The Only Ever To Do A Dead Stick Into DFW

or I've been a mechanic for so many years, I don't need a...

See, the thing about commercial pilotdum is, you are up in clouds, you can't see where you are so someone has to tell you that, and you can't see traffic so someone has to tell you how to avoid hitting it. Think of driving your car through town and on the freeway, with the windows all painted over, using a walkie talkie to get instructions. Now add in another factor called you are closer to thunderstorms, so they tend to eat you and spit out small pieces over a large area. You need someone to tell you how to avoid those.

Adapting to this situation requires that you develop a philosophy that quality is free. One big mistake, and you die. Mistakes are to be avoided, and techniques are developed to insure that result. It is terribly expensive, actually impossible, to start over and do it again, right this time, because you are dead.

Now, deal with the problem that the authority, from who you take instruction, is not only disrespectful, not only ignorant, but insane.

It was 103 degrees in the shade at Meacham Field in Fort Worth Texas on July 22, 1981. That was one of the factors that combined to save my life.

November four niner seven one zero is a 1979 model 152, courtesy of Clyde Cessna; though, I think, now known as a General Dynamics B152 or an Avco Lycoming C152, or a Toyota 152. [We can't make little airplanes in this country anymore.] Its pilot, then a two year Private Airplane Single Engine Land, courtesy of CFII Tom Rosenberger, who was last seen a DC-8 Captain with Evergreen. With 456.9 hours total time, airplane and single occupant left Meacham bound for Dallas North. Seven One Zero just had what is called a cylinder overhaul [cylinders come off airplane engines, so torquing of the attach nuts is of extreme importance].

The problem was to cure the 65/80 (low cylinder compression) that had developed from the over abundance of lead in 100LL (general aviation fuel), not appreciated by the Lycoming O-235-L2C (engine not properly designed for). Cylinder reassembly by an IA [mechanic with an FAA Inspection Authorization], sans torque wrench!

Three circles of Meacham, a tower request to clear the pattern, heading home, and enroute a slow five minute transition to nineteen hundred RPM at full throttle, power failing fast, extreme vibration. The choices at that point in the flight were trees, lake, DFW. What followed was 7700, five frequency changes, seven transponder code changes, and, while a glider, dead stick, on final, instruction by the tower to do a go around! Officially, it was recorded as an alert two emergency, as Seven One Zero and, I think it was a (I was really busy at the time), Boeing 727 both landed on the same runway at the same time, passing eachother at high speed by inches.

OK, I admit it. I don't like the apprentice system used by the FAA to qualify people who will be allowed to work on airplanes. I certainly don't like the FAA's idea that people with engineering degrees should not be allowed to work on their own airplanes. And I don't like the idea that when the FAA finds an incompetent mechanic (these people can't find their shoelaces) they refuse to separate them from their credentials because, they say, there is a shortage of mechanics. That's just my opinion.

An opinion formed from the initial neutrality of an aireology student, willing to learn from those that presumably knew; but tempered with the judgment formed from two degrees in engineering, almost thirty years of industrial employment in that trade, the experience of being a former Navy ET instructor, and having seen Seven One Zero prostrated by a different IA, damaging major operational aircraft systems during a one hundred hour and fourteen annuals since new. These people, generally [there is one exception I know of], don't know shit.

Up to Denver went new airplane and solo pilot in that hot summer of 1981. The climb out from Stapleton on July 11th was dismal. On return to Dallas, several people (having successfully negotiated the FAA puzzle palace apprentice program) were asked their opinion. Three cylinders checked in the mid seventies, and there was a sixty something in hole number three. 68 if you pulled the prop just right on a warm engine; more like 65 on a cold engine after pulling it through to pitch the oil around. General consensus of the FAA graduates was to leave it be. A college education said something was wrong, engine needed balance, and better it be fixed. There was too much differential between opposite cylinders. Airplane was taken to a shop at Meacham on July 18th where number three was ordered removed for overhaul.

