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After a short rendezvous with friends at the TWA Ambassadors Lounge on June21, 1998, at Saint Louis Lambert Field, we headed for Gate 25 on Concourse C. We were metby a frenzy of news reporters stalking the gate area. Several Saint Louis area televisionstations eagerly awaited the arrival of a father and son, who would pilot TWA flight 347together this Sunday afternoon, Father’s Day. My brother Brian Schiff, a 30-year-old firstofficer at TWA was my dad’s co-pilot on this meaningful flight. He had been a FlightEngineer since 1989 and upgraded to first officer in 1994. My father Barry Schiff, a60-year-old captain has flown everything in the fleet from the Lockheed Constellation, tothe Lockheed 1011. He was displaced to the 757/767 when TWA’s aging L-10ll’s were retiredfrom the fleet last year. Like the L-1011, he too would retire to warmer confines where hecould enjoy the dog days of summer. Just four days earlier, I passed my commercialcheckride and joined the family’s ranks of commercial pilots. Akin to a father eaglepassing on the gift of flight to his eager fledglings, Brian and I earned our wings.
One enterprising reporter handed Brian a microphone and asked if he could smuggle itinto the cockpit for the preflight briefing. I could almost hear my dad’s calm words to mybrother as they spooled up the giant turbofans of the 757, "Ok, things have beenpretty hectic around here today, let’s make sure we take this slow and we don’t missanything."
No stunts, but several pranks
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The FAA and Company Ops Manual prohibit virtually anything other than the most routineflights when piloting a commercial jetliner. No circus stunt flybys over the tower today,no threading the needle through the St. Louis Gateway Arch, but several pranks were inorder. For his part, Brian contributed a great deal of insubordinate behavior to hisCaptain, something my Dad wasn’t exactly used to. Earlier in the day, for the first leg ofthe flight (LAX-STL), Brian along with several AVweb and AVSIG co-conspirators, helpedorchestrate the Los Angeles fire department’s two fire truck salute, shooting up an arc ofwater as the jetliner taxied through for an unexpected bath. A few family friends ordereda wheel chair to whisk him off to retirement upon landing in LAX.
As the shiny Boeing 757 jetliner pushed back from the gate in Saint Louis, I realizedthat this was indeed the passing of the guard. The passing of the baton from onegeneration to another would materialize over the next four hours on our way to LosAngeles. Orville Wright once said, "learning the secret of flight from a bird was agood deal like learning the secret of magic from a magician. After you know what to lookfor you see things that you did not notice when you did not know exactly what to lookfor."
Setting aside the chaos created by the events that transpired minutes earlier, theyeffortlessly piloted the twinjet into position on runway 30L for takeoff. This was thelast flight my dad would make as a TWA captain. On this emotional summer evening, as theflight attendants briefed the passengers for the flight, I calmly closed my eyes andexhaled a sigh of relief. I was flying standby and had barely made it on the flight. As Ireached for the seatbelt, I quickly glanced around at the various passengers in theimmediate vicinity and wondered what they must be thinking about this flight?
More than another routine flight
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Some passengers looked a little nervous; another glared back at me uncomfortably as ifI had something to do with the feeling of sickness permeating in his stomach. Severalseasoned travelers went about their business, ignoring the flight attendants instructions,and looked nonchalantly off into the distance or perused the USA Today for an article thattickled their fancy. To many this was just another routine flight. To the family andfriends aboard flight 347, we knew otherwise.
Sandwiched between two strangers, I settled back into my "cozy" coach chair,where an even more relaxed smile found its way onto my face. "This is it, I thought,this is the last time I will be a passenger on one of my Dad’s flights." Growing upas a child of an airline pilot has its benefits, but isn’t easy. When I was much younger,I can recall several stormy nights when my Dad was on a trip and the phone rang in themiddle of the night. I hoped and prayed it was not TWA management. Deep down, I alwaysknew he would return fine, at least that’s what my mom said. He felt at home soaringalongside his feathered companions. His fledglings however, were always excited when hereturned home to the nest.
