A decision has been made in my family. A good one, I think. An idea whose time has come.
While we chatted amiably the other night my mother announced quite emphatically that she intends to give up driving soon. I applaud this decision. Mom is creeping closer to her 90th birthday with each passing day. She acknowledges her thought process is slower than it once was. Her vision is not as clear and her reaction time is somewhat diminished.
She has gotten old and is suffering all the normal, age-related maladies that come with having a long, reasonably healthy life. As she recognizes her unavoidable reality, she has made the correlation that while she may be at risk from continuing to guide nearly two tons of Subaru around town, others may be in equal or greater danger.
The time to stop is upon her.
This from a woman who was vibrant and enthusiastically up for adventure not so long ago.
When I was new to this world my mom could be found tooling around Tempe, Arizona, in a Jaguar XK120 from time to time. A college student at Arizona State well before it came to be known as the party school of record, she motored through life with a husband, two kids, and a full course load. She was no shrinking violet. A New Englander by birth and temperament, she had enough moxie to shake the scorpions out of our shoes before placing them on the feet of myself and my older brother.
This chick was fierce.
In the interest of clarity I’ll add that mom is giving up driving, not traveling. We won’t find her in the left seat for much longer. But she won’t be restricting herself to puttering around the house, either. In the very near future she will restrict herself to the right seat, for the safety of herself and others. She will continue to live a vibrant life filled with friends, community activities, and the annoyance of paying her bills on time.
As for myself, I continue to drive. I still ride the motorcycles I love so much. Whenever it fits my schedule I toddle down to the seaplane base and take a Super Cub out for a bit of splash and dash. I’m nowhere near ready for the scrap heap. Not just yet, anyway.
That time will come, though. I make no excuses for the undeniable creaks and cracks that my frame makes as I walk through life. I’ve got a lot of miles on me. I earned this weakened state over the course of many years, a couple continents, every type of inclement weather I can think of, and at least a bit of self-destructive behavior. No complaints. It’s been a wild ride that I hope continues for a bit longer.
No guarantees, of course. I could be cold as a stone by the time you read this. Then again, so could you.
It hasn’t escaped my notice that if I’d chosen the airline pilot route I originally considered so seriously, I’d be forcibly retired by now. Pilots often joke that with their 65th birthday behind them they instantly become too stupid to fly the airliners. It’s a reasonable joke, but it’s not really the point of establishing an end point to the career.
While I’m still reasonably viable as a human being, an uncomfortable number of my peers have gone by the wayside. Some by accident, more than a few due to disease, and a more impressive number than you might imagine because of nothing more extravagant than persisting with behavior that would eventually catch up with them. And it did.
He who doesn’t see himself reflected in those options may cast the first stone.
Pilots are cool. They’re dashing. They’re commonly thought of as adventure seekers. Smarter than the average Jane or Joe on the street. And yet, they are human beings that must by dint of nature go the way of all human beings in the end.
Much like the toaster that fills with crumbs, burns the bread, and smokes up the kitchen whenever someone mistakes it for a useful appliance, we too will wear out, break down, and become obsolete. I’m good with that.
Dylan Thomas would disagree, of course. The poet famously wrote: “Do not go gentle into that good night, Old age should burn and rave at close of day, Rage, rage against the dying of the light.”
Of course, good old Dylan died at the tender age of 39, having just celebrated his final birthday only weeks before his demise.
I fully intend to go gentle. My fighting days are long gone.
I am a pilot. I’m proud of that. The full power of the United States government assures my certificate will remain valid for life. However, my vitality and ability to capably serve does not warrant such a generous timeline.
Like my mom, I’ll one day move to the right seat. I’ll fly from the right seat for the thrill of it, to experience the joy of being aloft in a body that evolved to live on solid ground. And then one day even that will be too much for me.
As I say, I’m good with that.
I harbor no illusion of immortality. Rather, I’ve lived my life as fully as I can. A singular pursuit of adventure combined with a lifelong quest to connect with others in a meaningful way has brought us here, to this page, in this life. Just you and I.