I decided to neither help nor watch. Big mistake. Never, never, ever never don't leave an airplane with an FAA licensed mechanic, if you ever want to fly it again.

July 22nd set a record temperature. The thermals generated by that heat wave were responsible for airplane and pilot living out that day. A call to the shop revealed that Seven One Zero was ready to go. Girl friend Susie kind enough to supply pilot transport to Meacham from Dallas. Log book not signed, so departure was delayed to find IA to sign logbook [Never, never, ever never don't...]. Why is it that shops just hate to write in logbooks? I always had to initial every design blueprint the draftsmen produced for anything I had ever designed. Why is it that when the owner comes back, the IA is in the latrine stall hiding? [Because, after the crash, they can claim they never...]

Departure further delayed by PIC preflight. [After an FAA licensed mechanic has been alone with your airplane, if you value your life, get out a tooth comb]. All three cowlings came off, thirty minute inspection of everything; tying up shop floor access. All cylinder bolts on #3 appear tight, cylinder rocker arm cover appears tight, metal hose seems good, manifolds tight, wires seem OK, spark plugs appear fine, cooling baffles in place and look tight... Moved her outside, pulled the prop through a dozen times in each direction, checking for balanced compression, then did a five minute run up. Mag drop normal, static RPM normal, shut her down and check for oil. Nothing found. Cowl her up and we're ready to go, methinks. OK, I could have used more experience...

It was harder for me to get the first engineering degree than anybody else. It was the University of Wisconsin, which back then was a pretty hard school. My uncle, J. B. Miller, was on the faculty of the engineering department. "I want everybody to know that this kid is my nephew, so he better deserve it if he gets an A here." I hit three semesters of 4.0. Explains why two semesters to get a Masters out of the University of Texas at Austin when I went back.

Anyway, I had JB for a course. He had this exam on which a question was asked which had two possible interpretations. Each interpretation had its own correct answer. There was a line outside JB's office of the complainers from three permutations wanting a review of their performance. I was one. The two groups with the wrong answer to each interpretation were dismissed quickly. Jack ordered me to the back of the remaining line, and dispatched the others within two hours. By then John Asmuth, the dean, had heard of the undertaking and wondered by to watch, with some amusement. Undaunted, I presented the correct analysis of what was the correct answer to the unintended interpretation of the question. The dean watched for the first hour of my argument, then smiled and left. Jack and I were alone, and the sun was down. "Nephew, when you go out into the real world, it makes no difference how you arrived at the wrong answer. No credit, get out of my office."

Didn't remove rocker arm cover, so it was not discovered that each hold down tight nut around the hemi head bolt which fits into each rocker arm to mate with the push rod was only but finger tight. Foolish inexperienced stupid PIC conduct of incomplete preflight inspection post FAA licensed mechanic left to himself.

Tower clearance for takeoff. "Mind if I circle the field a few dozen times; just took her back from a cylinder overhaul?" Three circles of Meacham followed by a tower request to go away. "Uh, four nine seven one zero, be advised, Iranian students in the pattern (we can no longer guarantee your safety)."

Five minutes later a faint vibration was thought to have been noticed. Probably just auto rough, we're over Grapevine [as most new pilots will tell you, airplane engines quit suddenly when they fly over water]. Quickly, auto rough became real rough, which had no apparent intention of doing anything but getting bader quicker. This wasn't imagination. OK, Tom, this is for real, what do I do now?

Dual cross country while student. Tom Rosenberger is bored stiff. "Hay, Keith, what's the height of that tower over there at nine o'clock; would we hit that if we were over there?" Tower, tower, what tower? Left hand of CFII surreptitiously slips down between the seats and effects OFF on the fuel selector. About ten seconds later, where the heck is that tower this guy is asking about...pop, sputter.

Snap throttle full, mixture rich, carb heat on, fuel selector...