I daydreamed about the numerous trips my Dad piloted in TWA aircraft with me as apassenger to various destinations throughout Europe and North America, but rememberedmost, the frequent weekend getaways together in Hawaii. I remembered the calm, collectedchild that said, "don’t worry, my dad’s flying our plane." Now, for the firsttime since sharing the cockpit on a 1991 TWA flight to Berlin, one of my siblings and mydad would be sharing the duties and responsibilities for over 100 passengers that evening.As we climbed to FL 350 and leveled off, my father announced to the passengers that thiswas a special flight, a passing of the guard. He announced that he was turning 60 and thatthe FAA would no longer allow him to fly passengers as a Captain of a Commercial airliner.This was his last flight after 34 years with TWA. The FAA determined that 25,000 hours(1,042 days or nearly three years) was enough time spent aloft.
Saying farewell
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My Dad started with TWA flying Connies in 1964, a time when flying was both a privilegeand an exciting experience for most people. He used to say that people "came to theairport just to witness a Connie or a DC-7 crank up, belch smoke and come to life." Iimagined that the flight attendants were always smiling and serving the best meals to allpassengers, not just to those in first class. I pictured the people wearing their Sundaybest; not torn jeans, or shorts and faded tee shirts. It was a time when people wereexcited to fly and each flight was a real adventure often spanning several days. Today Iwanted to believe that I was a passenger in a Connie on a historic flight, circa 1964.Midway through the flight while cruising along at FL330, the aircraft began a shallow turnto offer the passengers a better view of a spectacular thunderstorm. I imagined that thiswas my father’s last chance at catching a closer glimpse of a perfectly defined anvil. Ibelieve it was his way of saying farewell to another friend, a compatriot of the sky.Content, I turned my attention to the calm, clear earth passing below us, and wondered howall of those circular crop patterns got there.
My dad announced over the PA system that since this was his last flight he would makeevery attempt to making it an adventure for everyone on board. He pivoted the aircraftaround the Ship Rock and as we passed over the Four Corners area, explained that it wasthe only point in the US common to four state corners. He pointed out varioustopographical highlights such as the Navajo and Hopi Indian Reservations and MonumentValley, as if he were teaching a Geography class at school. Laughter and excitement filledthe cabin with each position report, made as if he were leading a flying expedition to LosAngeles for the first time. Passengers craned to look over one another’s shoulders for aglimpse of each landmark and the spectacular scenery below. He received permission fromATC for a descent from our cruising altitude, for better sightseeing over Grand CanyonNational Park, only minutes ahead. The quiet descent of nearly 17,000 feet went all butunnoticed, except by the most astute of passengers. Knowing that the lowest altitude inClass A airspace on an IFR flight plan was Flight Level 180, I was a tad bit disappointedthat we wouldn’t get to buzz Grand Canyon.
Tour the Grand Canyon in a 757
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The cooperation of ATC awarded passengers a tour of America’s most spectacular parkfrom the air. A low stratus layer obscured the view somewhat, but it was nonethelessspectacular to see the setting sun radiating its beauty off the North Rim’s cavernouswalls as we made S-turns over the canyon in the 757. I’ve often been told by non-flyingacquaintances that flying today is nothing more than driving a bus full of cattle in thesky. Although some airlines profit from this type of bovine mentality, TWA flight 347 wasan adventure back through time. My father’s passion for flying wouldn’t allow anything butperfection that day. Soaring freely through the air, at great velocities, high above theRocky Mountains, on the highway in the sky, no boundaries stood in our way, no stop lightsor rush hour traffic would delay our voyage.
Whether communicating over the PA system or while walking through the cabin, my brotherand Dad were busy answering questions for passengers. In one instance, my Dad explainedthat we were traveling through the air about as fast a bullet from a 45 caliber gun atover 500 MPH, or traveling roughly one mile for each breath of air we took. In anotherinstance, he mentioned that the windows on the 757 are sealed for a reason. At ourcruising altitude, the temperature outside is a mere 44 degrees, below zero. I didn’t knowwhat adventure was lurking behind the next wave of clouds as we soared westward towardsour final destination, the City of Angels.