I am honored to share this time and type with you.
It is my sincere hope that your life will be as exciting, as fulfilling, and as memorable as mine has been. And believe me, it ain’t over yet. But like my elderly mom, I’m slower and less able to take a beating than I once was. My time to pull back is on the horizon, ever closer and entirely unavoidable. When the time comes, I’ll embrace it with appreciation for the years and experiences that came before it.
No regrets, no excuses, no whining. Live for the love of life, not for the longevity we hope to be blessed with.
Jamie,
I appreciate your sage observations and the contributions of all those who commented. We are all part of a stream of life that is wonderful beyond full comprehension, yet we are blessed to be able to comprehend a little of it – just enough to inspire countless generations of thinkers, poets, scientists, artists, and adventurers of all kinds.
For myself, I have long told folks that I aspire to live to at least 143 (a number pulled from thin air). So I have said that it is because I want to see how our current problems get resolved – or don’t. Problems such as the mess we are still making of our planet, with heroes working to deal with it and others who stubbornly refuse to admit there is a problem! And I want to see if our country and world survive frightening social and political trends. Like the fact that of 80 countries categorized, 41 are run by democratically elected leaders and 39 are crushed by autocrats. This is another worldwide problem too.
You may say 143 is unrealistic. Perhaps so. For instance after I turned 70 I learned that on average, for men in the United States at this time, when we turn 70 half of our peers have already died. So we who are men older than 70 have passed the 50-50 mark. Women get a few more years.
But being an eternal optimist I still think it is better to have high ambitions so we aim high rather than fall short.
Thus while as I turn 80 shortly I am currently without a plane even though I live on an airstrip in the mountains. I may be flying here again, but I also still have many friends flying in to visit, picnic, and camp and provide me my aviation charge in the meantime.
More recently I finally figured out where that number 143 may have come from. It took me more than 70 years to accumulate all the “stuff” spread all over the ranch up here. Thus to keep my son and family from having to deal with it I will probably take another 70 to dispose of it. Thus 140+.
But I am an realistic optimist too. And I am reminded of that as each of my friends slip away into the sunset. For instance…
My wonderful friend and colleague Judy Rice passed away at 71 on July 19 in Florida, after an amazing rich and accomplished life filled with love of her family, aviation, education, young people, and countless folks all around the world whose lives she graced. All of you reading this will do yourself a favor by learning about this amazing woman and champion of aviators – Captain Judy – as she is known to most. You will likely find part of her story by googling “Captain Judy Rice.” And yesterday I put a long version written by her daughter-in-law on my Facebook page that is well worth reading. This may end up elsewhere on the internet before long.
Live long as may be given to you, my friends, stretch your wings and fly when you can whether high or low, and whether in aircraft or your spirits, and be kind to one another.
Cheers,
Rol Murrow
Once again “old friend”… you write so well and on point. I too will be, ummm. I think 78 is the next number, but right now I’m late to help my wife with the avionics upgrade in her 7GCBC.
Budd, Gary Bob et al have spoken the words I’d have used. As for Dragonflies, there is a great, though somewhat obscure movie by that name. We’re not the only ones that have noticed. Be well and thanks once again.
Always good to hear from you, Terk. Even better to happen upon you in person. I’m glad you’re well and still doing what you do. And yes, I’ve seen the movie you mentioned. A good one.
I Will Fly until I can no longer find the airport.
Run as fast as you can for as long as you leaving no fuel in the tank. It’s 0505, I’m wolfing down my oat meal and heading out the door to fly two landing instruction hops in my trusty old Pitt S-2A in which I just turned over 8,000 hours. She has 9,100 hours. I’m far luckier than most. I’m 82 years old and still loving it.
Two of my favorite people in one article! BUDD and Jamie are two of our more outstanding members of the pilot fraternity and both are extraordinarily gifted writers. Jamie’s words were right on. I turn 77 next month and I’m still being compensated for flying a corporate jet. No, I cannot explain it. I was waiting for a routine physical yesterday at my docs office. The gentleman next to me was with his daughter. I realized finally that he had no idea about much of anything. Dementia had robbed him of most of everything. I’ve known the receptionist for years and when the gentleman and his daughter went in to an exam room, she let me know that he is a year younger than I am. No, I can’t explain it. I have set a date for my last jet flight a year from next month. I’ll find out if I make it. Keep up the great words Jamie and BUDD!
