Logbook Affairs: How I Became a Pilot

By John Spadea

John Spadea dreamed of being a pilot as a young boy, but everyone doubted him.

He heard that his grades were not good enough, schooling was too expensive, or flying was too dangerous. Others pointed out that he wore glasses and being a pilot probably was not going to happen.

But obstacles are meant to be overcome, and Spadea refused to let others dictate what he’d achieve.

In this memoir, he looks back at how he defied the naysayers to enjoy a long and successful career as a commercial pilot – a career that is still going strong. From scary incidents to famous people who have joined him on his flying adventures, he reveals what it’s like to fly all over the planet.

He also shares an uplifting commentary on the future of flying, noting that Boeing and Airbus have each predicted that the world will need thousands of new pilots in the coming years, so the time to enter aviation has never been better.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Archway Publishing
• Release date: Jan 23, 2020
• ISBN: 9781480885431

John Spadea

John Spadea graduated from Embry-Riddle Aeronautical University with a bachelor’s degree. He became a certified pilot instructor at several flight schools. He traveled west to obtain multi-engine experience, returned back east to be a corporate pilot and spent time at five different airlines.  He is now employed as a B-747 Captain, flying all over the world.

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Copyright © 2020 John Spadea.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This book is a work of non-fiction. Unless otherwise noted, the author and the publisher make no explicit guarantees as to the accuracy of the information contained in this book and in some cases, names of people and places have been altered to protect their privacy.

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ISBN: 978-1-4808-8542-4 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4808-8541-7 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4808-8543-1 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2019921183

Archway Publishing rev. date: 01/16/2020

This book is for my wife, LeeAnn Spadea, who patiently

got us to this point. Also, for my Family who learned

how to dream at an early age, and never gave up on

my efforts to stay with my aviation aspirations.

CONTENTS

1     The Beginning

2     Teenage Years

3     Flight Instruction Given

4     The Eastern Shore

5     Corporate Flying

6     Flight Engineer Seat

7     A First Officer for the Airlines

8     Destination At Last

9     A Tough Challenge

10   The Left Seat, The Best View

11   Newer Equipment

12   Final Thoughts

ONE

THE BEGINNING

Did the fascination begin with seeing a butterfly or bird, defy gravity with a particular sort of magic? Was it the color scheme of these beautiful creatures that aroused my curiosity? Nah, couldn’t have been the only reason. I have friends that are pilots, some color blind. Was I just scoping out a promising, future purpose? Elders would often tell me that I could be anything I want to be when I grow up. Was I already structuring my life long working career?

But there is the more important topic, how could an animal or insect just get up and fly while the rest of us are attached to the ground by the weight of our bodies? We are talking about a bird or an insect as an aerodynamic mass that has energy applied to itself to overcome gravity. Looking at an aquatic species, it makes sense. They have to be able to swim through a fluid and overcome drag to be able to feed and locate desirable temperatures and currents to survive. The rest of the living kingdom must walk, slither, or crawl. But to be able to fly, quite a rush! If birds had lips instead of beaks, they might be smiling! Wouldn’t it be nice to glide through the atmosphere with total control? Becoming a pilot could make this happen.

My life started in Brockton, Massachusetts in 1967. As a child I was always using my imagination to pretend my surroundings were something they were not. A dull afternoon with my cousin Wayne in the backyard would transform into a worldly landscape far from home, surrounded by fictitious mountains and oceans with lots of risks waiting to be boldly taken on. It was if I could flip a switch in my mind and my eyes would blend human sight into an imaginary playground. A newly sealed driveway became an ocean filled with dangerous sea creatures. The stone walls and walkways that surrounded them were safe areas. A bicycle became a boat. Rocks and sticks transformed into valuable tools with unique capabilities. I would describe what I was seeing to anyone joining in on the fun and they would play their part and create their own visions. Every day was an opportunity to change our mundane lives into some sort of wild adventure. Throughout my young years this fantastic fun took on many variations, whether on bicycles, fishing from the shore of a pond, crawling through tunnels of hay in a barn, life became more impressive by changing the scenery.

