Chapter 9
The FAA Follies
I have never in my life seen anything as bizarre as the crazy weather of Oklahoma. I mean in the morning you could have what anyone would call the perfect day - clear blue skies, warm sunshine and just a very slight breeze. But how that day would end is anyone's guess. Tornados, dark gray clouds, and sand storms seem to jump out of nowhere in less than an hour with winds that will literally push you down the street!
Stranger still was that there seemed
to be no predictable pattern to this weird weather.
In less than a week after
arriving to Oklahoma City, I soon realized why apparently sane people were all carrying umbrellas on cloudless sunny days!
If not for the Federal Aviation Administration, I probably never would have even visited Oklahoma. With no disrespect to the good people of Oklahoma, it simply wasn't on my "must see" list.
But here I was looking for an apartment in 140
Oklahoma City where I'd be living for the next year as an air traffic controller enrolled at the Mike Monroney Aeronautical Institute in Oklahoma City. I was still amazed that I had made it through the gruelling recruitment process and my mother was gloating with a mother's pride that her only child was an air traffic controller.
I had never envisioned being an air traffic controller, and can't recall ever wanting to be one. To me it was a combination of three things that made me decide to become an "ATC". First it was the quickest escape route from the hell of Krome Detention Center and secondly it was one of the highest paying government jobs one could land. At the time the starting salary was $35,000 and within three years I could be earning in excess of $70,000. But the third reason was one of a personal challenge - to see if I actually had the mental capacity to perform a job that by any standards is difficult, mentally tedious, and requiring extreme concentration. Some veteran controllers call it the ultimate video game one can play.
But this video "game" has life or death
consequences and mistakes have to be kept to an absolute minimum. Kings Creek
apartments
was where
I settled
in OKC,
primarily because of
it's proximity to the academy and a strip mall that had just about everything I could possibly need including a little restaurant called "Jimmy's Egg" whose claim to fame was that they had 101 different ways to serve a plate of eggs.
I seem to recall that I ate about 59 of those plates before I
grew really tired of eggs.
141
Ask any pilot… Flying an airplane is not difficult. Controlling dozens of them flying through the same airspace at various speeds, altitudes, and direction is a monumental task. ATCs have the most stressful jobs in the world and are responsible for the safety of 3 million air passengers every day.
I rented out a three-bedroom apartment and quickly rented out two of the rooms to two other air traffic controllers
I met and befriended. One was
Phil Dostalik of Jacksonville, Florida who was making the transition from a naval air traffic controller to a civilian FAA controller. The other was a fellow from Pawtucket, Rhode Other than sleeping together
Island, whose
under the same roof, we did not share
because the demands
books and manuals every single day.
I can honestly say that I never studied so cannot
memorized, controller.
imagine and
most
how
much time
of this A TC academy required us to
bury ourselves in the overly-detailed
One
name I simply can't recall.
intensely
much information
importantly
in has
my entire to
- retained to become
be
life.
learned,
an air traffic
But to give you just some idea, consider that there are literally
hundreds of invisible "highways" in the skies called that criss-cross
each other hundreds
of
time
"vector air routes"
at forty-five
different 142
altitudes
on 360 different radials.
Further each vector route has it's own
assigned radio beacon frequency and all them, along with the intersections, mileage
of the routes, etc. has to be etched
permanently
into the gray
matter of your brain for instant recall upon demand of an instructor and eventually pilots ferrying
over 6 million passengers
day we were given the most complex map
a day.
On our first
I've ever seen (of all the
vector routes over the Southwest U.S.) and told that we had a month to memorize
the
exception,
map
and
every student
disbelief.
draw
it completely
that day looked
from
memory.
at one
another
Without in total
None of us thought that the human brain was even capable of
such an overwhelming task.
But the instructors assured
only possible, but an absolute
requirement
us that it was not
for graduating. This quickly
explained why only twelve percent of us were expected to graduate. An 70% wash-out rate is pretty damn intimidating and was a great motivator for me.
I am one that has a hard time dealing with failure of any sort, and
I was determined to not only graduate, but I decided that I would strive to graduate
within the top ten percent of
experienced
my
class.
