My friend’s son, Henry, was at the T-hangar a few evenings ago and was not in a good mood. You see, he is majoring in “chock-ology” at a nearby aviation college and his world was falling apart.
“I looked it up, he said. “The Strait of Hormuz is named after the historic medieval Kingdom of Hormuz and its crucial trading port island, which flourished from the 13th to 16th centuries.”
“Apparently,” he added, “that long-ago medieval setup is currently harshing my vibe, slowing my progress, draining my bank account, and is about to FUBAR my entire flying future.”
He went on to add, without me asking him to or showing the least interest, all about how the world has gone to H.E. Double Hockey Sticks and how he was already doomed and ruined by current events.
His general teen-driven angst and glum mood were turning the usually happy atmosphere in my hangar darkish and disheartening.
Here I was, a gentleman pilot of mature years, trying to enjoy a post-flight bourbon and my once-a-week cigar while this youngster was dragging the conversation I was having with my friend Bob away from goofy things our grandkids were doing down to the pits of misery.
It was time for a little “Boomer Love.” As much as I hated to do it, I was going to have to talk with him about the 1970s and share what I learned back when owning a pet rock was cool.
Henry turned his acne-laced face in my direction as I began the lesson with:
Ah, the seventies! People unabashedly danced in herky-jerky motions while listening to the worst music ever foisted on humanity. I’m talking about disco, son.
Vietnam was winding down, or so Nixon told us, while reassuring us that he was in no way a crook. Dow Chemical stock was up to about forty bucks a share, but would drop to around twenty due in part to our lessening need for napalm.
It was true that sexually transmitted diseases out there, while annoying, were mostly treatable, and it was also true that the price of a gallon of gas was fifty-three cents. Not bad. And it was also an era of music so good (if you ignore disco) that you are still listening to it today on oldies apps and in almost every television commercial.
Yours truly was beginning college at FSU back when we lost 11 football games in a season and only had one air-conditioned dorm. I was using my freshly minted VFR-only commercial rating to schlep skydivers into the air and was looking forward to a life full of jets, fun, and maybe an entire family of pet rocks.
Then, the sky fell. The Yom Kippur War in October 1973 led to the Arab world being royally cheesed at our country because we lent support to Israel, so, they embargoed the living crap out of us and cut us off from their oil exports.
Suddenly, the price of a barrel of oil went from $2.90 a barrel to $11.65. Gas was almost unavailable in our county, with long lines at gas stations, and rationing occurred in some areas. Nixon began a 55 mph national speed limit.
Henry interjected, “Is that where the Sammy Hagar song, I Can’t Drive 55, came from?”
A nod from me as I tried to relight my cigar.
“Cool.”
Anyway, I continued. Based on the fact that I was 18 and that I had the wisdom gleaned from one academic quarter of college, I knew that the jig was up. There was never going to be any fuel available for my flying career.
I was depressed thinking about the fact that the world was running out of oil and that I was probably doomed to a life of selling insurance or used pet rocks. I was so depressed that I could not enjoy the movie High Plains Drifter, even when Clint Eastwood blasted people with his gun.
The future looked so bleak that I was about to change my CB handle from “flyboy” to “rut-rider.”
Then, time happened.
It turned out later that gas was available if we paid the right price, which was much higher. We went from Nixon through the Gerald Ford Swine Flu Shot years, and I managed to get through college while continuing to fly.
Later, after a lifetime spent burning avgas and Jet A and about 22,000 flight hours, I evolved into the aviation deity you see before you here today.
“So, is there a lesson anywhere in that speech for me?” asked Henry.
Yes, and here it is.
The world is always falling apart and on the verge of destruction. This Hormuz thing is only the first in about a hundred seemingly world-ending events for you in your life of flying.
There will always be a fuel crisis, a safety crisis, not enough TSA agents, too many TSA agents, controller strikes, upcoming furloughs, airline bankruptcies, military misadventures, and the occasional medical scare.
Life is always frightening, especially when you know that you want to fly for a living and almost everything you see going on seems to be keeping you from it. My advice is to keep your head down and keep pedaling your metaphorical bike. Ignore social media when you can and deal with what is happening in the world, not what every scaremonger out there is telling you is about to happen.