"Tom, @#!$#%&*+?!, this is a brand new airplane, don't @#%$&* with the fuel selector; internal combustion engines can develop vapor lock even with a vertical draft carburetor..." ROAR. Seven One Zero has always been polite enough to wait till the end of one of my lectures before interrupting.

Number one, fly the airplane. Bottom of the drag curve, Vee Wy Ess Eee, if there were to be one [the FAA should have a V speed for minimum drag speed on single engine aircraft], is 60 knots. Number two, find someplace to put it. Hit the cheapest thing you can find going as slow as possible. Lake, Trees, DFW. DFW, big runway, I might make that! Number three, communicate. Thanks, Tom, I owe you my life. 7700 IDENT, 121.5, "Mayday Mayday Mayday, November four niner seven one zero, engine out, over Grapevine, inbound DFW, 17 right." No response. DME shows entering class I TCA. Mental note made to have a list of many lawyer telephone numbers kept in the airplane.

Now, after you graduate (get license) and start learning in the real world, that is when you discover the difference between academe (the FAA wants you to learn this) and reality (this is what really happens when the pilot has to earn his money). Disregard the above paragraph. It's all bull-shit.

Thermals, I need thermals. Black body radiation. Find groves of trees, highways, fly over dark areas as much as possible on the closest to a strait line to 17 right. What was Meacham tower frequency? Switch and repeat.

Meacham tower answers and, after dealing with all the Iranian students about to hit eachother or something of value, condescends to looking up DFW approach frequency. Would you believe that it seemed like hours? 60 knots. I can't read the any of the four apparent airspeed indicators revolving around where the one actual indicator used to be. I think I have about 1900 RPM at full throttle, but full throttle is removing that ten year old filling in my rear molar. Switch frequency and repeat Mayday.

"Four Nine Seven One Zero, is that you with the 7700, do you have any idea how many alarms that sets off around here, switch to squawk code..., switch to frequency..." If I survive this, I need to take this FAA controller up for an AOPA orientation ride (see how you like flying without an engine, stupid). This controller, apparently, did recognize my flight conditions, but just didn't know what to do with me. No problem, gave me to somebody else! No kidding, five frequency changes, seven transponder code changes (go die off my beat).

Who has more money for litigation, the FAA or me? This is the way the paragraph above should read for the real world. Number one, communicate and request clearances. Apparently, each controller did not notify the next of the impending death status of this probable flight termination. Number two, fly the airplane, but only if you have time. This is not a priority. Number three, long range financial planning. Keep in mind long term objective plan is to hit the cheapest thing possible, moving as slowly as possible, on or near DFW.

Someplace in the loop of meeting what seemed like every controller at DFW approach (hay, anybody else want a shot at the engine out on approach to 17 right; somebody call in Charlie from his vacation), they figured out I was on approach to 17 right. DFW had four runways back then. 17 right, 17 left, 12, and another one I didn't know about, for general aviation, which was really a taxiway.

"Seven One Zero, say intentions."

"I am going to crash, dead stick, with full fuel, and I might even die. Heading for 17 right. Close 17 right, it's all mine."

"Roger, Seven One Zero, DFW is now closed. What do you suggest we do with all this jet traffic?"

[Yes, I was thinking it.] "No, all I need is 17 right. If I can't make 17 right, I can't make anything else. I need 17 right."

"Roger, Seven One Zero, cleared to land 17 right."

(So sayeth approach, so it shall be done...if they can only remember what they said!)

Of course, there had to be more transponder and frequency changes while various other things were discussed. I remember some Q & A about oil pressure, oil temperature, ignition switch on. That last part really hurt. I suppose there might be a pilot or two who could benefit from that, but not one from where I got my training. It was nice, though, that DFW had one controller who could spell 'reciprocating'. I really don't remember much else about what was said, figuring the best approach to this problem was to severely maim any FAA I could get my hands on after the least precipitous crash, should I survive it. I wasn't really mad because I was too busy flying to become emotional. I just made a mental note that it was a high priority item to then become extremely enraged if I was still alive after the landing.

