Laura Savino - Jet Boss: A Female Pilot on Taking Risks and Flying High

JET BOSS

Jet Boss: a female pilot on taking risks and flying high by Laura Savino

Published by Freedom Forge Press, LLC

www.FreedomForgePress.com

Copyright 2021 by Laura Savino

All Rights Reserved

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopied, recorded, or otherwise, without the express written consent of the publisher.

For my sons, Nicholas and Robert

the purpose of everything in my life.

Thank you to my parents for always being on my side,

and for giving me the freedom to find my own way.

A deep appreciation for my friends and colleagues,

whose shared experiences I wouldnt trade for anything in the world.

The world of aviation includes a diverse swath of skilled professionals. This story is told from my little corner of this world, offering my perspective, opinion, and feelings. Though this story is told through my eyes, I wish to be respectful of all views. I encourage any dissenting readers to write their own memoir, but please change my name and make me a bit taller.

I recount events accurately to the absolute best of my ability referring to my logbooks, notes, photographs, saved scrapbook items, consultations with friends, family and colleagues, and the internet when applicable. Some names, locations, and flight numbers have been changed to protect privacy, while other names remain true to offer appreciation and credit. Quotations dont necessarily represent verbatim dialogue, but rather represent the spirit of the conversation.

The views expressed are mine alone. At no time am I speaking on the behalf of United Airlines, or any other entity.

Nicholas, what do you want to be when you grow up? my four-year-old sons pre-school teacher asked him. Do you want to be a pilot? she offered.

Ewww, he exclaimed in disgust, thats a girls job!

Perspective is everything.

Matchbox cars crawled below me as I streamed down from the sky pointing my Boeing 737 directly at a tiny strip of pavement at the Los Angeles International Airport, LAX. I cinched my five-point harness; my cue to shut out the stunning view filling my windshield and focus only on that runway, my instruments and anything between those two.

United 322, descend and maintain 10,000, scratched over our radio from an air traffic controller, a guy hunched over a screen in a windowless room, playing an endless video game with us as spaceship invader number 322.

Dean, the captain on this aircraft, dialed the new clearance in as I eased the throttles back to step down our altitude from the first officers seat beside him.

I slid my seat forward until I found the sweet spot where the control yoke comfortably rested in my palm and my toes tapped on the rudder pedals at just the right angle to land the plane. This flight and everything about it drummed along with the comfort of soothing routine.

Without warning, something black shot out from between my ankles and smacked into my face, brushing my lips with a soiled taste. I slammed backwards into my seat as the creature rebounded off my teeth and pivoted upwards until it whacked the systems control panel above my head. This thing darted in every direction, like an out-of-control pin ball.

What the hell! Dean yelped my thoughts. What is that?

Was it a bat? A bird? Some flying desert reptile we had picked up on the ground in Vegas?

The thrashing of flapping wings and talons scraping against metallic surfaces shot chills through my whole body. Dean and I covered our faces as claws struck out from this panicked creature. It gimbaled wildly around the cockpit, crashing into circuit breakers, switches, instrument panels, the windshield and us.

I peeked through bent elbows long enough to realize this was a bird. Black feathers floated down around me, littering the center console with mangled plumes, as if I were in the middle of a bizarre pillow fight.

Instantly, I understood the success of the Hitchcock chiller, The Birds.

Wide shoulder straps held me in place as I struggled to bend left or right to dodge out of the way. Obligated to keep flying our jet, we could not escape from this sealed madhouse.

Behind me, half-dozing, or chatting, or watching videos, were 147 passengers, blithely unaware of the mayhem going on here in the cockpit. So far, they were still all safe and the only thing I feared was getting my eyes clawed out.

Oh crap! I shouted as a wing splashed my cup of tea, as if a frantic bird made Dean hard of hearing.

My God, how do you stop this thing? he yelled right back.

Then the bird disappeared back between my legs. I think, by sheer accident. And there was silence.

Silence isnt supposed to be eerie.

Dean and I paused to look at each other, then shook free of our shock and dove into checking our systems. Methodically confirming everything was still in the correct position, we each slumped back into our seats and continued our approach into LAX as if nothing had happened.

But something had happened.

Our peace and routine had been invaded, and that crazed bird was still with us, somewhere. I worried it was in the E&E bay, a hollow area housing our electrical and electronic components under the cockpit. A latched access panel on the floor covers this area, but there are openings from the cockpit into it, like where my rudder pedals go through the floor. Openings big enough for a bird to slip through.

As we continued towards the runway, I may have appeared completely calm, cool as a cucumber even. But truthfully, I was on edge for every second of our descent, waiting for that bird to shoot back up from between my legs as I maneuvered our jet down to the white stripes just after the label 25L. Occasionally, I heard it flapping around, sounding like it was getting close to my feet only for its thumping to fade away with distance again.

Well, I sure hope it doesnt screw anything up down there. Dean stated the obvious.

So far, its only screwed up my nerves. I tried to joke, but we both knew anything could go wrong at this point.

Finally on the ground and rolling towards our gate, I handed the controls over to Dean. He took the tiller to steer our ship in, as I dialed up our maintenance hotline on the radio and made a side call to our mechanics hangar. We needed to give them a heads up, knowing this plane would need a full maintenance check before the next flight.

We parked, and our passengers got off, smiling, nodding and thanking us for a safe trip. Maintenance came up with the clever idea to try and flush the bird out by stuffing a powerful conditioned air hose up through our nose gear opening to blow our feathered friend out of an opening on the fuselage. It worked, and out he shot like a champagne cork on New Years Eve. Free at last, he happily darted up to the sky to join the other birds soaring free in the warm Los Angeles sunshine.

He was where he was supposed to be, now.

I laughed to myself. I never thought this would be part of my dream job. I watched him disappear against the backdrop of jetliners coming and going, and drifted back to the little girl I once was, seated on the curb looking up to find beautiful, silver machines in the sky.