​“Aerospace,” the journal of the Royal Aeronautical Society featured an article by Kimberly Perkins on crew collaboration. In it, Perkins, a pilot herself, explores the recent trends in aircrew behavior and its associated safety implications. She quotes recent academic research as revealing that 93% of first officers feel compelled to adopt the culture and style of the captain, and 75% of them report that they shift from a safety voice to a muted safety voice, hesitating to report a safety concern.
 
Sadly, this sounds familiar. As I elaborated in Chapter 25 of my book, “Aeromorphosis,” the culture of my airline in the 1970’s discouraged F/O input in the decision-making process. After force-feeding the senior pilots the CRM curriculum, safety improved by orders of magnitude. Some of them, as now, just didn’t buy the concept. After all, what could a new F/O possibly teach a 20,000-hour captain in perfect health and wonderful check-ride scores?
 
As a proud co-author of my company’s CRM program, I vowed to treat first officers with respect and inclusion. Upon achieving my first captaincy, my examiner had some words of wisdom which proved to be half true. Bob Entrekin, the model of the gentleman, talented airline captain said, “Don, that thing you said about treating the F/O as a captain in training, will last about one trip. They won’t appreciate it and it’s just too much trouble. Also, remember that all the A**holes in this airline don’t sit in the left seat.”
 
On my last flight from Tokyo to Atlanta on the Boeing 777, I briefed Oke Pearson, the first officer as I had on every flight: “I consider you a captain in training. When it’s your leg, I expect you to make all the decisions as to altitude, track, turbulence, and configuration. If you have a technique that is different from mine, I will quietly observe and perhaps learn. If you make a decision that is inefficient or potentially unsafe, we will discuss it and reach an agreement.  If we can’t reach an agreement, I will win.”
 
That approach paid rich dividends. On occasions when I was in error, a considerate F/O saved me from danger or embarrassment. As a long-time first officer myself, I am well aware of conspiratorial silence as a weapon against mean-spirited captains.
 
The process of “reaching an agreement” is complex and may have been given insufficient thought by Ms. Perkins. I remember two instances of failing to reach an agreement with the first officer, and both involved weather, or their concept of it. On one occasion, I was paired with a fellow who held a very sincere belief that flying into an area of weather depicted on the radar as yellow, or moderate precipitation, meant certain death. I explained that company policy and my experience indicated that while somewhat turbulent, that safety would not be compromised, and that the passengers would appreciate a timely arrival at the expense of a few bumps.
 
Not to be persuaded, he indignantly announced to the cockpit voice recorder, “I advise you against this path, bad things will happen.”
 
I don’t remember what I said to that, but we used my plan, experienced a few bumps, and arrived on time. He never apologized. I suppose he thought I was just lucky.
 
The other squabble I had involved a “weather expert.” This fellow had a degree in meteorology and always brought non-company charts and data to the cockpit. It wasn’t long into the flight that he suggested another altitude and route. I hesitated since the company had expended considerable resources in planning our flight but complied. After a while, I noticed that our fuel burn and elapsed time had not improved over the company plan. The weatherman then suggested an even more radical departure from the original plan. Only then did I realize that it was a subtle mutiny. With his alleged superior knowledge, he had assumed control of the aircraft. His persuasive use of conflicting data had lulled me into the web. Once there, any failure would be on me for abandoning the plan without consulting with the company dispatcher. Bob Entrekin was right, not all the a**holes in this airline sit in the left seat.
 
Ms. Perkins laments the low number of women in airline cockpits and the indignities that they suffer. In “Jet Boss, A female pilot on taking risks and flying high,” by Laura Savino, the author documents the prejudice, discriminatory practices, and inappropriate behavior experienced on her way to become an airline captain. I believe her story as I have seen similar practices at my airline. I have flown under the supervision of female captains and have flown with female members of my own crew. I can unequivocally say that female pilots’ talents and temperaments span the same spectrum as their male counterparts. Some are great, and some not so much.
 
Perkins advocates advancement toward “psychological safety.” She says that it would be irresponsible to assume that a culture shift will occur naturally through attrition. Having witnessed a very dramatic culture shift over fifty years, I believe that profound changes only occur by purpose-driven, well-resourced, mandatory programs. Now is not the time to relax our vigilance on this issue. After all, we have eliminated most of the things that will kill us in airplanes. We rarely experience mid-air collisions, flight into terrain, weather disasters, or structural or engine failure. Despite our wonderful ability to improvise, if we pilots can’t clean up our act, the engineers will do it for us.

​The recent aviation tragedy at the Wings Over Dallas Airshow has me wondering as much as anyone as to how such a thing could happen. Reminiscing about the evolution of my own formation flying, I believe that aviation’s approach to formation flying has changed faster than my skills matured. Having flown both General Aviation and Military formation, I can see a convergence of the best attributes of each camp
As a teenage pilot, our group of ignorant, arrogant newbies frequently flew what we called formation. We didn’t get very close or fly in bad weather, so we escaped any trouble. In Air Force pilot training in the late ‘60s, I was introduced to a more serious version. We learned formation takeoffs (no formation landings), close trail, extended trail, rejoins, two and four ship (plane) formation, but not in the clouds.
Perhaps the most challenging task was rejoins. That is the art of getting aircraft back together after separation. Whether straight ahead or while lead is turning, we learned to join the formation in a timely manner, while avoiding a collision. Frequently the (re)joining pilot would misjudge the overtake and find himself (there were few herselfs in those days) approaching the leader too fast with a looming collision. The temptation is such a situation is to roll away from the leader and try to turn away. This would have resulted in losing sight of the leader, a very bad idea. The preferred solution to that situation is to roll your wings level, pass beneath the leader and dissipate the excess energy in a safe place. Reviewing the Wings Over Dallas video, I can see no attempt of the P-63 pilot to turn. I suspect he simply lost sight of the B-17 over the long nose of his aircraft.
After Undergraduate Pilot Training (UPT) I went to Perrin AFB, in Sherman-Dennison, Texas to check out in the F-102. I remember my first solo formation landing. I was very apprehensive, but it turned out to be a non-event. The pony: Stack high on approach (so you don’t touch down in the grass), fly your best formation down to a few feet, look forward and stay on your side of the runway. Some guys said they watched lead down to taxi speed. I didn’t. Although much larger, the F-102 felt much like the T-38 in formation.
Next came the grey ghost, the F-106. It was very difficult to see while in formation at night or in the clouds. Its wingtip lights were flush with the wingtips for drag reduction. While flying on the wing one would be looking at the light edge-on and it became almost invisible. The white light in the tail, and the two rotating beacons were barely adequate for keeping position.
In-flight refueling (IFR) in clear weather was a lot of fun. The F-106 used a boom receptacle (as opposed to a basket) to receive fuel. When approaching the contact position, we simply followed the boomer’s instructions, or (if observing radio silence) followed the director lights on the tanker’s belly. The director lights are two long rows of lights with a few green ones in the middle, a couple of yellow ones at either end, red ones beyond that. On the left side the lights commanded you to go up or down, the right row was for forward and back. The tanker crews deserve a lot of praise. They do a great job. I’ve heard them say that their job is passing gas.
My next assignment was to fly the F-102 in Iceland. I had not noticed when I previously flew it, but the lighting on it was much more compatible with formation flying. It had two “formation lights” on the aft fuselage, and the wingtip lights were easily visible. Also, I found the flight controls much more harmonious than the F-106 which facilitated close-in formation flying. The weather in Iceland is routinely terrible. Low visibility and strong winds prevailed. I flew so many low visibility formation takeoffs and landings that I actually (almost) got used to it. When the crosswinds were strong, the wingman would allow the leader to begin his takeoff roll and a few seconds later begin his. This “radar trail” technique was also used when approaching Russian aircraft.
