched for a job. . .again. I stumbled across an ad for a draftsman on the internet one night. I had been a welder for most of my life, and had extensive experience in a machine shop, sheet metal shop, and I was able to pursue my "hobby" of drafting and 3d modeling. I had worked as a draftsman before, so I went in to apply. The company happened to build aircraft kits. I asked what drafting program they used to generate their drawings. It happened to be a different program than the one I had used previously. I filled out an application anyway, and left a resume. About a week later, my phone rang. It was the woman from HR. "We really need someone who can 'hit the ground running' with our program", she said. I thought to myself, "what the heck, I tried". "But," she continued, "we do need a full-time welder." That is how I got into the aircraft industry. I had, for many years, been a really good welder. I had enjoyed the opportunities of working with some of the best, and I had learned well. Now was my opportunity to really shine. I received many compliments and accolades for the quality of my work. After all, I was building the landing gear and various other "flight safety" items for their kit plane. I saw my opportunity to again take to the air. All I needed to do was beg a ride in one, and buy a kit to build my own. This was almost a consuming passion. I wanted to fly. And this was my ticket.


I enjoyed working for this company so much that I rarely took a day off. Before I knew it, I had three weeks vacation accrued, which was the maximum one could accumulate. So, I scheduled myself to take a week off. I had been feeling "kinda tired" as of late, and figured that maybe I ought to take it easy for a week, not think about work, just relax. I took my week off, and tried to rest, but no matter how long I "slept in", I just felt drained, and I got winded very easily. The day before I was to return to work, my wife suggested that I should see a doctor to see if anything was wrong. Getting tired for no reason was certainly out of character for me. So, we went to the local "doc-in-a-box" clinic. During my checkup, they found that my blood pressure was 70/40, and my pulse rate was 185 beats per minute. They gave me some pills to take, and told me that I should see a cardiologist before I returned to work.


Early the next morning, I called my supervisor to tell him that I would probably be in around noon, and explained that I had been instructed to see a physician before going back to work. I was hoping for an early appointment, but could not be seen until later that afternoon. So I called my boss back and told him I would probably take the whole day off, and I would see him tomorrow. I went to see the cardiologist later that day. That was the last time I saw "daylight" for quite a while. They called the hospital across the street and reserved a room for me. My BP was still really low, and my pulse fluctated from a "low" of 180 to a peak of 192 beats per minute. I figured I would be there overnight for observation, and then released to go back to work. Ten or so days later, I emerged from the hospital, the proud owner of an ICD (implantible cardiovert defibrillator) and a hospital bill of well over $100,000. Oh yes, and one other thing: I could no longer weld for a living. Since my implant also functions as a pacemaker, the magnetic field produced by welding could alter the regulatory output and make my heart go nuts, or could cause the defibrillator to either "fire" unnecessarily, or suppress the "firing" if it were needed. Luckily, I had enough manufacturing experience, and I had been learning and using the drafting/modeling program they used, so that I was still "valuable" to them. In fact, shortly before I took my (3) weeks' vacation, I had gotten a new title: Manufacturing Technician. The duties were: if it needs to be done, you see it through. Example: take a "napkin sketch", model it on the computer, make drawings/blueprints, make the part, test the part, report results. Only now, I had to get someone else to do the welding for me.


About a week after I returned to work, I finally got the opportunity to fly in one of our aircraft. The company was sponsoring demo rides for the employees. If I had been passionate about flying my own aircraft before, now I was Possessed! I even formulated plans about how to finance the kit, where to build it, even the paint job. I was going to fly!


About six months after my surgery, I found out that I could not get a private pilot's license because of my ICD. People with pacemakers could get waivers from the FAA, but ICD's were still a relatively new development, and the FAA didn't "trust?" them. Like my father before me, my wings were clipped. End of story? Not quite. Although I cannot get a private pilot's license, I may still be able to fly under the ELSA (I believe it means Experimental Light Sport Aircraft) rules. As long as I can pass the medical, take the requisite training, and the gross weight limit is not exceeded, I can fly. At least, that's the theory. There are a few more restrictions to deal with. The main ones right now would be financial, and getting a doctor to sign off on my flying. According to my cardiologist, my heart is almost back to "normal" two years after my surgery. Although the likelihood of having my ICD removed is pretty slim, I continue to hope.