I totally agree. I’m 77 and parts of me are reaching their expiration dates. I’ve rode motorcycles, scuba dived and flown my own airplane but that is in the past.
I dream of flying again but the realist in me discourages the thought. Very insightful, down to earth article.
Don’t give up, we are not the same as we once were, but that doesn’t mean we stop doing the things that bring us pleasure. I don’t ride bikes or scuba or climb mountains, however I am still flying at 88, albeit with a great deal more restrictions than I once did. Challenging airplanes, cross winds, night, density altitudes are all things in the past as I recognize my limitations have changed. In my mind I feel much more cautious and analytical nowadays when I choose to take to the skies.
Keep’em flying
Even after we’re gone, I’ve gotten convinced us pilots can keep flying….
I documented the following several years ago. It is absolutely true; witnessed by 3 other people.
Dragonfly Visits
What is it with dragonflies? I know some cultures believe dragonflies have special meaning.
Yesterday, Thursday, Aug. 28, 2015, John McNamee another Cardinal owner in Houston, was at my hangar looking over the wiring and installation on my newly installed JPI 900 engine analyzer. While we were talking we found a dead dragonfly wedged up under the lip at the top of the firewall, sitting on top of one of the three newly installed JPI transducers. It was in a position where it couldn’t have fallen, or even easily been blown into, and it obviously had been dead for some time. As I removed the dragonfly, I had to tell John about some previous unusual dragonflies encounters.
My Dad was a P51 fighter pilot in WWII. He passed away in 1999, was cremated and buried at Ft. Logan National Cemetery in Denver, CO. This was a full military ceremony with Taps, rifle salute, and the US flag held over his urn by four US Air Force Airmen. All during the ceremony, about 10 feet to the right, hovering above a flower arrangement was a dragonfly, seemingly watching the whole affair. It stayed there through Taps, through the rifle salute, and until the flag was folded and given to my Mother. It then whisked away.
After the ceremony my 16 year old daughter Ashley, who had also noticed the dragonfly, talked about how this seemed just like Grandpa had found a way to fly in and watch. Ashley was extremely close to my Dad, spending weeks at a time with him as she grew up, playing Rummy, playing pool in the game room, roller skating, and just living the moment. They were constantly doing something together.
At the time Ashley was living with me in Austin, TX. Each morning I would take her to high school. Many times we would sit talking for a few minutes before she got out of the car. One morning as we sat there, a dragonfly appeared, hovering an inch or so from the windshield, looking directly in at us. We both sat there speechless. This created a frozen, unbelievable memory for both of us.
Several times over the years, dragonflies have seemed to appear at the most unusual times and places, then whisk away in a flash.
In 2011, I was overhauling the engine on my airplane, a 1976 Cessna Cardinal RG. I had the engine re-assembled and mounted on the airframe. One day as I was connecting the fuel injection lines on top of the engine, I noticed a dragonfly hovering not 3” from my hands, seemingly watching my every move. In a few seconds it disappeared. A strange feeling ran down my back, like Dad was just checking in, checking to be sure everything was being done right, that the airplane would be safe to fly. If I would have turned around and found him standing behind me, I doubt I would have been surprised.
Last night I was finally able to ground run the engine to check if all the newly installed JPI sensors and the system were all performing correctly together. Everything worked perfectly, except one instrument; the fuel pressure indication would not budge off of zero. Troubleshooting the problem today, the wiring checked out fine, and the hose to the transducer was clear. The transducer itself was stuck internally. After applying and releasing air pressure several times, the transducer began functioning correctly. That dragonfly John McNamee and I had found, had been sitting on that fuel pressure transducer. I’ve been shaking my head the rest of today. That’s just not possible.
