Lawrence, the author, and Robert Sr.
On a late afternoon in October 2017, I received a call from a friend asking for a favor. Rob had just received tragic news that his brother-in-law, who suffered from depression, had passed away earlier in the day. The brother-in-law had been hospitalized trying to get his mental illness under control, but his mind’s self-determination won out over his rational self. He left a wife and two young children wondering what more they could have done to help him. The family lived in Atlanta with no relatives in close proximity for support.
Rob rushed to get his parents to Atlanta that evening to help his sister cope with what had just occurred. He called the airlines, but the last flight to Atlanta had departed earlier in the day. His parents faced a long drive or waiting until the next day to get to their daughter. Rob called me for a favor and asked if I could get his parents to Atlanta that evening. I told him to have his parents meet me at the airport.
I rushed home to get my headset and flight bag from the house and tell my wife what had happened. At the time, I was flying a 1980 Mooney M20J that I shared with a partner. I called my partner, explained the situation, and confirmed that he was not flying that night. I drove to the airport, pulled the plane out of the hangar, filed a flight plan to Cobb County International, checked the weather, and preflighted the plane in less than 30 minutes. Rob’s parents arrived, thankful for the opportunity to have a plan to get them to their daughter and grandchildren quickly.
For those who have owned or flown in a Mooney, you know that the boarding procedure is not the easiest nor the most graceful. It is even worse trying to get a couple who are a little older and less flexible than their younger selves into the back seat and passenger seat. Entering through the small co-pilot door while walking on the wing is not something that comes naturally to everyone, especially for a couple in their mid-70s. I was worried about cramming them in, but Rob’s mom managed to fold herself into the back seat with some effort, and his dad sat down on the wing and scooted into the co-pilot seat. Rob’s mom waved off the offer of a headset, preferring to sit in silence. Rob’s dad sat up front with me. We made casual conversation during the flight to pass the time, but I knew he was just trying to be polite and gracious. There is no good way to counsel someone in grief with such a tragedy being so close in time.
I purchased the Mooney from a former member of the LSU board. Hence, the purple and gold.
We arrived in Atlanta in the late afternoon. They hailed a ride of some sort, and I turned around and left them with a hug, a handshake, and some comforting words. I flew back home alone that night as my first long night flight in months. The sun was setting into my face; it felt peaceful, and I was glad to be alone. The sky was clear, and the air was smooth. On any other day, this would be the picture-perfect flight. I was happy to be alone in my thoughts. My kids at the time were 17, 15, and 7. My mind was occupied by thoughts of how I would handle a similar situation as my kids grew older. Their pain must have been overwhelming.
I landed back home well after dark and reflected that I was happy to be able to provide this small service for the family. Up until that time, I had only flown for myself. Participating in selfish flying pursuits – family trips, business, the occasional hundred-dollar hamburger on a Saturday. I had not been asked for something like this before and had probably not thought to offer.
In the years since that trip to Atlanta, similar favors would be returned to me any number of times from other pilots. My partner in the Mooney came to get me after my dad’s funeral, knowing I was not mentally confident to fly back home. A co-worker flew to Beaumont and rescued me after my engine failure and emergency landing. Numerous times, other pilots have offered to help me retrieve my plane from an annual inspection in another city. When I was just a VFR pilot, I flew to South Texas for a hunt and got stranded by a week of low ceilings, and had to drive seven hours home. A friend flew me back down a week later to retrieve my plane, saving me from another long drive. I heard stories at my dad’s funeral of my dad flying a couple to their honeymoon when their flight was cancelled and even retrieving a dead relative from West Texas so the family could have a timely funeral. Pilots love to fly, or they wouldn’t pursue it as a career or hobby. But these acts of kindness have nothing to do with flying. These favors are acts of compassion for someone in need. Our community is one of pilots helping pilots and pilots helping people.
Eight years after that October 2017 flight, I received a call from Rob’s dad asking if he could meet with me and my wife after work. We were friends and often hunted and fished together, so the request was not out of the ordinary. We opened some wine, and my wife put out a cheese tray. I thought for sure I was going to be asked to be on some charitable board or committee. Instead, they arrived with a large box and handed it to me as they walked in. They both sat in our living room recounting the day I took them to Atlanta. I was amazed that this was coming up so many years later. Rob’s dad started by saying how thankful he was for that flight almost a decade earlier. He continued by explaining that for a long time, he and his wife searched for some memento to show their appreciation for that flight. I was amazed that it had weighed on them for so long and that they felt the need to do anything more than say thank you. In the box was a painting that they saw in a Santa Fe gallery. This painting just spoke to them as the perfect “thank you.” I’m not sure I have ever been so moved by a gift. It now hangs prominently in our ranch house next to the kitchen.
The painting is of two men wearing cowboy hats looking away from the painter. They could be my age or maybe a little older. They are sitting at a bar or lunch counter. Their faces are not visible, but they face the small, short-order kitchen, and the cook in the window seems to be listening to their conversation. The two men appear deep in thought and contemplating life. They seem to know that while we can beg for more time, we are constantly being robbed of it. They also know now is the time to act because we are all burning daylight.
Our flying careers, whether they are personal or professional, are finite. Eventually, our bodies or our insurance broker will end our opportunities to keep doing this awesome thing that so few of us get to do. As pilots, we are lucky to have the “freedom to move about the country” as the Southwest commercial says. Use the skills you have acquired to help someone in need. There is no need to join a specific charitable organization (although that is a great idea as well). Instead, let it be known you are available. If presented with an opportunity, seize it. I can only hope the call for help comes infrequently, because it often means someone we know is in distress. But as pilots, we have resources, and we should answer that call. I’m glad I did and will happily do so again.
