From the Right Seat (Continued)
Then he lost his medical certificate. In a way, I'm sorry he didn't achieve his dream of tooling around in a virtually new airplane with such a rich history.
But I had the same dream.
After paying for the airplane, I flew it home across the country in January 1991. Over the next year and a half I dutifully went about the chores of caretaker, with the addition of a Northstar M-1A, a set of strobes, a Strikefinder, an Alpine stereo tape player and intercom, and a real annual inspection which resulted in extensive corrosion control in the exhaust and nacelle area. The exhaust system has a propensity to leak, and those gases are extremely corrosive.
With economics being what they can be, however, it was not unwelcome to be approached by people who admired the airplane and wished to fly it themselves. One such individual was the publisher of The Southern Aviator. Todd Huvard and I reached an agreement concerning use of the plane, and I gladly put him on the list of named pilots covered under my insurance policy.
The next step was to get him checked out and comfortable in the 310, and it seemed logical that I would provide this service myself in light of my recently-ended 24-year career as an airline pilot. During the past five years I had qualified and served as a Boeing 727 simulator instructor, check airman with two-engine ferry endorsement and assistant chief pilot prior to the demise of the carrier. I had stopped adding up my logbook after about 16,000 hours and had maintained my CFII until qualifying as an FAA-designated check airman.
A checkout in the 310 would be a piece of cake.
We had successfully accomplished the air work portion of the checkout on several flights before May 25, 1992. On this final session I had really worked Todd over, with partial-panel NDB holding and an approach and a simulated failed engine to season the pot.
My intention to was to give him the benefit of my experience in the airline arena, where one learns quickly that "We're going to go anyway, so we'll deal with whatever comes our way" ... with damn few exceptions.
In the airline environment we tried to overload students to the point that they would have to decide priorities with a high degree of time and task management, so that the trip was accomplished in spite of the difficulties encountered. It was important for new hires to be pushed to dig deep into their reserves of willpower and resolve so they would develop a "can do" mindset within the parameters of safety and efficiency. The scenario of having to shoot a tight approach to an ice-covered runway with a 15-kt crosswind at 7 a.m., following a 12-hour duty day that began the evening before, are well known to most professionals -- and they know about digging deep.
Besides, I was genuinely interested in helping Todd raise his skills to a higher level -- one which very few non-professional general aviation pilots ever approach.
He had shown me good skills and understanding of the 310 in our time together, and I considered him qualified to blast off in my baby after this checkout session. We had taken a breather at Person County Airport in Roxboro, N.C., after about two hours of hood work and were about to head home to Raleigh Durham International. I had casually talked about engine failures on or after takeoff during our sessions but did not specifically brief Todd on the maneuver I had in mind for our last takeoff.
The last training I had administered was in a B727 simulator with a professional crew member as my student. Now I was about to ask Todd to perform in a similar fashion, with one major exception -- this was not a simulator.
As Todd climbed through about 100 feet on takeoff, I reached up and killed the left engine -- just like in the simulator, I shut down the engine with the mixture control. Boy, do I hate to tell this story on myself ... but I'd handed Todd a lit stick of dynamite with a very short fuse. We now had an actual emergency, and I responded by restoring the mixture to the left engine.
Todd strayed from the centerline but recovered, then retarded both throttles for a landing on the remaining length of the runway. "This is going to work out all right," I thought to myself, "he's landing straight ahead like the book says to do if you have the luxury of adequate runway."
We both waited for the jostle of touchdown but were greeted instead by the chopping of propeller blades and a very smooth touchdown ... about three feet too low. We slid straight ahead on the belly for a short distance before coming to rest with a bit of smoke seeping up through the floor area. We turned off all the switches, shut off the gas and got the hell out of the airplane, which was now forlornly gracing the Person County runway in a way intended only for others.
What had happened? How had we dug the hole deep enough for us to fit into, given that neither of us is of diminutive stature? Upon reflection, we saw that while I was intent upon my task of shutting down the engine, Todd had raised the gear. He was really overloaded and simply reverted to his training, which called for leaving the gear down until a landing could no longer be made on the runway; this set him up to assume that the gear was still down. The simple point of when to raise the gear was our undoing, since the gear remained in the wells until touchdown.
Isn't this the classic training environment that you and I have read about for years? Yes, and here are some of the lessons I have learned at this advanced stage in my aviation career:
Since I, acting as pilot in command, had crossed the line, I was suspect and it was up to me to clear my name and reputation. I think this is reasonable, and I used this checkride as I have all those other checks during years of professional flying -- to learn something and come out the other end in better shape than when I went in.
Almost immediately after notifying the insurance broker in Van Nuys of my plight, an adjuster was sent out to document the claim and get the repair process under way. Naturally, the props were shot and both engines would have to be torn down, even though they were idling at the time of impact. The belly sustained minimal damage because of a good design which has the tip tanks about 1 1/2 feet off the ground; only a few pieces of skin -- and the exposed antennae -- needed replacing.
The adjuster did his work and contractors were solicited for bids, with Bill Earle of Metalair, Inc. in Raleigh getting the nod for the sheet metal repairs. Dennis Morgan's great crew at Raleigh Flying Service, Inc. was selected to do the engine and prop removal and installation. I planned to send both engines to Mattituck for inspections and overhaul, and to buy new props.
None of this work began until the insurance broker acknowledged the validity of my claim and spoke in positive terms about paying the bill, which would come in on the South side of $30,000. It took a full six months to get 64H back in the air.
The incident has changed my opinion about the concept of damage history. Before, I was content to go with the conventional wisdom that any damage was a stop sign -- although I did once own a Navajo that had been on its belly while taxiing. But I was impressed by the dedication to quality and sheer artisan approach to the repairs on my bird. Even my aging A&P ticket gave me no appreciation for the art involved in this level of repair; now, I'm convinced that the plane is in better condition than before we set her on her belly.
Since little or no strain was put on the airframe during the incident, I now realize some damage is acceptable if it's repaired properly and skillfully. That's the good news, and this would have essentially been the end of the story ... except for the insurance fraud.
Eventually, I had to hire a California attorney to find out why I had received only $2,000 from an unknown third party who claimed to now be servicing my policy. When I went to Los Angeles on a business trip and visited the office where I purchased the policy, I was met at the front door by an FBI agent -- and I began to have the sinking feeling that I had been defrauded.
I remembered the day that I bought the 310 and was delighted to find an insurance agency next door that would gladly write me a policy on my new-found prize, at a competitive rate and with complete assurance and written evidence that they were indeed bonafide and capable of paying claims.
Unfortunately, my research didn't go far enough -- or I would have discovered that the broker was a crook well-known in the insurance business and that the insurance company itself -- Promed International, Ltd., based in Tortolla, British Virgin Islands -- had been shut down by the new Minister of Insurance. During my visit to the minister's office -- he was quite surprised to actually meet one of the people who had been defrauded -- he said he had removed more than 800 firms from the Islands' corporate rolls in six months, and that he had been sent from London specifically for that purpose.
Currently I am pursuing the broker and his bonding company with the attendant professional fees, and little real hope of recovering even a fraction of my total outlay. So we live and we learn, and I only hope that this article will provide enough impetus and insight for others out there who find themselves in similar circumstances.
The bottom line goes something like this: