Peter Gallay

Out of My Head
Peter Gallay

Joe Mahoney, Airline Pilot

    I've wanted to be pilot for as long as I can remember. But I've got a lousy memory, so that could be many years or just a couple of weeks, who knows? The important thing is I'm a pilot now — Captain Joe Mahoney, Trans-Rhode Island Airlines (it started out doing short hops).
    It was an ordinary flight, uneventful, as long as you don't consider an hour of terrifying turbulence an "event." Things had quieted down, so I was relaxing in the left seat, reading an article in Alcoholics' Monthly. The autopilot was flying the plane while in the right seat my first officer — Amelia Orville Wilbur (she was born to fly) — was monitoring the instruments. And a good thing, too. All those dials and buttons, I can't keep the damn things straight.
    At one point she looked over at me and said, "Captain, isn't it time for your announcement to the passengers?"
    She was right. We were three hours into the redeye and most of them would be fast asleep. So I grabbed the mike and intoned, nice and loud, "Ladies and gentlemen, this is Captain Mahoney up in the cockpit. You might want to know we're flying over the Grand Canyon right now. If you look out the windows, all you'll see is endless blackness. It's the middle of the night, for Pete's sake. But I just thought you'd like to know. So sit back and enjoy the rest of the flight." And then I added, "And good luck getting back to sleep." Just a joke, and of course they couldn't hear me. Until I realized I still had the mike button pressed.
    Suddenly there was a loud bang and the plane yawed sharply to the left. "Captain," Amelia shouted, "our left engine just exploded. It's on fire!" Airline pilots are trained to handle the unexpected… but this was so sudden!
    We're also trained not to panic, to remain perfectly calm. So I finished reading my article, and slid the magazine carefully into my flight bag.
    Now it was time for action. First things first. I checked under my seat for my parachute. (Pilots carrying parachutes is a closesly guarded secret of the aviation industry.)
    While Amelia stabilized the airplane, I got on the horn to air traffic control.
    "Mayday… mayday… mayday…"
    "Hey man, I heard you the first time," ATC responded.
    "This is TRI flight 66. We've had a major engine failure and need vectors to the nearest airport."
    "What is your position?"
    "I'm sitting."
    "Say the nature of your engine failure."
    "It's not running."
    "Roger. Every little detail helps. I'll get back to you."
    Amelia turned to me. "We'd better alert the cabin," she said.
    "Right." I got on the intercom. "Will the stewardess report to the cockpit."
    There was no response, so I repeated, "Will the stewardess report to the cockpit."
    Amelia leaned over. "That's never going to work."
    "Oh right, I forgot." Then into the intercom, "Will the flight attendant report to the cockpit".
    The stewardess showed up immediately.
    "How is it back there?" I said.
    "They're very jumpy after that sudden turn. And they can see the left engine is on fire."
    "I'll take care of that," I said. I grabbed the mike and announced, "Ladies and gentlemen, captain again. Please look out the right side of the airplane... and keep looking in that direction."
    Now the controller came back on. "TRI 66, ident."
    "Joseph R. Mahoney."
    "No," Amelia whispered. "He means this."
    She pushed the button on the instrument panel which sends a signal to the controller's radar screen. I told you they confuse me.
    "TRI 66, radar contact. Stand by for vectors to Phoenix International Airport. "
    For the first time, I became alarmed. "Negative," I said, "Can't do Phoenix."
    "What's the issue, 66?"
    "Phoenix has a really lousy restaurant. Could you give us an alternate?"
    "How about Vegas? Yelp gives them four stars."
    "Roger, diverting to Las Vegas."
    "TRI 66, turn right heading 310, descend to flight level 190."
    "Roger. Right to 190, descending to 310."
    "It's the other way around."
    "Oh, okay. Descending to 310, right to 190."
    Amelia turned to me and said, "Captain, do you want to take over the controls and I'll handle the radio?"
    ATC chimed in. "Great idea! Awesome! Do it! Please!"
    So we switched jobs. Soon I could see an aura of light off in the distance, the effect of the millions of bulbs and miles of neon on the Vegas strip. I headed in that direction.
    The rest of the flight was uneventful, as long as you don't consider almost landing in the forecourt of Caesar's Palace an "event."
    We touched down at McCarren Airport and the passengers disembarked. Trans-Rhode Island had another plane standing by for the trip to their final destination.
    As is customary, I met the passengers at the cabin door as they were leaving. It's a good thing they were getting off, since the company has strict rules about profanity and violence on board. The bloodshed was minimal. I got off with cuts and bruises and a black eye. But as we pilots all know, aviation has its risks. It's all part of the job.
    Thank you for flying Trans-Rhode Island.

The End

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