From Iceland I was transferred to Tyndall AFB at Panama City, Florida. In the 475 Test Squadron, I flew the F-101 Voodoo. The Voodoo was a hard airplane to love. The airplane was so sensitive in pitch that I wondered at first if I would ever master flying formation in it. It had the luxury of “tape lights,” several electroluminescent lights on the nose, tail and fuselage. They made night formation a non-event.  The flight controls were so sensitive that when the leader signaled that he was going to select afterburners, the wingman knew that the “bobble” was coming. When the afterburners lit, that always induced a bobble because the pilot’s hand on the control stick was involuntarily disturbed by the jolt.  After 1,000 hours in it, I sort of got the hang of it.
Twenty years later I managed to become a part owner in a CT-133 Silver Star. That’s a Canadian T-33 for us Americans. It was nearly identical to its American counterpart except for a more powerful Roll-Royce Nene 10 engine. That airplane got me an invitation to billionaire Rod Lewis’ formation clinic at his ranch near Laredo. Rod was into T-28s in those days. The late Neil Anderson was the chief instructor and I was the assistant. The students were guys who could afford a T-28, but lacked formation experience. It was a fun time visiting with the famous visitors. Rod sent his Cessna Sovereign to California to pick up Chuck Yeager who loved to hang out of a helicopter and shoots hogs. Bud Anderson, and Tex Hill also attended. Rod was very generous, and Chuck was a pleasure to visit. The formation clinic succeeded in elevating the skills without any major terror. Months later, I taxied away from the gas pump after paying $2000. I decided that it was time to move on.
Bucko Stretlow is an experienced pilot who teaches formation in general aviation aircraft, mostly Mooneys. He invited me to help him instruct. While I was considering that, my Aggie classmate and fellow Delta Captain Jim Averitt lost his life in a formation training accident at Fredericksburg, Texas. He was leading the flight. After that, I told Bucko that I had become too old to be a good formation instructor. I have either lost my nerve, or used up all my luck.
In 2018 I managed a ride with the Aeroshell T-6 demonstration team at AirVenture at Oshkosh, WI. The four-ship diamond formation executed some barrel rolls and loops, all the while in perfect position. I noticed that the whirling buzz-saw at the front of our airplane was only 18 inches from the horizontal stabilizer of the lead aircraft. I asked the pilot, Brian Reagan, how long he had been flying formation. All told, he said, it had been about 25 years of doing exactly what we were doing that day.
I don’t fly formation anymore. However, I enjoy watching formation performances more than most people. I love the loops and rolls that the Blue Angels and Thunderbirds execute. My favorite, though, is the “Parade Pass.” Coming from the right side and behind the audience, in a slight left bank, the four aircraft in diamond don’t maneuver but tuck in ever so tightly. I believe the wingtip to canopy space is less than a foot! I am astonished, while most of the audience says, “Ho hum, another perfect maneuver.”
Many discussions of formation flying center on being a good wingman. Being a good lead is more difficult. That’s all about being smooth and considering your wingman’s capabilities and possible aircraft malfunctions, all the while traveling at six miles per minute toward your destination. No radio-no problem. A hand signal system allows communication of every conceivable situation. When lead looks at his wingman and shows a raised fist, that means what is your problem. The wingman raises from one to five fingers indicating which system is at play. HEFOE. Hydraulic=1, electrical=2, fuel=3, oxygen=4, engine=5. Of course, there are many others such as fuel state, landing gear up/down, etc.
While flying for Delta Airlines, I attended a meeting about pilot hiring strategy. One person suggested that only experienced cargo pilots should be hired. I objected, saying that hiring fighter pilots might be a better idea.
“Why would we do that, all you guys know is bank and yank. Cargo plots know how to manage a crew, fly smoothly, and haul stuff.” He said.
I replied, “Fighter pilots are usually the best of their training class and participating in a formation is the ultimate teamwork exercise, involving flying very smoothly and being sensitive to each other’s capabilities.”
I don’t know if that had any profound effect, but I did notice later that many of my copilots had come from fighters.
It takes longer to learn than riding a bicycle, but one never forgets how it’s done.

