Flight Instructing - It’s Not Just About Building Time.

In the spring of 1975 I was hired as a flight instructor by MaxAir in Appleton, Wisconsin. I had recently acquired my Flight Instructor Airplane and Flight Instructor Instrument ratings. I was chomping at the bit, eager to go. I would be building flight hours and getting paid to do it.

Marsha and I had married a little over a year before, and this was a big move for us both. She was a small-town girl and I was a southern Illinois farm boy, so Appleton seemed like a big city to us. The move meant that for the first time we would be living hundreds of miles from friends and family. And for me, it meant that I wouldn’t have a place to keep my horse, Herman. Despite the name, Herman was one of the most beautiful horses you ever saw. He was a sorrel gelding with a blazed face and four white stockings. I had owned him since I was 12 years old, and although I knew I couldn’t – shouldn’t expect my parents to keep and care for him, it still hurt when Dad called to tell me someone had made an offer to buy Herman – did I want to sell? That was I think one of my defining moments, like getting married, a milestone on my journey from boyhood to manhood.

Marsha and I bought our first house in Appleton, and settled in. MaxAir was a great place to work. Good people who welcomed us into the fold.

We had a few active students at MaxAir, but there were many who hadn’t been flying in quite sometime. My job as the new instructor was to pull out their training files and start making phone calls, inviting them to come fly with me.

It helped that most of the people I was calling were training for their commercial or instrument ratings under the VA program, which covered a significant portion of training costs.

After only a week or two of making phone calls, I was booked solid six days a week for students. Instructing is not the ultimate career goal for most pilots, but rather a way to build time and land a job with an airline or a corporate flight department. I’ve seen a lot of new pilots, especially in recent years when there has been a lot of hiring at the airlines who seem to believe they should be ushered into the cockpit of a 777 immediately after obtaining a commercial certificate. And think it is beneath them to work as a CFI.

I also had the same dreams and aspirations, but the reality during the mid-70’s was that any flying job was coveted, including that of a flight instructor. Anything you could do to build time. And if you could, find a way to build multi-engine time. It was slow going. Especially with regard to getting multi-engine experience. Not many multi-engine students. That left air taxi and if you were really lucky, a corporate job. At that stage of my career, it seemed that whatever credentials, ratings and experience I had, the jobs I was applying for always wanted more. More total time, more multi-engine, and if you wanted a really good job, turbine time. It seemed I would never get a break.

I had a flight to Spirit of St. Louis Airport one day. While there, I walked my resume in and introduced myself to the chief pilot of a corporation based there on the field. A friend had let me know that they were looking for a copilot for their Learjet.

The chief pilot took one look at my resume and said, “We’re not running a flight school here.”

That was not what I expected. Any decent person would have said something like, “I appreciate you coming in, but we’re looking for someone with more multi-engine experience and we want to see some turbine or jet time. Sorry we can’t offer you anything. Good luck.” Something like that. I couldn’t help but wonder – how many hours of Learjet time did that chief pilot have the first time he flew one?

But if anything, an aviation career is a matter of being the last one to give up. I went back to work, kept building time. Kept trying.

So, as I said, it was tough getting a really good job back then. I was a CFI, and I tried my best to be a good one. I have always felt that being a CFI is a job that comes with a tremendous amount of responsibility. The students you work with depend upon you to teach them how to fly safely. They will after a few short hours be flying solo, and there is nothing you can do for them while they are up there alone.

The first student I ever soloed was a really nice fellow named Art. He did a good job of flying the airplane, but he always seemed a bit nervous, maybe unsure of himself. We had been doing takeoffs and landings and Art was doing a great job. I knew he was ready, so I had him taxi back to the ramp. “I’m going to get out now, Art,” I said. “I want you to stay in the pattern, do a couple of touch and go’s. Then come on in.”

Art nodded.

“Just keep doing like you have been doing with me today. Tell the tower what you want to do –”

Art cut me off.  “Don’t worry, Wayne, I’ll be alright!” And to think I was concerned about his self-confidence. Art was right. He did fine.  

