What's In a (Tail) Number?

If you speak Spanish, or any number of other languages, you may know that the English "my name is X" doesn't always directly translate.  Those languages say "I call myself X," and while the difference is subtle it really affects the way you think about your moniker.  The English is passive; we call our first names "given" and our last names "family," meaning we have little to do with the naming.  The Spanish is active; I call myself something every day, and others share in that activity with me.

"Lincoln ground, Cherokee 8619E."

I'll never forget the first time I said that sentence.  I had a new label, but it was more than that.  It was a new way of calling myself - a new way to tell others who and what I was, but also to tell myself.  It was like the first time a coach called my by my last name when I started playing football or the first time I called myself by my job title, but it didn't just add to my name.  It replaced it.

Harrison Ford talks about this anonymity in the "Just Another Pilot" video I recently wrote about.  He talks about the release he feels knowing he's identified as the pilot of a Beaver rather than a Millennium Falcon, and it frees him to experience the world in a completely different way.  While not all of us need to escape our celebrity status to relax, I think most of us do take some solace in hiding behind the microphone.

Michael Jordan: #23, 6 NBA Championship Rings.

Of course, you can always customize your N-number (within some pretty specific FAR limits) if you'd rather broadcast your identity to the world.  Actually, at $10, it's a better deal than the vanity plates in my home state.  Passengers out there, have you ever wondered why so you hear so many "November"s over the radio on cross-country trips?* ID numbers on every plane registered in the US must begin with "N" by law - every from Guernsey to South Africa has a similar international identifier.  There are plenty of vanities already registered (N1KE, N32MJ, and N236MJ, among others) so jump on it if you're too good for Harrison Ford.

Since 99% of us aren't too good for Harrison Ford, we'll continue to experience the thrill of learning new ways to call ourselves every time we hop behind a new yoke.  Language is strongly linked to memory, and self-recognition to autobiographical memory in particular.  To come full circle, these letters and numbers we use to steer clear of traffic in the sky become a deeply integrated part of how we perceive ourselves as pilots.  A passenger once told me that she had trouble picking out our call sign among all the ATC jargon in the sky, and I realized that what sounded to her like gibberish has begun to sound to me like poetry.

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*A recent passenger, who shall remain anonymous, actually asked this on my last trip.

Tradition

I was listening to an interview the other day with the man responsible for the lyrics in Fiddler On The Roof, which happens to be celebrating its 50 year anniversary.  He spoke about many interesting facets of the show, but I thought the most interesting few minutes were about the songs they didn't end up using, including the original opening number.

"It wasn't used because when Jerome Robbins became our director, we had many, many meetings before we went on to rehearsal. At each meeting he started with the same question: what is this show about? And he would say there's something that gives this show its power and we don't know what it is. And finally at one of those meetings one of us said hey, you know what this show is about? It's about changing of the way of life of a people in these Eastern European communities, these little towns, these shtetls, and Robbins got very excited about that. He said if that's the case, then what you have to write is a number about traditions, because we're going to see those traditions change. And that's so important in the show. Every scene or every other scene will be about whether a tradition changes or whether it remains the same. So instead of a song with the mother and the daughters getting ready for the Sabbath, he wanted us to write a song about tradition because he thought that's what the show is really about."

This weekend I had the chance to visit my fiancé's family cabin for Memorial Day weekend.  If you grew up somewhere other than the Northwoods (like I did), you may not understand the traditional significance of that holiday in that part of the world.  It's the unofficial start of summer, and it's easy to see just how widespread that celebration is when you're actually there.  Towns double in size, boat engines roar to life for the first time in months, and spirits are high.  These folks are creatures of habit in a strange but endearing way.

While I did grow up as a creature of the plains, I was extremely fortunate to have experienced aviation from an early age through the pilots God gave me for a father and grandfather.  I've heard it said that there are ultimately only old pilots and bold pilots, and becoming a third-generation old pilot is definitely a tradition I aim to honor.

My future grandmother in law sees us off

This weekend, our family traditions collided when I flew that rental Archer up to D25.  It's a marvelous little airport if you ever have the chance to visit.  I had the opportunity to take my future father in law and grandfather in law up for a little aerial tour of the area they've been frequenting for decades by car, and it was an experience I will absolutely never forget.

I think we as general aviators know Tevye's love for tradition as well as anyone.  Our planes are, on average, over 40 years old.  At our best, we rely on checklists and procedures to give our flights a firm foundation.  At our worst, we get stuck longing for the golden age of aviation to return without actually getting off our rears and doing what we can about it, and I think that's the side that concerns me.  If you haven't seen Fiddler, watched the above clip, or heard of the concept of foreshadowing, here's a little spoiler alert: in the end, Tevye's traditions can't save his village from the sweeping societal changes knocking at his door.  Its residents are eventually forced to adapt, but one can only imagine how much more difficult that integration was as a result of their longtime resistance.  On the one hand, they experienced a life very few others around the world were able to perceive.  On the other, that same world left them in the dust.

So what's it going to be?  Will we continue to lose 10,000 private pilots per year, dump lead into the atmosphere out of Metathesiophobia, or resist technological changes that will increase situational awareness for every pilot? Or will we honor our collective heritage by embracing the future with all its costs and benefits, and make of it what we can?

Let's choose the latter.  Let's honor our collective heritage of innovation and responsibility that has made aviation great. Let's fly.