Living with no regrets

By GLYNN DENNIS

Flying in the general aviation arena is both a unique privilege and a sobering responsibility.

Earning that privilege requires a major investment in time and money. Why do we do it?

Ask 100 different pilots why they made the decision to pursue flight training and you may well get 100 different reasons, and all of their reasons are valid.

We each have our own version of what motivated us to begin the journey. This is mine.

It was January 1989 and I was 42 years old. That’s later in life than flight training usually begins, but sometimes dreams just can’t be denied.

But first, let’s go back to the 1950s for a moment.

Back then summer meant no school from June to September. Many of those days found me pedaling my bicycle to the local airfield to watch the airplanes come and go. Sometimes a friend or two would tag along, but it was usually just me.

I remember leaning against the corner of the building where the pilots gathered to visit and tell their stories. I stood quietly and listened to those guys and watched as they re-flew that day’s adventures with their hands. I could see their flights in my mind…it was fascinating.

Some of you understand the attraction, so I don’t have to explain. For those of you who may not understand, no amount of explaining will bring it into focus.

One sunny afternoon, one of those guys motioned for me to follow him. His friends called him Hal, I called him Mr. Davidson. Back then, we never called adults by their first name. He was dressed in coveralls, a faded blue shirt, and had a red baseball hat cocked to one side on his head. He led me to an old wooden hangar where a little yellow Cub was kept.

He talked for a minute, but I don’t remember anything he said until the magic question was asked: “Would you like to go for a ride?”

I couldn’t speak — a big nod was all I could manage.

He helped me into the front seat and, after hand propping the engine to life, took his place in the back seat. We flew with the side doors open. It was summer in the south and sticky hot.

During that half hour he let me take the controls and coached me through a couple of turns and climbs. That was my first flight!

There’s nothing really unique about that. Many of you may have a similar story, but for a 10 year old in the deep south it was a profound event! I never told my parents.

More summers came and went, and that 10-year-old boy turned 16 and earned the freedom ticket — a driver’s license. Life had changed in many ways, but the fascination with airplanes and flight never waned. With my new driver’s license, and my dad’s car, many summer nights found me parked under the departure end of the big downtown airport, watching the airplanes come and go.

My favorite plane was the Lockheed Constellation, commonly known as the Connie. The sound of its engines alone was worth the price of admission. I believed it was the most beautiful airplane ever built…I still feel that way today.

Sometimes I would take my Friday night dates there to watch the planes. I didn’t have a lot of second dates back then, but that’s another story!

Fast forward again and that 16 year old has turned 20. I had completed one year of college, found a job, quit school, and got married. However, that marriage failed as many young marriages often do.

Some of you may know what comes next: The “Greetings” letter. Uncle Sam needed me, and on Thanksgiving day I was on a bus headed to boot camp. If you want to talk about life-changing events, there’s a good place to start.

The next few weeks, eight to be exact, were filled with training, rules and regulations, new terminology, and protocol. Any of you who served know what those first few weeks were like, but toward the end of the seventh week our drill sergeant began to treat us differently. He began to talk to us instead of at us. He seemed to be more relaxed and that allowed us to relax a little as well.

We still had final qualifications to complete before graduation, but conversations about what would come next began. For some it was advanced infantry training. For others it was communications, finance, or flight training…What? Flight training?

After all those years, all those dreams, and now the army was going to teach me to fly…for free. I was all in!

Helicopters. Yep, that was their plan for me. I had never considered helicopters, but it was still flight training.

However, during testing and evaluation I was informed of a major disqualifying deficiency — my eyesight. I had 20/20 vision but it was via corrective lenses. I’ve worn glasses since childhood.

But that was that, no flight training for me.

Later in life I came to realize how fortunate I was to have not qualified for that flight training. Based on statistics, a very large percentage of those helicopter pilots never returned from their tours in Vietnam. There’s a line in a Garth Brooks song that I think of often: “Thank God For Unanswered Prayers.”

Let’s get back to 1989. My career was on track, my kids were mostly grown, but something was missing. I didn’t know quite what, but something. One morning while listening to a broadcast by Paul Harvey, he discussed a visit with some elderly residents of a nursing home. What he discovered set in motion the realization of a lifelong dream.

Everyone he interviewed had the same response to his question about life’s regrets. Without exception, their biggest regret was never having done the thing, whatever it was, that they had always wanted to do. Jobs, kids, life all got in the way, and now there was no time to do any of it.

I started my flight training the following week.

From the beginning, training was a combination of many things. Evening reading and study was followed by the anticipation of the next day’s flight. While I was an eager student, the reading and study proved to be difficult. My older brain required more time to grasp and hold new and complex information. Sometimes a chapter had to be reread two and three times for it to all make sense. But during that time, I learned something about myself. I could still learn and grow.

Training days brought a meeting with my flight instructor, Yauka. He was a character — a young man in his mid to late 20s with a strong Swedish accent. We would discuss what was planned for the day and then go fly.

From the first, I struggled with being too far behind the airplane. When I wasn’t doing well Yauka would say, “Mr. Dennis what are you looking at?” or “Mr. Dennis what are you doing?” Obviously I didn’t have a clue.

But as I improved, his comments changed to things like, “I am liking this” or “This is making me happy.” It seems he only used my name when I was scaring him. Those comments without my name in them made me happy too, and soon the day came for my first solo.

That first solo came and went, along with cross-country flights and my check ride. All those events brought a great sense of pride and accomplishment.

I didn’t know it at that time, but there would be many first solos in my future. They would include more complex aircraft of varying types, a tailwheel endorsement, a Cub on floats, and a glider.

Fast forward yet again and several decades have passed since that 10-year-old boy began to dream of flying. I am fortunate to still be an active pilot and proud to have owned four airplanes: A 1947 Luscombe, a 1952 Cessna 170, a 1948 Piper Clipper, and my current airplane, a 1959 Cessna 172.

At different times, those planes have taken me to the secluded strips of Idaho, the breathtaking buttes and spires of Monument Valley in Arizona, the unequaled experience of the annual fly-in of EAA AirVenture Oshkosh and, most recently, in July 2018, a flight from Morrow County, Ohio, where I picked up my 1959 Cessna 172 and brought it home. I cherish the hours spent in each one.

I’ve had a full and satisfying life. My bride and I have been married 50 years. We’re both retired now and have two grown sons and six grandchildren.

Both my sons have joined me on some of my flying adventures. Years ago, my two oldest grandchildren, now 20 and 18, fell asleep in the back seat of my Cessna 170 on their first flights. Later they both had flights with their eyes wide open.

The next two grandsons, three and two at the time, also fell asleep on their first flight.

I hope my youngest grandsons, who are four and two, will soon experience their first flight…maybe with their eyes open.

Fly often and be safe.

Glynn Dennis is an instrument-rated pilot and has been flying for more than 30 years. He’s logged about 3,500 hours so far and is enjoying flight more than ever. Glynn lives in Carmel Valley, California, with his bride of 50 years and they are both enjoying retirement.