​Passing Gas
The capability of In-flight refueling (IFR) of combat aircraft is critically important for a nation to project its military power. The few nation-states that own and operate “tankers” must be regarded as long-range threats by their enemies. In this context, it is no wonder that huge amounts of resources have been dedicated by so many countries to achieve this capability. 
 
Early experiments from the 1920s to the late 1930s mostly pursued endurance records. Later Britain’s Sir Alan Cobham advanced the process by using IFR for transatlantic crossings of Empire flying boats. WW II revealed the need for IFR, but little progress was made until after its conclusion. 
 
Hose and drogue systems emerged during the Korean War. Relatively simple to build, they consist of a hose reeled from the tanker with a “basket” on its end. The receiver aircraft flies formation with the basket and maneuvers so as to insert their “probe” into it for fuel transfer. Notoriously difficult for the receiver pilot; the basket frequently flails due to the aerodynamics of the approaching aircraft. 
 
After WW II, General Curtis LeMay wanted a system that could transfer fuel faster than had been possible with the probe and drogue. Boeing developed the KC-97 Stratotanker which came equipped with a flying boom. This enabled a more stable tanker delivery system with higher flow rates. However, receiver aircraft needed a complex “boom receptacle” to accommodate this new system. The receptacle assembly included a lighted door which could be opened to accommodate the boom. The boom could be maneuvered in three dimensions by an operator lying prone at the rear of the tanker aircraft. 
 
The tanker aircraft were equipped with “director lights,” on their bellies and forward of their main wing. These lights enabled the boom operator to command the receiver aircraft forward/aft, and up/down. They also enabled radio silent refueling operations. The director light strip on the left commanded up/down that the boom operator needed to direct the receiver into position. Green in the middle, the lights glowed yellow for about a third of it either side of the middle, and red from the yellow to the end. On the right side of the tanker’s belly, the forward/aft lights guided the receiver aircraft. Once the receiver began taking on fuel, the director lights became automatic. In that case, the position of the boom, rather than the boom operator, served to illuminate the proper lights, and thus inform the pilot of the receiver aircraft if they were drifting out of position. 
 
On a typical refueling that I experienced in the F-106 in the 1970s, a flight of four fighters would rendezvous with a KC-135 tanker. This usually began with an offset, head-on (altitude separated) approach. After assuring the tanker crew that the fighters’ weapons were safe, the fighter formation leader would call the moment for the tanker to begin a 180-degree turn to the fighters’ heading. If all went according to plan, the tanker would roll out on the fighters’ heading, slightly ahead and slightly above them. With the assistance of on-board radar, this could be done in the weather, but was much more tedious. Once near the tanker, lead would assume the “precontact position,” in trail with the tanker and a few feet behind it. The other three would fly formation with the tanker on either side of its wingtips. The boom operator would then begin giving the receiver aircraft instructions toward the contact position. 
 
When my turn came, I maneuvered into the precontact position, enabled my refueling system, and waited for the boomer’s instructions. When I enabled my refueling system, the boom receptacle door opened, illuminated its lights, illuminated the blue “ready” refueling indicator light on the glare shield above the instrument panel, and opened the jaws of the boom clamp assembly. Three lights mounted high on the fighter’s instrument panel announced: “ready (blue),” “contact (green),” and “disconnect (red).”  When cleared into the contact position, I pulled up slightly to position the end of the boom level with my eyes and began inching forward to the correct position according to the boomer’s instructions. 
 
“Up two, forward five,” he says.
 
I head directly for the boom tip. As it slowly nears my windshield, it gently moves an inch or two to the side. I never knew if it was the boomer doing that or the boundary layer aerodynamics of the cockpit. It is now behind me and I must rely solely on the boomer’s instructions. 
 
“Forward one,” he says. I can feel the boom nozzle contacting my aircraft. After several thumps, my blue ready light extinguishes, followed by the illumination of the green contact light.
 
“Receiver contact,” I say
“Tanker contact,” the boomer says.
 
I pause a few seconds and then squeeze the switch under my right index finger to disconnect. My red disconnect light illuminates.
 
“Receiver disconnect,” I say.
 
“Tanker disconnect,” he says.
 
I get to do this five more times in order to log my mandatory six hookups in six months. Immediately above my left hand which is on the throttle, is a long switch. I momentarily release the throttle and bump the switch upward with the back of my hand. That motion resets the refueling system back to the “ready” mode. 
 
On my sixth hookup I receive a “top up” on fuel. I show 230 knots on my airspeed indicator, which is a little slow for comfort. As the fuel flows, my weight increases to the full capacity of 14,495 pounds. I continuously add power as my weight increases. Nearing the end of the process, I am at almost full throttle, but without afterburner, called “military” power.
 
“Tanker fuel cutoff,” says the boomer.
 