Having
Phil,
an
military controller as a roommate would give me the advantage
I would need to achieve this goal.
Surprisingly after two weeks of drawing this dreaded map every night, we were coming to realize that the task was actually possible. As the days past, we would add more and more details and by day 30, about 70% of us were able to draw this map without omissions or errors.
Those that couldn't left OKC for home. The rest of us moved on to more interesting subject matter including meteorology, radio communications, and learning the rules of separation, the latter of which was especially challenging 143
and to me at least - fun. We had to keep imaginary aircraft flying at various speeds and altitudes vertically separated by a minimum of 1,000 feet and horizontally separated by 10 miles as they crossed each other's paths. Instructors started with five or six aircraft and as they monitored our progress would add more and more aircraft until we crashed a few. Thank God they were imaginary.
Ultimately we would be skilfully routing over fifty aircraft with
ease. Again, those that couldn't were sent packing.
This is an aviator’s air vector map that ATCs have to memorize in 3 dimensions a task that takes three months at the FAA Academy in Oklahoma City.
Our meteorology instructor was a jovial and entertaining man who made learning fun and interesting. His name was Ace Gardner and I truly enjoyed his classes and owe my entire knowledge of weather patterns, wx map 144
interpretation, and forecasting to his excellent teaching skills. perfect and we all have character flaws.
But no man is
Ace had his as well, and it was
one that would eventually affect my life and livelihood as an air traffic controller. Good old Ace was in his early fifties, and although I never knew his marriage history, he appeared to be a ladies man. and very well-like by students and staff alike.
He was witty, charming,
I regret that all my college
professors didn't possess his fun teaching skills.
To be sure women air traffic controllers are in a definite minority. By my best guess, I'd have to say they make up about ten to fifteen percent of all the ATCs. In my class of some 200 we had less than a dozen.
And by most male
standards three or four them were quite attractive and often times - distracting. Most of us students were in our early twenties and only a handful were over thirty years of age. By comparison, all the instructors were in their late 40s, 50, and 60s. Frankly, most of us were too engrossed in our studies to pursue relationships, but there certainly were some exceptions.
Since I am not in a position to pass judgment on any of the players in this particular chapter, I will refrain from naming the girl involved unless she herself wishes to step forward and comment for herself. For now I will call her by the fictitious name of Angela Smith.
During the course of our training, several of us students noticed that Angela was a bit chummy with one of the instructors and the looks and comments they exchanged left little doubt that some relationship had developed between them.
A week or so later all doubt was removed when one of our colleagues
spotted Angela in the embrace of the instructor in the hot tub of the airport hotel.
Although such fraternization was prohibited, none of us really gave a 145
hoot and most of us didn't give it a second thought. But those that did feel obliged to gossip quickly created a trashy reputation for the girl as one who was sleeping around with instructors in an effort to guarantee her graduation. Unfortunately, because she did seem to be struggling along in class, this rumor was an easy one to believe. I felt badly for Angela, but decided to mind my own business and treated her as I always did - with respect.
I never raised the
subject with her or anyone else, primarily because I myself knew what it felt like to be wrongly accused, and for all I knew, maybe she was and I assumed her to be.
But within a week, the rumor was buzzing even amongst staff members at the academy and there was a noticeable difference in how people were treating this girl. Judging by here swollen red eyes, I could tell that Angela spent a good deal of her time crying and I could not keep silent any more.
I felt
compelled to comfort her in some way and all I had to offer were words. So before class began, I bent over and whispered to her "Not everyone believes the gossip, so try to just relax and focus on yours studies." grateful eyes and smiled at me. "Thanks" was all she said.
She looked up with That would be the
first, last, and only conversation we ever shared.
Only a day or two later, I saw Angela during one of the breaks running down the hall towards the rest room with tears streaming down her face. "What happened?" I asked one of her friends. "She’s just upset - every instructor in the building has been hitting on her lately". I said nothing as I made my way to my next class.
The very next day was a Friday as I recall some of the students talking about spending the weekend in Dallas which was just a two hour drive from 146
OKC.
