I’m a brand new hire with Trans Air, a commuter feeder for Piedmont Airlines. I’m heading from my home in Jacksonville to my base, Fort Lauderdale. Following aviation protocol, I’ve “requested the jump seat” from the Gate Agent, who sends me to ask the permission of the Captain on this Eastern Airlines jet.
The Captain, a very distinguished looking fellow in his fifties, with graying temples, in every way resembling my (and the public’s) perception of the professional pilot. The Captain graciously gives me the okay. Introducing oneself to the Captain, and requesting his jump-seat, is proper etiquette in the industry. I sit directly behind him through the flight, silently admiring his smooth flying skills.
Approaching Fort Lauderdale, the Boeing 727, gear and flaps down, is lined up to land, and the cockpit has been “sterile,” silent, from 10,000 feet on down. Now, descending through three hundred feet, on short final, the Captain suddenly screams “Fuck you, Frank Lorenzo, you queer cock-sucker!”
Shocked, I look over at the First Officer, catching his eye. Taxiing in, he explains that the Captain screams that out on every flight, so that in the event they crash, those will be the last words anyone ever hears on the cockpit voice recorder.
In 1983, Mr. Francesco (Frank) Lorenzo, Chairman of the Board of Continental Airlines, had “broken the code.” No pilot ever started flying for the money — we fly for fun, we have to fly…flying is our joy, our life, our addiction, and now in many cases, our damnation. Having broken the code, Lorenzo then broke the unions at Continental, and he now had his sights set on Eastern Airlines.
1983 was not a good year for Airline Pilots, it was the beginning of the end of many good careers at Continental, Pan Am, Brannif and Eastern Airlines.