“Receiver disconnect,” I say.
I turn off the IFR system and return to a position off the right wing of the tanker. The maneuver has taken about seven minutes. Soon we are all topped off and separate from the tanker. My airplane flies much better at 300 knots.
 
One cloudless day in the late fall of 1970 I participated in an IFR mission with the squadron chief of maintenance. Although a fully qualified pilot, he flew less than the rest of us. A young Lt. Col., he was physically fit and mentally sharp. I have no reason to doubt his story. I had received my six hookups and fuel and had moved out for his session. All went well until he began taking fuel. His aircraft began to slowly move forward. The boom accommodated this by retracting and pitching downward. 
 
“Approaching forward limit,” the boomer said with no response.
 
“At forward limit,” he announced in a slightly higher pitched voice. 
 
“Breakaway, breakaway, breakaway,” he fairly screamed over the radio.
 
The fighter kept moving forward. The boom, being fully compressed, had nowhere to go except to bend like a pretzel. With no response from the fighter, the tip of the boom bent so as to be nearly vertical in the fighter’s boom receptacle. I moved out a little farther, wondering if I was to witness a huge fireball.  Finally, the boom broke just above the fighter’s boom receptacle. The stored energy in the bent boom caused it to violently recoil upward, returning with great force toward the fighter.  As the remaining part of the boom struck the top of the fighter, the steering devices on the sides of the boom broke off and departed in the fast-moving air. Fuel streamed from the boom. Meanwhile the tanker had firewalled his throttles to no avail. 
 
“Mike Golf 05, do your read, do you read?” asked the tanker.
 
“Loud and clear, what just happened?” responded the fighter pilot. 
 
“You just collided with a tanker. I recommend you take it home as an emergency aircraft.”
 
We all made it home uneventfully. Back on the ramp, everyone gathered around as a piece of the tanker was removed from the fighter. He swore that he had a momentary radio failure that caused the incident. I have no reason to doubt that. Even so, he became known as the “souvenir collector.”
 
The Tennessee Air National Guard was still flying the ancient KC-97, propeller-driven tanker in 1970. Like most National Guard airmen, they were supremely proficient at their jobs. Refueling with them was always a pleasure, except for the airspeeds. Only able to achieve 195 knots, their tankers demanded slow-flying the F-106, especially at heavier weights. To compensate for this, the “toboggan” technique was invented. When the receiver is unable to stay in position at full power, the tanker begins a descent, granting the receiver a small power advantage. That always worked well with the KC-97 crews, and they were good at it. Another difference with refueling behind a KC-97 was that their boom was slightly offset from the center of their aircraft. In the F-106, a “vision splitter” divided the center of the pilot’s view so as to eliminate confusing reflection from the sides of the windscreen. Hardly noticeable under normal flying, the vision splitter required the pilot to move to one side of the cockpit to see the tanker’s director lights. With the KC-97, no such inconvenience was required. Another difference present in KC-97 operations was that it performed its mission at lower altitudes. This made for a much more relaxed process since it happened below the area of positive control or “Class A” airspace where all aircraft must be on an instrument flight plan and constantly negotiating with Air Traffic Control.  The Tennessee Air National Guard remains a proud and effective organization, now equipped with KC-135R Stratotankers.
 
The F-102 was not equipped for IFR when originally built. A few were equipped with crude, temporary probe assemblies in order to ferry them to Southeast Asia during the Viet Nam war. When I flew from Iceland in the F-102, without IFR capability; endurance was short, and the Russians knew it. We would frequently intercept TU-95 Russian bombers at the edge of our range at a location carefully calculated by them to cause us maximum stress. The sorely needed IFR capability finally materialized when the F-102 was replaced with the F-4, and later, the F-15. On one daylight mission to intercept Russian bombers near the Faroe Islands, I was positioned near a Russian TU-95, hurriedly performing my surveillance, when a voice with a decidedly British character came over my radio.
 
“Sloe Gin, Eleven Squadron lead here, when you finish, we would like to survey the Bear.”
 
It was a flight of British Lightning fighters out to harass the Russians, just as we were. 
 
“Certainly, I’m finished, it’s all yours.” I said.
 