The flight attendants gathered like a bunch of "giddy" school children in thefront galley of the first class cabin. They baked him a cake, presented him with a bottleof champagne, (don’t worry he didn’t drink it in flight), and gave him a lei, created outof various crew meal and galley accessories. I tried to finish the piece of cake allottedto me quickly, because I didn’t want to alienate any passengers that were unsatisfied withtheir raisins or chips. My stepmom Kathy, who is also a commercial pilot, videotaped theentire flight from the jumpseat, capturing precious moments to share with family andfriends for years to come. Dad’s friends on the flight presented him with a model of a TWA757 that they had all signed.
Grandson almost upstages the Captain
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My sister-in-law, Lynn, was busy tending to my nephew, Brett, who at just eight weeksold, was experiencing flight for the first time. Brett is dad’s first grandson, and Lynnhad dressed him for the occasion. His TWA captain’s uniform included epaulets cut fromsome old ones of my Dad’s and a miniature TWA I.D. badge, including his micro-sized photo.The tie also was cut down to size from one of Brian’s. Perhaps it was all symbolic ofanother baton to be passed further down the road, but for now he simply looked incrediblycute and garnered almost as much attention as his granddad.
Prior to the flight, I presented Dad with a unique Jeppesen chart that I had developedfor the retirement flight. (Editor’s note: Paul works in Jepp’s marketing department)Turning a complex terminal approach chart into a memorable work of art wasn’t easy. Withthe technical help of Jeppesen employees Ted Thompson and Roger Crane, we pitched in togive him a lasting memory of his aviation achievements. Siblings Brian, Mike, Sandi andmyself were inserted as intersections for the approach. The IFR Departure Clearanceinstructs him to go flying in the Citabria, to meet his best friend Hal Fishman, at two oftheir favorite watering holes. He loved it, but was most happy that he didn’t have to fileit. After all those years, his TWA revisions were finally over.
More than a means of travel
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My sister, Sandi, who lives in Orange County, Calif., was the first person to board theaircraft upon arrival at LAX International Airport. She emerged from the cockpit minuteslater wearing a "tired" captain’s hat and helped to kick-off the festivities.Seconds later an avalanche of news reporters from each network poured into the cabin,anxious to capture a special moment. Standing in the Jetway amid all the chaos, father andsiblings gathered for a giant Father’s Day hug. It was one of the happiest moments in mylife.
We landed on the day of the summer solstice, the longest day of the year, just as thesun disappeared below the horizon into the Pacific Ocean, bidding us its daily farewell. Ididn’t have to ask him what he would miss the most about flying. His eyes fighting backthe tears of emotion would not give into temptation just yet. His love and passion forflying will continue, although at much lower altitudes, in his brand new Citabria, N707BS.Although TWA and the FAA have officially clipped his Captain’s wings at age 60, nothingwill keep him from soaring above the Los Angeles skies like a bird with new wings.
My Dad plans to spend the remaining summer months writing about navigation in a bookfor Jeppesen, due out early next year. For him, flying has always been more than a meansof travel between two points and this trip was indicative of the way he flies, alwaystrying to replicate the flight characteristics of our feathered friends. Ernest K. Gannonce said that "there are airmen and there are pilots: the first being part birdwhose view from aloft is normal and comfortable, a creature whose brain and musclesfrequently originate movements which suggest flight; and then there are pilots whoregardless of their airborne time remain earth-loving bipeds forever. When these latterunfortunates because of one urge or another, actually make an ascension, they neitheranticipate nor relish the event and they drive their machines with the same gracelesslabor they inflict upon the family vehicle." My father is the one who is part bird.
Peering one last time into the glass cockpit to retrieve his worn flightcase, I thoughtI heard my father say Sayonara. Literally translated, "since it must be so," hejoined us in the Jetway, completing the final chapter of a remarkable career at TransWorld Airlines, riding off into the sunset in his wheelchair.