Another instructor that saved my life that day was David Mandot. He now flies politicians for a state special interest lobby; but I still like him anyway. Back when I first got my license, and knew how to fly the 152; I asked him to check me out in a rental 172. First time off the ground, mid field left down wind, every soap dish in the universe immediately appeared to cover every d'Arsenval on the airframe Then he killed the engine. "Dave, what the @#$%&* are you doing; I can't fly this thing that way, this is the first time I have ever been up in a..." "Sure you can, point it, listen for the whiffle sound that the wing root stall makes in a normal landing approach, and do it." Approach was really quite excellent, probably the result of the adrenaline. Did you know that a 172 is taller than a 152 by the precise amount necessary to prang it off the ground by thirteen feet?

"Congratulations, Keith, I never knew a 172 could bounce that high. Are you intending on logging all of those landings, or just the one arrival?"

60 Knots. The airspeed indicator is not legible. Kind of like an electron in a Neils Bohr model of atomic structure. The airspeed indicator doesn't really have a position on the panel, it sort of has a region of probability in three space in which it can be located at any given microsecond. Looks like a p suborbital. Whiffle noise. Thanks Dave.

I can't, maybe I can, I ain't gonna, we could gonna...thankyou God for that wonderful thermal, if I ever get out of this I promise... Airplane, I don't know how, but we are going to...Tower, shouldn't I be on tower frequency? (Didn't I get a clear to land earlier, but that was approach...)

"Approach, we're [me and my bird] almost over the threshold, you want us on tower frequency?"

"Seven One Zero, contact tower now on ..."

"DFW tower, Four Nine Seven One Zero, dead stick over the threshold on 17 right."

"Seven One Zero, go around, aircraft on final behind you, land on 17 center, go around now."

(@#$%^&* idiot, doesn't he know...Where the @#$%&* is 17 center?) Rear window, I have a rear window! Yep, its a Boeing. Big Boeing. Big big close close Boeing, getting bigger closer faster. And the forward left tire of the left side main truck is a McCreary [One or both of us ain't gonna live through this]!

"Tower, if you look carefully, you will notice that the prop on this engine is stationary. This is my runway."

"What do you want us to do with the Boeing 727?"

"Tower, I am full of fuel, dead stick, I am going to hit the ground now, I am opening the door and turning off the master switch. (And I don't care what you...)"

He was too dirty, too low, and too slow; closing was too fast; and we were too close. This is where you stop talking to the tower, who talks to the other pilot, so he can answer the tower, so they can talk to you.

"Hay, bubba, if we're both gonna live through this, I'll take the left side of the runway, you take the right side, I'll hit the numbers (if I can make them) and you plan to land long."

I planted the left main three microns to the right of the landing lights on the left side of the runway. As best I can figure, I think the 727 took out a few lights on the right side. The guy knew exactly where his feet and left wing tip were. I made the high speed turnoff as he passed me on my right. I think the two airplanes passed through eachother without molecular disturbance. I think that was the point in time that I filled my pants, but I don't really remember doing that. I have no logical explanation of how those two airplanes remained undamaged.

Coasted to a stop. Got out and pulled the prop through. One extremely hard, then three normal compression strokes, then a 'no I am not going to do a fourth one for any power you can muster.' Engine lock. About this time a pickup arrives. "You the guy that just landed this thing?" (Oh yes, I was going to be obstreperous if I were to remain alive post landing. Patience, hell, I choose him, he is handy.) "No, I am a lost picnicker looking for a tree; your sewage plant break down? [for some unknown reason it really stinks around here]"

DFW has no means of moving a dead 152. I was towed by rope around nose gear to general aviation terminal. It's a wonder that guy didn't pull the nose off the airplane. You would think that, at a large airport, someone, someplace, might have thought about moving a small plane. I called the tower, who wanted nothing; the NTSB, who told me to go home and forget it; and the GADO, who didn't have any interest at all. I called same girl friend to come get me, and bring a pair of blue jeans and a clean set of underwear, preferably mine. I just busted a TCA doing 7700, scared its personnel into winding its traffic pattern up in a knot, they shoved a Boeing up my 7700 Mayday, it was clearly not my fault, and nobody from the FAA wants to kill me? This is very unusual for the FAA.