With that, a very much faster fighter passed underneath the bomber, lit its twin afterburners, and sharply pulled up in front of it, continuing skyward performing several vertical rolls.  This was a classic “hot nose” maneuver, designed to create turbulence and surprise in the Russian crew. 
 
“That was beautiful. I heard that the Lightning carried little fuel. How can you afford to do such a thing ‘way out here.” I said.
 
“We have a Victor tanker nearby.” He said.
 
I wonder if the F-4 pilots who followed me at Keflavik ever did such pranks.
 
In 1982, the Royal Air Force established a requirement for additional tanker resources, due to shortcomings identified during the Falklands War. As a result, nine Lockheed TriStars were acquired for conversion. Six of these became tankers, equipped for hose-and-drogue refueling. The first of these entered service in 1985. Hose-and-drogue systems are easier to implement than boom-type systems. However, three years from concept to operation is a notable accomplishment. Contrast that with the USAF KC-46 Pegasus program. Begun with a procurement directive in 2001, the latest forecast calls for the aircraft to be combat ready in late 2023. Plagued by cost overruns, delays, cancellations, rebids, and corruption; the thirty-year-old airframe design (Boeing 767) may be obsolete when the glacially-paced U. S. Government finally agrees on a new tanker. Due to “flaws in the bidding process,” the Airbus aircraft which won the 2008 bid, was rejected in favor of the Pegasus. Cost overruns and delays accumulated. Wiring redesign to military specifications, fuel system changes, and implementation of a remote boom operator station bedeviled the project. Failure to follow FAA processes in the design of the refueling system caused a delay, which is curious in an Air Force project. By adding additional capabilities along the way, such as electronic countermeasures, and electronic warfare, the aircraft is still years away from initial operational capability (IOC) and holding. I expect that further delays and cost overruns will forever continue to push the IOC and price tag ahead. 
 
Much like the relationship between a child and its mother, fighter pilots (and, indeed, all receiver pilots) carry an unspoken gratitude for the life-giving fluids provided by tanker crews. Although frequently maligned by fighter pilots as being members of a support group, rather than front line combat crews, the bond between the two groups is palpable. During the Vietnam War, rumors emerged of tanker crews violating procedures to rescue a stricken fighter over enemy territory. Their courage and devotion to duty is much appreciated by myself and the other receivers whom I know. 

Some light-hearted aviation aphorisms
 
1. There is no problem so complex that it cannot simply be blamed on the pilot. ~ Dr Earl Weiner
2. Flying is like sex —I’ve never had all I wanted but occasionally I’ve had all I could stand. ~ Stephen Coonts
3. The greatest danger in flying is starving to death. ~ Earl C. Reed of the T-L-R Flying Circus
4. When asked by someone how much money flying takes: Why, all of it! ~ Gordon Baxter
5. The Cub is the safest airplane in the world; it can just barely kill you. ~ Max Stanley, Northrop test pilot
6. An old pilot is one who can remember when flying was dangerous and sex was safe.
7. The scientific theory I like best is that the rings of Saturn are composed entirely of lost airline baggage. 
8. Airlines have really changed, now a flight attendant can get a pilot pregnant. 
9. There are only three things a copilot should ever say:
            1. Nice landing, Sir. 
            2. I'll buy the first round. 
            3. That sure was a pretty woman you were with last night. 
10. There are only two things a wingman should ever say:
             1. Two is up.
            2. Lead you are on fire.
11. There are certain aircraft sounds that can only be heard at night, over water or rugged terrain.  
12. The aircraft limits are only there in case there is another flight by that particular aircraft. If subsequent flights do not appear likely, there are no limits. 
13. Flying is a hard way to earn an easy living. 
14. I've flown in both pilot seats. Can someone tell me why the other one is always occupied by an idiot? 
15. Son, you're going to have to make up your mind about growing up and becoming a pilot. You can't do both. 
16. FAA Motto: We're not happy, till you're not happy.  
17. The three worst things to hear in the cockpit:
            The second officer says, "Damn it!"
            The first officer says, "I have an idea!"
            The captain says, "Hey, watch this!"
18. Death is just nature's way of telling you to watch your airspeed.
19. One of the beautiful things about a single piloted aircraft is the 
quality of the social experience.
20. The similarity between air traffic controllers and pilots? 
            If a pilot screws up, the pilot dies. 
            If ATC screws up, the pilot dies.
21. I want to die in my sleep like my grandfather....Not screaming and yelling like the passengers in his airplane...."
22. If they want to give it to me, there must be something wrong with it: Bob Giles
23. It’s better to be on the ground wishing you were in the air than in the air wishing you were on the ground. 
24. The difference between a polish pilot and an American pilot is that an American pilot breaks ground and flies into the wind.
25. How will this approach terminate? In one piece, I hope. Dan Boyd
26. The only thing worse than a captain who never flew copilot is a copilot who was once a captain.
27. Good judgment comes from experience. Good experience comes from someone else's bad judgment.
28. Learn from the mistakes of others. You won't live long enough to make them all yourself.
29. A terminal forecast is a horoscope with numbers.
30. You know you've landed with the wheels up when it takes full power to taxi.
31. There are three simple rules for making a smooth landing: Unfortunately, no one knows what they are.
32. Aviation is not so much a profession as it is a disease.
33. It's easy to make a small fortune in aviation. You start with a large fortune...
34. A fool and his money are soon flying more airplane than he can handle.
35. The male pilot is a poor, confused soul who talks about women when he's in an airplane...and talks about airplanes when he is with a woman.
36. Never fly the 'A' model of anything."
37. Never fly in the same cockpit with someone braver than you. Richard Herman Jr, in "Firebreak" 
38. The sky is not the limit..............the ground is.
39. And its corollary: You can’t beat the record for a low pass, you can only tie it.