On the subject of self-confidence, I inherited a student who definitely was unsure of himself. He wasn’t afraid of flying, he just fretted about the check ride. I had only flown with him a few hours, just finishing him up for the check ride. And he was the first student I ever endorsed for a private pilot check ride. So, all I knew to tell him was, “Gene, if I didn’t think you were ready, I wouldn’t sign you off. And I’ve never had a student fail a check ride.”

That seemed to settle his nerves. He passed with flying colors. I never did tell him that he was my first endorsement.

Then they will begin flying solo cross-country. You have to make sure they understand how to preflight, plan their route, check forecasts and monitor weather developments. And you better have taught them how to navigate. It’s all on you to develop them into pilots-in-command.

You may find yourself flying with another student, dividing your attention between the lesson you are conducting and watching the weather, listening for your cross-country student to call inbound.

Then comes the day when your student passes his/her checkride and has “a license to learn.” They are technically no longer your responsibility, but like a parent whose child moves out, you can’t stop worrying about them. And the people who are trusting their lives to them.

I recall a winter day when I was flying with a student pilot. On the tower frequency, I heard former student of mine who had recently earned his private pilot certificate departing northbound. Weather was adequate for VFR, but not great. And I knew it was worse the further north you went.

I requested he come up on the plane-to-plane frequency, which at the time was 122.9. “Where ya going, Mike,” I asked.

His voice was a bit shaky and I could tell he was a bit nervous when he answered. He was flying his sister and one of her friends. They were heading up to the Upper Peninsula of Michigan to do some skiing.

I asked if he had checked the weather. He said yes, and it didn’t look good.

I waited a few seconds, allowing him time to think about what he’d just said. Then I asked, “Do you think it’s safe to go?” Moments later, Mike informed the tower he wanted to return for landing.

Later, back in the MaxAir FBO lounge, Mike approached me. He thanked me, saying, “I really didn’t want to go. I was worried about the weather, but they were counting on me to take them skiing and I didn’t want to let them down. I was so relieved when I told them, ‘My flight instructor says the weather is too bad, and I can’t go’.” Which is not exactly what I said, but what he needed to tell them.

It’s worth mentioning that sometimes your students will sometimes take you literally when you say something. For example, there is the story of the flight Iinstructor who told his student, “If you ever have to make a forced landing in a wooded area, aim between two trees, let the wings absorb the impact.”

A few days later, when the student’s engine failed on solo cross-country, he remembered what the CFI had said and lined up for an emergency landing on a nice, flat 80-acre field – with two trees in the middle.

Every now and again, a student will have not fully understood what the instructor had tried to teach. I was at the Olney-Noble Airport one Sunday afternoon when one of our newly-licensed private pilot renters landed with his family on board, returning from a weekend trip.  

Inside the office, he commented “My right leg is aching. I had a crosswind and I had to hold right rudder all the way home.” He hadn’t been one of my students, but I suggested we take the airplane out for a few more minutes while his family enjoyed a Coke.

I went up with him, had him put his feet flat on the floor and fly along a road with a crosswind from the right. Then we turned around and came back with the wind from our left. In just a few minutes, he learned about crabbing into the wind. Problem resolved.

Your students observe everything you say and do, and they make their own conclusions, right or wrong.

 Sitting in a small FBO in Michigan one day, waiting for my charter passengers, I heard “Two-Three Victor downwind runway Two-Two … Paul” over the Unicom.

“That’s one of our foreign students. His name is Paul, “the FBO receptionist said. “Once he heard his instructor Roger say ‘Roger’ on the radio. Now he thinks he’s supposed to say his name every time he talks on the radio.”

If you are a low-time pilot, and you are contemplating becoming a CFI to build time, that’s good. But only if you approach it as a professional. It’s not your job to impress them with how good you are, how much more you know than they. Your job is to help your students develop into safe, proficient pilots. Lives depend upon you being a professional. And you will find that as you work to help your students understand what you are teaching and why it is important, that you will learn as well. I learned a lot more as an instructor than I ever did as a student.