You will have slow times and rollbacks in your career, but keep on flying, and remember that all of this has happened before and will happen again.
Try not to worry, and please, enjoy where you are. One minute you are a teen worried that avgas is a thing of the past, and the next you find yourself a geezer pontificating to America’s youthful aviators.
My cigar had gone out and my bourbon was drained as I harrumphed myself out of my chair and walked with Henry and Bob to the FBO’s restrooms and then home to watch the latest outrage on the TV news.
As I begin my eighth decade on earth I can confirm that once again the shit is hitting the fan (best English expression EVVER)
But there is good news coming: disco will return to save the day!
never!
I’m pretty sure they describe that in the Book of Revelations.
The end has been foretold many times by many civilizations, that’s for sure. Chicken Little will be right someday.
There have been, and will continue to be, local, national and global factors that work in favor of or against the flying dreams of individuals and generations. For many the dream of flying is not an easy one to achieve. As with most things, the odds of achieving the goal are proportional to the amount of effort and sacrifice one is willing to make during the pursuit. The external forces increase and decrease the odds, but the dream is never dead until you let it be.
If it was easy everybody would be doing it 😜
Another great article, Keith.
One can easily imagine a similar conversation, oh say, about 1915 involving a young man aspiring to become a blacksmith or a TV repairman in 1978, etc., etc. Things remain the same until they don’t and the consequences are seldom accurately predicted in advance. “Chicken Little” is not always wrong.
…and there’s more than one path/goal/niche and any or all of the above may change over time.
My first aviation career observation was that my girlfriend’s UPS driver was an Eastern Airlines pilot.
In the days before corrective surgery, 20/200 vision got you into the backseat of tactical jets…it was a fun ride (as long as you didn’t make the news) that when concluded also convinced me I didn’t have the burning fire to risk prime earning years and start from zero hours to pursue a career not spilling coffee.
Duly trained via 152/172 path, found salvation in experimental GA where pulling G’s was morally accepted and getting hands dirty made it affordable…but I do miss Uncle Sam’s gas card.
Pretty much agree with you Kevin as your experience has also been mine. However there are one or two differences (call them black swans?) which give me pause. Your and my working era was characterized by several constants set in stone: political leadership which believed in the post WW2 world order, true diplomacy, allies and respect for allies, and the power of US soft power. It’s what ended the Soviet Union and the cold war. All of that has now been turned over on its head. So I’ve got to admit that I’m a bit hard pressed to confidently, along with you tell my 45 year old son “remember that all of this has happened before and will happen again.” Because it has not all happened before.
Can’t agree more, John. In my seven decades I’ve never felt the threat of dictatorship from a nut that is too hot headed and irrational to keep his finger off the football. And he’s surrounded himself with morons that will second the choice.
I lived through all the stuff Kevin mentioned, so I’m not ignorant to his rationale. He just left out one major difference.
It’s amazing how much better I feel after I stopped watching and listening to the news. Wisdom usually has a long gestation (at 70, I’m probably at a relative 6 months in the process and the baby is starting to kick… maybe), but your article was excellent, Kevin.
“Henry interjected, “Is that where the Sammy Hagar song, I Can’t Drive 55, came from?””
Lie like you mean it and the young will believe in anything 🙂
the head nod is the best. Not lying, just acknowledging the statement.
As a young boomer or old millennial, I know the real reason Sammy couldn’t drive 55 (lol)
(fast cars, fast women 😉 )
Solid assessment to be true. Do not let blocks stop one’s elf from achieving a goal. it is how we work through them that shape who we are.
“…Do not let blocks stop one’s elf from achieving a goal.”
Every elf deserves to dream 🙂
I’ve agreed with Kevin MANY more times than I disagreed. This piece is “spot-on”. In 1979 I paid $1.01 for avgas in El Paso and of course thought that aviation was doomed. Yet here I am although the biggest thing I ever flew was a B-25 since I couldn’t get a waver for vision for a 1st class to get the ATP to fly the airlines. I’m happy and now have two planes and not enough time to fly them. Same story … different verse.