It was Ace's meteorology class and I was enjoying it as usual. After it
concluded, I was gathering up my notes when from the corner of my eye I saw Ace motion Angela to come up to see him. It was an insignificant gesture and I paid little attention to it. But as Angela walked towards the front of the class to speak with Ace, she dropped some papers and some of them landed at my feet. I picked them up and handed them to her and then proceeded to walk away towards the door when I heard Ace's distinctive voice "Honey, I'd gladly be willing to trade you a better grade for the pleasure of your company tonight". As I headed towards the door, I heard Angela tersely reply "No thank you", and maybe two seconds later I heard a loud crack and I turned around just in time to see a stunned Ace stroking the side of his reddened face and Angela storming out the door mad as hell.
Ace and I exchanged glances and
embarrassed, he just shrugged and smiled. She had slapped him hard enough to leave the red imprint of her hand on the side of his face.
I would learn
later that evening from another student that Angela claimed he pinched her ass as he made those comments to her. But I had lost interest in the Angela soap opera and after having a drink with Phil at a local bar, went back to the apartment to get ready for a date of my own.
I had met a local girl named Dina at a flea market the weekend before. She was a vendor at the market and she noticed that I was carrying my motorcycle helmet and struck up a conversation with me about motorcycles. As it turned out, her ex was a biker. After conversing for almost an hour we parted ways with a bargain in place. Dina would show me the sights of Oklahoma City in exchange for a motorcycle ride. I needed a little diversion in my life from all the tedious bookwork and Dina was just the ticket. She was very friendly and fun to be with. She made an excellent guide and took me to this country dance hall which was a real trip for me. I didn't even know there was 147
such a thing called a "line dance" or a "Texas Two-Step" yet she had me doing both before the night was through.
I let her know up front that I wasn't
looking for anything more than friendship and that was cool with her.
We
would get together one more time for lunch before I would leave Oklahoma City, never to return again. Besides my girlfriend back in Miami didn't think much of me having female friends
in another part of the world.
After two months of separation she flew out for a two week visit herself but she grew bored watching me study and compared to Miami, OKC was a ghost town of sorts, at least to my girl.
ATCs earn over $100,000 per year and need no university degree – just great concentration, composure, and nerves of steel.
The autumn of 82 was closing and was signaled
by an endless carpet
of cloudy gray skies and brisk cold winds blowing in from the prairies.
I 148
was doing well in school and managed to stay in the top ten percent of my class so far with a 92% average. I was pleased with my progress was looking forward to graduating
in two more months.
I would be sent to my new duty station, which because language skills, would be back to Puerto Rico. air traffic controller,
and
As a graduate
of
my Spanish
With the income of an
I could live like a king in Puerto Rico and I looked
forward to getting myself a twenty five acre plot of land in the countryside, raising some horses again, and doing plenty of scuba diving. Yes, indeed, my future was looking up and Debbie and I planned to marry.
The fact
that Debbie was a black girl however created a rift between my mother and I and a few comments in Oklahoma City, which has plenty of Native Americans but very few black people.
After Debbie came out to visit me I
could sense that I was now the topic of some of that derogatory gossip Angela had endured.
I ignored it as best as I could and concentrated on
graduating.
But then it happened.
On a freezing cold winter day, my alarm clock failed
to perform its one daily duty and I awoke twenty minutes late. The damn batteries decided to die at four in the morning. still make it to class on time.
If I skipped breakfast, I could
A quick glance out the window
parking lot confirmed that Phil's Camaro was already enroute so
I had
to
call a cab.
Because
into the to school
of Phil's professional drinking
abilities and frequent "socializing" and regular hangovers, we had long ago agreed not to wake one another at the risk of personal Besides
sleeping
in during
a drab Oklahoma
bodily harm.
winter was a real treat.
Having to hail a cab really ticked me off because just two weeks ago I had bought a used car to contend with the brutal winter months of OKC. But in selecting this car, I made the fatal mistake of choosing it with my 149
heart instead of my brain, a life-long habit that still plagues me today from time to time. Instead of buying a reliable Chevy or Ford, I bought the only foreign
car on the
lot, a
1975 Austin
Marina
for three
thousand dollars.