​MiG-21 Flight as told to Don by Neil Anderson
 
As the F-16 test pilot for General Dynamics, I traveled to Cairo with the American delegation whose mission was to negotiate the sale and implementation of the aircraft into the Egyptian Air Force. With much fanfare and ceremony, President Sadat greeted us warmly. During the evening, he asked me if there was anything that he could do for me.
 
In the early 1980s, the Egyptian Air Force flew the Russian MiG-21. At that time, it remained a respected and little-known entity in America.
 
I replied, “I have always wanted to fly a MiG-21. Could you arrange that?”
 
He summoned his Air Force Chief of Staff and said, “Provide Mr. Anderson with a MiG to fly.”
 
When I arrived at Abu Suweir Air Base, an immaculate MiG-21 sat ready on the tarmac with a dozen airmen waiting. A general warmly greeted me and introduced me to the young officers who readied the aircraft.
 
“What would you like to do Mr. Anderson?” One asked.
 
“If you will show me how to start it, I think I can handle the rest,” I said.
 
“Very well, but you must remain in Egyptian air space or the Israelis will shoot you down.”
 
“What is you plan, Mr. Anderson?”
 
“I will takeoff, fly west, perform some maneuvers, and return for a few touch-and-go landings.”
 
“Very well, what is this touch-and-go?”
 
Surprised at their ignorance, I replied, “That is when you land, then power up and take off again, without stopping.”
 
“Interesting, have a good flight.”
 
And off I went. After a few minutes of maneuvers (the aircraft had very short endurance), I returned to base. Lining up on the 9700 ft. runway, I smoothly touched down and pushed the throttle fully forward. Only then did I realize that the engine accelerated much more slowly than I was accustomed. Halfway down the runway, the engine had achieved about 75% RPM, which amounted to almost no thrust. With two thousand feet remaining, it slowly spun up to about 85%, still inadequate for flight. At the end of the runway, committed to the takeoff, I saw 90% as the aircraft began to bounce through the desert. After what seemed an eternity, I felt the thrust push me forward, and I pulled the nose up to fly. With the brush banging against the underside of the fuselage and wings, I finally escaped.
 
I realized at that moment why the Egyptian pilots were so mystified about the touch-and go. Prudently deciding to leave what remained of the landing gear down, I circled for an uneventful landing. As I taxied back into the parking area, the Egyptians were perfectly expressionless. Not one of them expressed any surprise either by their body language or speech.
 
“Did you enjoy your flight Mr. Anderson? One asked.
 
As I left, I glanced over my shoulder at the now trashed fighter, wondering if I had blown the F-16 sale deal. No one, either Egyptian or American, ever said a critical word to me about the flight. The sale went through as expected.