Now I’m not one to believe in supernatural stuff. If these incidents hadn’t occurred with other people witnessing most of them, I’d be thinking about checking myself in somewhere. I keep thinking that I’m probably looking for meaning when I encounter a dragonfly after a couple unusual coincidences. But with this latest occurrence, I’m getting real hard-pressed not to believe something else is going on.
Whatever it is, having Dad seemingly checking in occasionally is sure a neat feeling.
October, 2023
I’ve returned and re-read this document several times over the last 18 months. During this timeframe I’ve had the opportunity to (so far) successfully deal with bladder cancer. This obviously has generated lots of thoughts about my mortality, which has somehow brought me back to these memories. I’ve always been very glad I documented these when I did, as we all know how memories can play tricks on us. One of the observations that has occurred to me in these re-reads is; what are the odds of each these four instances occurring accidentally or by chance? And then, what are the odds of all four happening to just one person, just by chance?
Anyone who’s taken statistical analysis in college will recall the odds of rolling dice, where rolling one di multiple times on average will result in rolling a 6 once in each six tries. And, if doing the same with two dice, the odds of rolling two 6’s on average become 1 in 36. (i.e. 1/6 multiplied by 1/6 equals 1/36.)
So, what are the odds for each of these four dragon fly incidents occurring randomly, or just by accident? Re-read each one of those four and you pick a number. What do you think the odds are for each of these occurring accidentally? One in ten, one in a thousand, one in a million? Then, multiply those four numbers to get to an estimate of the odds of all four occurring accidentally to one person.
Very conservatively the odds of each one is greater than 1 in 1,000. If 1/1000 was correct for each incident, the odds of all four occurring accidentally become 1 in 1,000,000,000,000 (i.e. 1 X 10 to the 12th power)
To me, the odds of each one being accidental is more likely closer to one in a million, or greater. At one in a million, the odds of all four occurring accidentally become one in 1 X 10 to the 24th. (A 1 followed by 24 zeros) So, you pick the odds for each and decide for yourself. All I can do is to describe these four true events.
Admittedly, I can be somewhat stubborn and hard-headed, but all I can say is,
“Dad, I got the message.”
“I could be cold as a stone by the time you read this. Then again, so could you.”
How would that work?
Your story reminds me of the poem ‘ The Dash Between ‘ by Linda Ellis. [ copyrighted]
https://lindaellis.life/the-dash-between
I too am in the ‘3rd quarter’ and now am concerned on maintaining insurability to fly.
Wonderful poem. It’s been read at some memorial services at my church. Thanks for the refresh on its words.
Regards/J
Mr. Beckett: Your heartfelt brilliant essay brought tears as I had just watched my precious canine friend Este of 14 years take her last breath Saturday at 6:08 AM. I shared her arch across the sky from puppyhood to senior with hopelessly failing systems. I’m senior as are my friends and relatives who all face the daunting prospects of memorial services for those we love as well as planning for our own. The looming need to scale-down and part with precious objects of our lives weighs heavily as we plod along, ignoring that call just one more day.
But wait! There’s more! For mental health, we must avert our minds from our certain and eventual demise to the understand that Life is for Living! You told your story so well, how you’ve been an adventurer and sometimes incautious risk-taker. But you reflect on your life as one having been worth living! Well, me too. But I need to remind myself frequently that is the case.
I have a quote from once-famous sports writer Jack London printed and framed above my work desk. It inspires me every day. It’s titled “I’d Rather Be Ashes Than Dust.” Read it and inhale deeply and thank the Good Lord for another day of life and breath. Regards/J
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“I would rather be ashes than dust!
I would rather that my spark should burn out in a brilliant blaze
than it should be stifled by dry-rot.
I would rather be a superb meteor, every atom of me in magnificent glow, than a sleepy and permanent planet.
The function of man is to live,
not to exist. I shall not waste my days trying to prolong them.
I shall use my time.”
Jack London
Honest truth, Sir Beckett. Time takes no prisoners, grants no special favors.
“You can’t forget memories.”
–Hondo Crouch, Luckenbach, Texas
Totally agree.