It ran just fine for a month until the water pump failed
and I quickly learned that there wasn't a single Austin dealer in all of Oklahoma City and even the dealer in Fort Worth, Texas had to special order the part for me. So after calling for a cab, I shaved, dressed, and jumped
into some clothes and headed out the door. Cabs in OKC arrive
quicker than anywhere else I've ever been.
Our apartment was up on the second floor and the stairways going down to the parking lot were concrete and exposed to the elements. In my rush to catch the cab I saw circling the parking lot like a vulture in search I forgot that the stairwell
had a tendency
of lunch,
to accumulate snow and ice if
the wind was blowing into the breezeway where
the stairs were
located.
But the second step down quickly reminded me of this fact as my foot found zero traction and I went flying
through
notebook
and ATC
in different
onlooker
it must
course manuals
the air along
have appeared quite comical.
twelve feet from the ground and
directions.
my
To an
I was at least ten or
instinctively grabbed my head to protect
it from impact that would arrive in a second or two. had no control whatsoever
with
Not being a gymnast, I
of my clumsy flight and as luck would have it,
I landed squarely on my butt on the edge of the bottom step.
Normally this
might be the best place to land except that the point of impact was my tailbone
(a.k.a. coccyx). The pain was absolutely e xc r uc i a ti ng and t he
cabbie came to my rescue. With his help I managed to hobble back up the stairs and debated on whether I should go to the hospital or not.
I was
hoping that the pain would subside and I could still manage to go to class. 150
But it didn't.
I ended up phoning into the Academy to explain my plight and
I was excused from class for the day and advised to come see the flight surgeon at the academy for an examination.
Unfortunately he couldn't see
me that day and I had to make an appointment.
The secretary suggested
that I should just relax and perhaps the pain would fade.
This would be the
first day of any class that I had ever missed and I was worried how much catch-up I'd have to do since each class was just packed full of new information to build upon what we already learned.
I concluded that one
day would not set me back too much.
The throbbing
pain soon
in our bathroom
looking
had me digging for some
aspirin.
through Luckily
the medicine cabinet I found
a bottle of
Tylenol three, a potent painkiller that belonged to someone else.
I stole
two tablets from the bottle and retreated to the sofa where I laid on my side and soon fell asleep. came home.
I awoke when my Rhode Island roommate
I was relieved to find that the pain had subsided quite a bit
and I assumed that by morning I'd be fully recovered and back at the academy.
But that evening after cooking up some pasta for dinner I made
an agonizing discovery. The phone rang and I went to sit down on the sofa to answer it, and YEOOOOWI
It hurt like hell all over again.
I was
okay so long as I stood up and walked around, but it was impossible for me to sit down on even the bed without a jolt of pain that would throb for ten or fifteen minutes after I sprung to me feet.
I went into see the flight surgeon which caused
me to miss my second
day of class and after he had some x-rays taken and tenderly probed the area with his fingers he gave me the following report "For sure your coccyx is bruised and perhaps you might have a hairline fracture as well.
We just 151
can't be sure from this X-ray because the fracture could be on the front side of your tailbone. to four weeks.
Either way, you should heal up just fine in about two
In the meantime you have to stay off your
butt".
That
would be impossible I thought since I needed to sit on eight hours a day during ATC classes and take notes and exams. be impossible
We concluded
to accomplish that task standing up.
it would
We then agreed that
I might be able to get by with one of those little inflatable inner tubes that I could sit on.
I went out to the local drug store and bought one. I had
already missed two full days, and I didn't want to miss a third or I'd be really behind the pack of my peersOn day three I attempted to attend class with the help of the goofy inner tube by tailbone that
but even when
it was fully
inflated,
still managed to just touch the top the seat surface and even
slight contact
caused
bursts
of extreme
pain that quickly
grew
unbearable.
I consulted with the flight surgeon yet again and he ordered me to take a week
off.
disadvantage
A week
away from
class would
surely
put me at a major
and for the first time I thought I would be so far behind the
eight ball that I might not graduate.
I was worried sick.
