"Lather, Rinse, and Repeat"

On September 14th, 2001 I strapped myself to a jet as I had done so many times before. I was one of the many airline pilots that took to the skies on the first day the airspace over the US was reopened after the horrific attack on our country. I remember all too well the feeling we all had that day that another attack might come from a seemingly invisible enemy. The air traffic control radio frequencies in NY were barren as relatively few planes were flying. The airports themselves were ghost towns. There was an eerie feeling all around as everyone one of us tried to process that which had just occurred. We were on edge, but committed to getting our country flying again and to living the life we have come to love as Americans and as citizens of the free world.

Today, March 30th, 2020 I once again strapped myself to a B777 and jetted off to London as I have done so many times before. My drive to the airport had been along streets that were nearly empty. The “Princess Parking” immediately adjacent to the terminal was wide open. The terminal itself was like an old Western US mining town with closed restaurants and shops standing as vestiges of a once thriving society. I could not help but be reminded of 9/11. This time, of course, the enemy was truly invisible. As I walked to my gate with that same sense of commitment that I had some 19 years earlier, I reflected on my personal journey of the past 3 weeks. Like citizens all over the world I’ve watched in disbelief as each step has unfolded.

I had returned from Madrid exactly three weeks earlier. That afternoon, I began to see the reports that Spain was beginning to see CV-19 cases spike. And I had been in Rio de Janeiro just days before that, and heard there were some cases of airport employees there being afflicted. I felt my once so-expansive-world start to close in, and my immediate thought was to sequester myself.

While I had remained at the hotels for the most part, except for my usual evening walks, we were all starting to realize that this was not going to be just another flu season. So, except for trips to the grocery store--armed with a travel size bottle of hand-sanitizer--I remained at home. My airline, like all the others, had fallen prey to a calamitous drop off in bookings and an exponential increase in cancellations. Any flying I had been scheduled to do was obliterated overnight. During this time I have attempted to balance the need to know what is happening with a desire to manage my psychological well-being. The 24/7 news cycle is exhausting. I’ve listened to leaders from all over the country doing their best to provide leadership and information for a situation that is the ultimate example of on-the-job training. I give them all, regardless of the political party, an A for effort.

I am a former military pilot, and these days an airline pilot. Those experiences make it impossible for me to not follow “the rules.” While I understand life is made up of events that are shades of grey rather than black and white, decades of training has taught me to think along these lines: 1. Maintain aircraft control, 2. Analyze the situation and 3. Take corrective action.

This is the blueprint of what every pilot has etched into their souls. It is a mantra that guides us through our training as we endeavor to prepare for any emergency. My problem was I was not clear as to how this code would serve me in this situation. So as my pilot brain wrestled with this, I stayed home, did my push-ups and sit-ups each day, watched movies, read a lot, and went to bed early only to “lather, rinse, and repeat” the next day. What I had slowly concluded was that despite my military training and my pilot impulses to take charge and do something, it was best I remain home, not be a potential means of propagating this virus, and be prepared for when the call comes.

That call came today when Jan, the ordinarily relaxed crew scheduler, called me and indicated I was needed for the flight to London. Instantly, I knew she was not her usual light-hearted self. I asked her how she was doing, and she clearly struggled to find the words. She was exhausted. She was deep in the belly of the beast helping to manage the fallout from our airline grounding some 400 planes—half the fleet—overnight. I wished her well and hung up about the same time the news was showing video clips of doctors and nurses working around the clock and hearing their stories of selflessness. In less than two minutes I had been flooded with a spate of examples of how my fellow human beings were rising to the occasion and doing more than anyone could have ever hoped. I packed my bags and headed out with an optimism I had not felt in a few weeks, determined to do my part to make the world a better place amidst chaos.

One of the things I have learned over the past 30 years as a pilot is that, for me, while flying a plane is like breathing air, it is still a wondrous and amazing experience for so many others, children in particular. So, it has become my routine as I approach the waiting area of my assigned departure gate each flight, to instinctively look for parents with children. The smile on the face of a child when you sit them in the Captain’s seat with their hands on the controls and Mom or Dad snaps the photo will melt your heart. It truly is one of the joys of my profession.

As I looked around, there were no signs of any children. In fact, the entire waiting area of passengers all had silver hair. I discovered that we would be bringing home some 125 British citizens who had been on a cruise around the Southern tip of South America. They had started in Buenos Aires and had signed up for a three-week tour scheduled to end in Lima, Peru (you can invoke the Gilligan’s Island theme song here if you like).

Despite the dramatic change to their plans, this group could not have been more kind, more easy-going or more jovial. They were simply grateful to be headed Northeast across the pond back to their home. As I listened to their stories, I came to know that they had been quarantined for at least two weeks and had all tested negative that morning as they came into port in Miami. Countries along the west coast of South America had, for their own protection, not allowed this cruise ship to come into port. Instead the ship continued north through the Panama Canal, into the Caribbean and on into Miami. They all joked that they had gotten more than their money’s worth with the extra cruise time. When I asked them which cruise line, they eagerly told me they had been aboard the Azamara Pursuit @AzamaraPursuit. They could not stop proclaiming how absolutely wonderful the entire staff of the ship treated them. I listened eagerly. It was refreshing to hear people speak so positively. One passenger, upon deplaning in London, said quite simply, “Azamara, best cruise line there is.” I promise you, this is not a paid advertisement for Azamara. I’m an airline pilot. I don’t go anywhere if I don’t have to when I am not working, so to hear these people speak so highly of Azamara, it made even me want to go on a cruise with them. As a fellow employee of an industry that has been ravaged by this virus, I want to call them out publicly for a job well done.

I grabbed my gear, and boarded the bus to the hotel. The normally 60-minute drive to downtown London during morning rush hour was much like my quick drive to the airport the previous evening. I didn’t even have enough time to get my usual 20-minute nap on the bus despite being very much ready for a nap as it was nearly 4AM back in the US. The hotel was a ghost town, just like the airport in Miami. I was greeted by the wonderful hotel staff and instructed that while allowed to take walks outside, one could not do so with another person--you had to go alone. I entered my room, turned on the TV and the BBC popped on the telly with nearly the same exhausting headlines I had seen in the US the day before. As I watched, the words “lather, rinse, and repeat” came to mind, and I felt a bit agitated by it all. And then quickly reminded myself of the previous 12 hours I had experienced, and that we are all together in this. And with that feeling of ease, I began to drift off.