In the mid-seventies my Dad began to travel far away on extended business excursions. Mom was left at home to take care of my three siblings and me. I always wanted to learn from my Mom, as well as my older brother Joe. I seemed to be competitive with my sister Jamie who is one year younger. My youngest sister Jen brought out the creativity in me. On a few occasions, Mom drove the family to an airplane terminal at the Norwood Airport just outside of Boston to drop Dad off. He would climb the steps into a prop plane and travel to upstate New York to the town of Massena, just south of the St. Lawrence River. Their municipal light plant needed Dad’s Electrical Engineering expertise on various projects. A pleasant change from the everyday grind spent at the Brockton Edison Plant. As time went on and his skills improved there was a position that he was fully qualified for in Alaska in the mid-seventies. After the 1973 oil crisis, there was a sharp rise in oil prices in the US. The thriving oil exploration of the Prudhoe Bay area proved that a Trans-Alaska Pipeline was needed which would extend more than 800 miles across the Alaskan tundra. Engineers of all types were required to overcome the many obstacles. The formation of permafrost and rugged mountainous terrain called for a unique design. Workers from all over the lower 48 came to Alaska from 1974 to 1977 creating boomtowns in Anchorage, Valdez, and Fairbanks. The only way to get to this far-away place in a reasonable amount of time required air travel. I wonder if early aviation pioneers such as the Wright Brothers ever anticipated their inventions would lead to such a commercial purpose. I suppose birds and butterflies always required long migratory distances for survival.

During years of dedicated traveling Dad began to acquire more financial freedom. By going to places afar things started to improve for our family. A day came when Dad decided to buy a share of an airplane with a couple of business partners. It was an old cloth-covered Piper Tri-Pacer and he was going to use this as a trainer to become a licensed pilot. How cool is this? Throughout that Spring my brother Joe and I would join Dad on his weekend excursions out to the local airport where the plane was kept. Taunton Airport, established in 1919, was a small field that provided airplanes a runway to access the heavens above. The first couple of times were not very exciting for me. I was only seven years old and I was always warned to stay close, Don’t touch! Wait right here with your brother! There was the sputtering of the engines cranking to life, preceded by a stern yell Clear Prop! There was the smell of aviation gasoline, a chain-link fence reaching out in every direction and crusty old men looking like they just rolled out of bed. Why weren’t there any other kids our age? Why isn’t there a playground? The overhead airplanes departing the runways were deafening at times with their engines producing full power, especially the larger ones. This was all so new to me, I wasn’t sure if I cared for this. We were involved with this busy scene every weekend when the weather was beautiful. Airplanes were parked everywhere, all shapes and sizes. Some were getting fueled, some getting washed, some taxiing in and some taxiing out to the runway.

The main office was a faded prefab type of dwelling overgrown with weeds and littered with cigarette butts. A pale peach-colored windsock hung from a rusty tripod mounted on the roof of the building. An American flag flew alone in the center of the lawn, the long rope and hardware clanging on the breezy days. The smell of eggs, toast, and bacon drifted from the squeaky exhaust fan on the side of the structure. Older men leaned against the chain-link fence or sat at the picnic bench, drinking their morning coffee, some smoked cigarettes while looking out at the runway a few hundred feet away. They all had a story or a few interesting facts to share. Who owned all these flying machines? Why were some flying while others were tethered to the ground unable to participate? As time went on I began to get accustomed to the sounds and smells of an airport. I started to notice familiar faces. My brother and I followed Dad as he performed his pre-flight walk around. At the end of the inspection we were ordered to stand back behind the fence. As the prop came to life we could feel the wind blowing through our hair. The distinct smell of aviation gas filled our nostrils. We would anxiously wait on the ground as he completed his lesson with the flight instructor. They returned safely every time.