But then I got a bit of good news from a Mr. John Buzan who worked in the Administration office.
He told me that I was not the first student who had to
miss classes for medical reasons and
I would certainly not be the last.
He told me that the FAA had contingency plans for just such cases and that their policy was to "recycle" any student who missed more than five days of classes. Recycling meant that I would be pulled from my graduating class and be reinserted into the class behind ours at the same point in training where I was forced to drop out. I assumed that this would just be a week or 152
two at the most, but learned from John that the next class had just started and it would be at least 68 days before I could be inserted into that class. What would I do for 68 days I asked?
"Try to stay current on what you
already learned and pretend you're a tourist for a few weeks" was his reply. I had little choice
but to take his advice. Thank
God my salary continued
because my previous seniority working for Uncle Sam gave me the right to collect sick pay.
Within a week I was bored and growing depressed.
There r e a lly is not
much to see and do in Oklahoma City and my ass was still sore. Luckily we had cable TV and I discovered a lot of channels I never knew even existed and my sanity managed to remain intact.
I would study two hours of every
day, reviewing all that I had learned to date and kept drawing that damn map so I wouldn't forget it. Even today, more than ten years later, I am still able to draw that map! I sent for Debbie and she joined me for some time together.
I really grew homesick for Miami.
After experiencing an
Oklahoma winter, most any other place in America would be a welcome change.
One
I truly felt like a bear in hibernation that winter.
morning
the phone
partner?" he asked.
rang.
It was John
Buzan.
"I'm good to go John" I replied hoping that he found
another slot for me somewhere sooner than 68 days. reason
for his call.
"How ya feeling
'Hey Gorcyca,
But that was not the
I need to speak
with you about
something, and I was hoping you could stop by my office this
afternoon".
"Sure
and I went
no problem"
I replied.
We
made
an appointment
back to eating my Cheerios, puzzled as to what the meeting could be about.
153
Yet another 3D airspace map that must be memorized by pilots to guarantee “separation” between commercial, military, and civil aircraft.
That
afternoon
when
I visited
John's
office
at the academy
he
ushered me into an office that wasn't his and closed the door behind e. He had a serious
look on his face and I was curious as hell as to what was
going on. After asking
me to sit down he stroked
his jaw a bit and then
asked me "Are you good friends with Angela Smith?" he asked. "Not really, why?" I asked thinking that she must have had an accident or something. But instead of answering my question he had a list of his own.
"When
was the last time you spoke with her? "Months ago, why?" "Did you ever date her?"
"No".
After a long awkward silence, John looked at me
and said "Are you aware she listed you as a witness?" what?"
"A witness to
I asked totally confused by this verbal exchange. "So
you aren't a witness after all - good! The little bitch is lying!" "A witness
to what Mr. Buzan?"
accused one of our instructors I immediately recalled about
I asked again.
"Oh the
he blurted. little cunt
of sexual harassment" was his reply and
that day in meteorology
that incident with Ace Gardner?"
I asked
class.
"Are you talking
innocently.
Buzan just 154
glared at me and "You were there?"
I could see my words I just nodded.
had upset greatly
"What did you see?"
upset him.
When I recalled
the incident from my memory John just rocked back in his chair, let out a long sigh, and stared up at the ceiling for over a minute.
Finally he leaned
forward in his seat and asked me "Do you like paperwork Gorcyca?" "Not especially"
I replied.
"Good -
neither
do I, so between you me and
these walls let's agree here and now that you never saw any such thing okay?"
I was so shocked by what he said that
away.
As I searched
for words
I couldn't
answer
right
he explained further "Ace is a well-
liked veteran instructor around here and we're not going to let some horny tramp ruin his reputation and cost him a pension".