What about, do I have the right, to kill a federal employee? Would it be reasonable, should I be justifiably mad enough to reasonably expect that I be afforded the opportunity to kill a federal employee? Maybe just a little public hanging...followed by drawing and quartering the body...and having the four pieces individually shot? But which federal employee to choose? Never mind my plane [shot out of the sky by some idiot with an IA certificate], these fools almost killed me with a Boeing because they had no plan as to what to do with a Mayday. Anybody, anyplace in that FAA training program in Oklahoma City, ever see a 7700? Do any of you people know what that means?

Yep, next day, received a call over at Mostek, where I was Manager Advanced Development (Boeing pilot had, apparently, hit the fan). "Mr. Peshak, we hate to bother you, could you please come out to the airport and bring with you all your licenses, medical, radio permit, pilot and engine and airframe logbooks, and all the AD notices on your airplane?"

Don't, ever, if they ask you to bring paperwork, comply with these people. Remember, none of them knows anything about (A) airplanes, (B) flying an airplane, (C) procedures for traffic control, (D) which room to visit when they have to go to the bathroom. What they do know is where the mutually exclusive orders are buried, that the FAA refuses to put on line, and which of the contradictory unpublished they want to pick to hang you with (this one says he should do what he did, but this one says he shouldn't have). Hey, if you are not allowed to see the regulations that govern your behavior, how can you be expected to follow them? Insane, right?

Nine hours. Every piece of paper in the universe was examined thrice. Three FAA personnel were in charge of making sure that I never flew again. One had tools. He took my airplane apart!

At first I thought that that would be my vindication (foolish me). I thought that he would notice (look for) the prop cannot be forced to turn. Any fool would know that that cannot be pilot error. There is absolutely nothing that a pilot is capable of doing, being of mind to do so or not, that can freeze solid an airplane engine with oil in it.

This ass-hole wasn't the least bit interested in what caused the crash. He checked every filament in every lightbulb (the flight and landing had occurred in daylight). There was this rule about everything on an airplane had to work, and that included the lightbulb in the ashtray! He was taking the airframe (not the engine) apart. He did not want to pull the prop through by hand [when I requested he do so]. Any fool that had ever pulled a prop would know that there was something drastically wrong with that engine. He did not want to investigate the engine, or lift the engine cowling. I figured the best thing to keep shut was my mouth. Lawyer, I really needed lawyer.

One of these geniuses actually apologized after sundown: "Gee, Mr. Peshak, we are really sorry, but I guess we are going to have to let you go. First squeaky clean pilot I ever saw!" Those words are burned in my mind, and I usually have a relatively poor memory for conversation.

 Why should this pilot be eligible for the AOPA Distinguished Pilot Award? For flying an airplane? For extreme proficiency in flight controlling a crippled aircraft incapable of continued normal flight? For cooperating to attempt to construct a team effort to solve a life threatening problem on extreme short notice and under extreme pressure? For exercising good judgment under extreme duress? No.

For not making that idiot totally flat! I didn't even hit him. I didn't even try to hit him. To this day, I don't know why. There was even an armed security guard stationed on me, under orders from the FAA. Since I had been extremely nice and polite to this guy all day, he trusted me, and he saw how I was being abused, as he watched the FAA actions, and I had related the story of what happened. I could have surprise overpowered him, taken his gun, and emptied it into that FAA ass-hole. I always think of the correct thing to do afterwards.

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