Early that Summer we were spending another weekend at Grampa’s Cape house. A beautiful waterfront property on Wing’s Neck on a quiet stretch of Cape Cod, Massachusetts. The house was built in 1903. Grampa and Nana gave an open invitation to all the aunts, uncles, cousins and pets, to join in on the weekends from Memorial Day to Labor Day. Sometimes we would spend a whole week at a time there. The Cape was a great escape. This was customary for New Englanders throughout the summer season. It was also an opportunity for me to gaze at airplanes in the open skies while we played on the sandy beaches, as well as sailboats and motorboats crossing from one side of the bay to the other without the distraction of automobiles. There wasn’t a strip of pavement in sight after we arrived at the house from Old North Road. We would be on that dirt road for over a mile creating a dust cloud behind us. The sound of the crunching tires always ended with the entrance into the long downhill driveway to the cottage. The beautiful blue water of Buzzards Bay would appear out the windshield through the trees and the windows of the house. This was a child’s dream destination, always encouraging hopes and ideas flourished with unending creative opportunities. The adults enjoyed the serenity after a long work week as well.

Out in front of the house the sky was wide open. The most common planes that flew overhead were PBA DC-3’s (Provincetown-Boston Airways). Their 1100 horse-power Wright radial engines would slowly drone in the skies above at two to three thousand feet delivering wealthy vacationers out onto the distant parts of the Cape. There were also the F-4 and F-5 fighter jets and A-6’s out of Otis Air Force Base executing nonstop practice missions. As we played and swam in the summer sun we would be surrounded by the sounds of seagulls and the waves lapping the shoreline. We occasionally heard the screen door slam in the distance, probably another relative coming out to check on things. The distant boats would traverse Buzzards Bay motoring from origin to destination.

The McDonnell Douglas F-4 Phantom was a long-range supersonic jet interceptor/fighter-bomber with a top speed over Mach 2.2. The Northrop F-5 was a supersonic light fighter, smaller and more straightforward than the F-4, while the Grumman A-6 Intruder was an all-weather medium attack aircraft later replaced by the newer F-14. The military jets would suddenly disrupt everything. I would quickly search for the source of the piercing sound increasing very rapidly in volume. The siblings and cousins that were present would do the same. The person with the quickest perception that day would point to a place in the sky as if proudly winning a prize. The jets were usually a pair or threesome in tight formation several hundred feet above the treetops. It was such an impressive strength of power, loud and fast. Occasionally they were close enough to see the glass astronaut helmet covering the pilot’s head with a vacuum cleaner hose protruding from the front. It was very short-lived as they quickly disappeared out over the Bay. It would sometimes be followed by a distant sonic boom as they disappeared out over the remote Atlantic Ocean, then we returned to our quiet summer activities.

One morning at breakfast we were told that Dad would be on a solo flight on this beautiful summer day and that he may fly over the cottage. We anxiously waited, as we played with the brightly colored neon Frisbee on the front lawn. The warm crabgrass under our bare feet was a welcome feeling in the crystal bright sunshine that we longed for during the cold New England winters. As we were headed in to inquire about lunch, it happened. Dad was at five hundred feet, circling overhead! We could hear the Tri-Pacer’s engine high above. The dozen relatives home at the time raced out the front door. All the younger kids flew out through the swinging screen door, jumping off the gray wrap around porch onto the front lawn. We could actually see my father’s straight silhouette as he looked down at us like we were a pivot point. He circled several times, making small power adjustments as we all waved with excitement. Dad was in total control of the Tri-Pacer. I noticed several things that day: He was higher than any butterfly; faster than any bird and he was flying a perfectly symmetrical circle. It was a mesmerizing event, replicating what nature has done for millions of years, only more organized and systematic. I wondered when I would ever get to experience this act of flying high above the earth. What would the view be like so far up in the sky? Would it be scary or serene?

That day actually came pretty darn quick. It was an early Fall morning back at the Taunton Airport. The Flight Instructor and my Dad were having a conversation as they occasionally glanced over at my brother and me hanging out by the picnic table. That day we met one of the airport co-owners, his name was Mr. Donald Dinneen. He was a wise-looking man, always smiling. The collar of his shirt was usually unbuttoned a third of the way down displaying a luxurious gold pendant. It was hung from a shiny gold chain across his tanned hairy chest. He frequented the islands of the Caribbean whenever his busy schedule allowed him to. A personable man I felt trust for right away. He always made an effort to have a few friendly words with everyone he came across. Dad approached the three of us and asked