I finally found a few words, but they might not have been the ones that John Buzan wanted
to
hear "Look
Mr. Buzan, I like Ace quite a bit
myself but if you're asking me to lie for him, I won't do it". Buzan then slid a pre-typed form in front of me as he tried to persuade me to "just sign it". "I'm not asking you to lie for anyone
Gorcyca,
I'm just
asking
you to
sign this paper and the subject is closed and will never be raised again. As I read the incident report form it was supposedly completed by me and merely stated "I have
no recollection
of any misconduct
of any FAA
instructor including Ace Gardner towards any female student(s)." very uncomfortable considering
being
that John
put
Buzan
recycle me back into training. right - it would be a lie.
in came
this to
awkward my rescue
position and
I felt
especially offered
to
But I knew that signing that form would not be
So I did what m y father always did hen asked to
settle a family dispute "Let me sleep on it John".
155
He was clearly disappointed with my decision not to decide there and then, but he gave me a self -addressed stamped envelope and handed it to me with the form. "Fine, just get this back to me in the mail within the next ten days".
I
nodded again and made my way to the door. As I opened it, he made one last remark that in hindsight, I should have paid more attention to, "Gorcyca, you owe me this favor partner". Maybe in his mind I did. But from my viewpoint he was just doing his job in recycling me. After all, he did say that recycling was a standard FAA "policy"
As I walked down the hallway, I tore the envelope
and form in half and dropped them into the first trashcan I passed on my way out. There was no way that I could ever let myself sign that paper, and now I was curious as to what new developments between Ace and Angela had taken place in my absence. At first I thought about looking her up to find out but then after second thoughts, decided it would be best to just distance myself from the mess. Sure enough, some ten days later I got a follow-up call from John Buzan asking me if I forgot to mail him that form. "No John, I didn't forget to mail it in - I decided against it.
I really don't want to get involved and I'm not going to lie
for anyone". "I see" was all he said before saying good-bye. I recall that I was perhaps about 20 days or less from resuming my training at this point in time. Jacksonville
Phil was graduating this week and would next week.
be returning to
My Rhode Island roommate had failed some of his
exams and washed out of the program. He was already on a Greyhound bus on his way home.
I spent the next few days trying to recruit new roommates
to take their places and help me defray the costs of the apartment.
Perhaps a week after I got that last call from Buzan, I received a form letter from the flight surgeon's office saying that he determined that "due to my injuries" I would be disqualified from further service as a radar center ATC since it required long periods of sitting behind a radar screen.
It was
his 156
recommendation that I be reassigned to a non-radar center position or terminated since I was still under their "probationary employment".
I noticed
that a copy of the letter was copied to "J. Buzan". It didn't take me more than two minutes to see the writing on the wall.
I immediately headed for Buzan's
office with his letter in hand, but the receptionist said he was "too busy" to see me. I made an appointment for the following day.
When I returned to Buzan's office he coyly asked me if I was there to sign his form.
In reality he knew damn well why I was there and I handed him the flight
surgeon's letter. He played right along shaking his head
"This is terrible news
Gorcyca - I'm so sorry". I stood there biting my lip wondering what sort of letter they sent to Angela. "What can you do about this Mr. Buzan?" I asked only to be told that my employment was no longer in his hands as an "administrative" matter and emphasized that it was now a "medical" matter.
I would play his
game for now and so I casually inquired "Okay then, what other non radar center positions are open?"
knowing that there had to be at least a handful. But the
only two jobs that he said were open were called FSS positions (Flight Service Station) and one was in Anchorage, Alaska and I seem to recall the other was somewhere in Maine. no intention of
Both were lower pay grade positions as well. I had
relocating to
anywhere that
had a winter
after
being
completely spoiled by my years in Puerto Rico and Miami. "This is about Angela, isn't John?" I asked unable to remain silent any longer. "I don't know what you're talking about Gorcyca, but if you want to reconsider signing that form, I might be inclined to speak with the flight surgeon on your behalf first thing in the morning". Now a rage was building up inside of me and I knew I had to get out of that office quickly before I blew up on the guy".
"Have a great day John" I
mumbled as left his office.
157
The military has their own ATCs and their control zone extends from 50,000 feet to the edge of space.
By the time I had gotten back to the apartment, Phil had left me a note on the refrigerator that John Buzan had called. Still furious, I picked up the phone and gave John a call. "I got a message that you called John".
"Yes Gorcyca, I was
just calling to see how you wanted to resolve this little problem?" he asked. I didn't
hesitant in responding. "Well John,
I don't handle ultimatums very
well so I hope you will keep your word and recycle me as you promised to do two months ago." He openly laughed for a few seconds and then told me "You either drag your butt down here to sign those papers or start packing for Alaska or Maine."
It took me less than fifteen seconds to make my choice as
I
gave him my answer "Hey John, go to hell".
The next day I typed up a letter of resignation citing "personal reasons" and delivered it personally to the director of the academy and dropped copy at John Buzan's office.
off a
My water pump for the Austin arrived the
following day, and within 72 hours, I was driving back to Miami as an angry 158
man but having the personal assurance that I did the right thing under the circumstances,
and doing the right thing has always been a priority for me.
Those nuns at St. Charles did their job maybe a little too well. My mother berated
me for quitting especially
academically.
since
I had been doing so well
But over the years she came to realize that if I had to play
those sort of games at the FAA on a regular basis, I would have been miserable.
I always wondered what ever became of Angela and if she
even knows why I left the FAA. I'm sure they must have played a few games with her as well.
But my stay in Oklahoma City would become worthwhile and most memorable to me for yet an incident that had no bearing on my ATC Training.
During my
medical leave period, I grew bored and frankly, unless you like drinking and line dancing, there was not a whole lot to do for fun. I decided one night to go shoot some pool (billiards) and finally found a bar that had one. It was full of most native Indians and a handful of what I presumed to be ATCs. The pool table was fairly new and regulation size and I ordered a drink and put my pack pack down on a table. I then put my quarter up the pull table and noticed there were about five players waiting ahead of me. I was not sure if we’d be playing for money but was not worried about it. I usually won anyway – my duty nights in the Coast Guard gave me ample time to perfect my skills.
As I sat down, I noticed a guy sitting next to me in lightly-tinted sunglasses, the mark of a radar center controller whose eyes become sensitive to light over the years. I introduced myself and he said he was “Phil” – “Phil Schneider”. When I asked him what radar center he was attached to, he chuckled , and just said, “one that didn’t exist”. I was not sure what he meant by that, but before I could ask, he simply said “I’m not a controller friend. I’m an engineer of sorts.” “Why 159
the sunglasses? I asked. “Because I spend most of my time underground inspecting tunnels and my eyes are a bit light sensitive these days.”
I was
curious but did not want to be too nosey “What kind of tunnels – like subways?” I asked. He smiled and just said “Sort of”. I was not aware of any subway system in Oklahoma City and asked if they were building one.
Phil saw that I was
seeking an explanation and apparently wanted to end the conversation. “I’m doing some work for the military here and they want to build an nationwide air control center underground with a back – up facility in Denver. So I’m here to do an assessment.” He remarked before he ordered another drink. I glanced over to the pool table and saw my turn was still a bit away. “Wow, that will be one hell of a tunnel from OKC to Denver “ I said “No big deal. There are longer ones that that.” When I asked how they made these tunnels, Phil described some huge cylindrical boring machine that was about 40 feet in diameter with a face that had hundreds of diamond-edged carbide steel “cutting wheels” that could burrow through the Earth and rock at more than 3 miles per day. It sounded all so amazing to me. I remarked that it sounded like a very expensive operation and asked why they just didn’t use surface trains. “The military has their reasons and we are not supposed to know there business son” is what he said.
Then as to change the subject, he said “Have you ever seen a UFO?” When I replied that I had and in fact might have seen two, he seemed surprised and asked me to tell him about it. I explained how I had seen a rather huge one in Puerto Rico fly over Ramey AFB, and how I thought I saw another one at sea, but could not be certain what it was, but that it maneuvered in such a crazy way, I assumed it was nothing known to man. Then he asked me to start describing the maneuvers and when I did, he assured me – matter of factly, that the second sighting was also a UFO. Wow, this was one of the first guys I met in the world who did not poke fun at me when I said I saw a UFO! His attitude made me 160
curious so I asked him “Have you ever seen a UFO Phil?” His swished his drink around in his glass, paused, and then simply said, “quite a few my friend.” Again he said it with such conviction, I could not doubt him, so I pursued the conversation… “So you think there’s life out there huh?” “Without a doubt son” was his reply.
Just then his pager went off. As he glanced at his beeper his face became a bit serious and then a scowl. Fortunately there was a pay telephone on the wall about 10 feet from our table and he immediately went to use it. I could not help to hear his side of the conversation and I heard him say “Look Colonel – rank is no indication of intelligence. You can listen to me or follow-orders – whatever you like. But I’m telling you that when it comes to the Grays, the good general has his head up his ass. We need their help and cooperation and what you just proposed will destroy my last three years of progress. If you have to use a torch, fine but no gas – do you understand?” The other party then must have talked for about a minute before P hil finally said “Well, then Colonel, please leave me out of your incident report, and if my name shows up in there, be damn sure that I am on record as opposing any physical violence or pepper spray – am I clear?” He then slammed down the phone in anger. He came back to the table extremely agitated. “Problems at the office?” I joked trying to calm him down. He said nothing at first and guzzled down his drink. “I have an ignorant asshole for a boss.” He tried to explain. “They’re everywhere, but calm down – guns and bullets are both quite affordable” I joked again. He was still clearly pissed off. “Put a star on someone’s shoulder and they think they automatically transform into a fucking genius!” is all he said before he stood up, grabbed his coat of the chair, slapped a $20 bill on the table and strode out the door – too consumed with his thoughts to even say good bye. I could not decipher what just happened but I could summarize that Phil was clearly an intelligent guy, sincerely steamed 161
about something that occurred and some Colonel was stuck in the middle of a dispute.
Beyond that I could not grasp what transpired and I assumed the
“grays” were some reference to a team – like “the reds” ad “the blues”. Maybe a team of engineers I thought.
Anyway, it didn’t concern me – I had my own
problems to deal with.
On the chair next to him, Phil had left a brochure from “Harris Corporation” and inside the brochure a few names and telephone numbers were scribbled. At this time, I cannot recall the details but the brochure was about some ultrasonic electronic devices and “crowd control”, “frequency jamming”, and “perimeter security.” All of this made me curious at the time, but nothing more. “Hey shorty – you’re up!” I heard some call from the pool table.
I played five games, earned $25 and then called it a night. I gave the brochure to the barmaid and told her to hold it in case a guy named “Phil” came back looking for it. She smiled and nodded.
My short and temporary friendship with Phil Schneider lasted all of maybe 45 minutes and I really did not know what to make of it all. It would be more than a decade later that I would ever hear the name “Phil Schneider” mentioned again. When I did, I almost fell out my chair. I was reading about an airline pilot who reported a near miss with a UFO and
when I did a google search on UFO
aviation technology (I was curious how these craft could maneuver so well without the issues of lift or drag – traditional aerodynamics) and saw some reference in a post to a man named Phil Schneider who was murdered. Could it be the same guy? As clicked on all the links I finally came across one that had his photo – a bit older but not by much. It was the same man. I won’t ruin your surprise so just Google on your own “Phil Schneider, UFOs, murder” and see 162
what this man really did for a living and what his wife has to say about his strange death. There is absolutely no doubt in my mind that Phil Schneider was quite sane, very intelligent, and a credible man.
The funny thing ignorant
about all my FAA training
bliss about air travel.
is that it shattered
Before attending
those classes
my
I never
thought twice about flying and didn't even know what a "near-miss" was. Now I know there are dozens of these "near-misses"
every single day
and
Yes indeed,
skies
I never take any flight for granted are still safer than our
heavily-dependent frequency.
most stressed.
the
but air traffic control is so
on some ancient computers that go down with growing
aircraft in their head.
retrospect,
highways,
Even the best controllers
least-appreciated
these days.
can't keep track
Air traffic controllers
government
employees
are probably
of a thousand one
of the
in America and certainly the
Our very lives are in their hands on a daily basis and in
I'm glad the ATC recruiting process
training so rigorous.
Our ai r traffic controllers
was
so fussy and the
are the very best of the
best, and that's the way it should be.
© Copyright 1995-2014 By Bruce A. Gorcyca – All Rights Reserved
163
