Papers please

Hollywood has shown us a hundred examples or more of a uniformed soldier wearing a stern expression as they demand of the shuddering civilian in front of them, “papers please.” That’s the kind version. The alternative involves the soldier simply saying “papers.”

It’s a command, not a request.

For Americans, that demand to produce documentation feels wrong. It’s often seen as an invasion — an affront to our civic pride, our rights, our dignity as a human being. Yet the fact is we all carry ID of some sort and it is perfectly reasonable for a person serving in the capacity of a security guard, policeman, or soldier to ask to see our paperwork under specific circumstances.

When I was a junior in high school and my brother was a senior, my dad returned home from a trip to announce there was a motorcycle show, a boat show, and a car show all going on in London at the same time. “Let’s go,” he instructed. Dutifully and with great excitement my brother and I loaded up into the family car and headed to the airport with the old man.

Being a captain for Pan Am, my dad traveled the world extensively. We never flew together. Me being a hippie kid and him being a former fighter pilot, we didn’t quite mesh. In fact, this unexpected adventure was the only time my dad and I occupied the same airplane. Odd, but true.

We arrived in London on a Friday morning. My dad became agitated immediately upon seeing the date/time display at Heathrow. “Why didn’t you tell me it was a school day?”

Seriously, what teenager is going to squelch a day trip to London in favor of going to class?

The shows were great. I have fond memories of each of them, including some significant time I spent with a very attractive 16-year-old girl at the boat show who was working. Out of school at my age, she was already tasked with making a living by selling nautical trinkets at the show.

We headed home on the next flight. No hotel was involved. We flew out, attended the shows, then zipped home again. Families with strong ties to aviation tend to live a different lifestyle than those who aren’t so fortunate. Travel for my family was often long distance, but short duration.

Upon arriving in New York the three of us joined the customs line with our fellow passengers. My dad was dressed as a civilian. No uniform. No assumption of rank or privilege, which led to the very embarrassing moment when the customs official looked up from dad’s paperwork and said, “Your passport is expired.”

Gulp.

Airline pilots were rarely required to show their passports when entering a sovereign nation back then. They were professionals doing a job. The passport was superfluous to their position and status. Until they were out of uniform and looking like a normal passenger. Suddenly, current and accurate paperwork was an issue.

General aviation pilots in the United States enjoy the most robust flying opportunities of pilots anywhere. We also have close proximity to three international borders. Canada, Mexico, and the Caribbean are all within the range of even the smallest single engine aircraft. Yet, crossing the border from one nation to another is quite different than crossing the border from Texas to New Mexico, even though those states are larger than many countries.

Having our paperwork in order is important. But then that’s true of local flights as well. Sadly, the vast majority of general aviation pilots have developed the unfortunate habit of ignoring that requirement.

To this day I still have my Restricted Radio Telephone Operators Permit, issued to me by the FCC in 1980. There was a time when I was required to have that on my person when I flew. Not true today, but I still hold on to mine just in case the rule is revived one day.

My wallet holds five FAA certificates. I keep them all close at hand in case someone in a uniform or with an official sounding title asks to see one or more of them. I take no offense if they do. It is my responsibility to produce that piece of plastic on demand. I agreed to that condition when I accepted the privileges the certificates conferred on me. It seems fair enough. Why fight it?

I could say the same about my medical certificate, when I held one. Or my official picture ID, which I’m also required to show on demand. And let’s not forget about the weight and balance calculation I’m required by regulation to perform prior to flight.

There is a growing contingent that is convinced they do not have to produce ID for law enforcement at any level. When faced with a traffic stop, they roll up their window, pull out their phone, and proceed to become belligerent. Now, whose mother would be proud to see them establishing a high-risk stand-off with the law over something as dumb as not using their turn signal when changing lanes?

Like so many CFIs, I’ve flown with people who choose not to carry their documentation. The rationale they share is beyond me.

One fellow said, “It’s in my glove compartment.” Well, that’s great. Except his glove compartment was 20 miles behind us and 5,500 feet below.

Others have reported they don’t have the original, but they’ve got a copy in their bag. Terrific! If the regulations said a copy was acceptable we’d be all set, wouldn’t we? But they don’t. So, we’re not.

It’s really not that hard to follow the rules — to check your documents now and then to be sure they’re up to date and in your possession.

By the way, about that last minute London trip. When I returned to school on Monday a teacher challenged me. “You weren’t in my class on Friday,” she said. “No,” I agreed. “I went to London for the day.”

“Okay wise guy,” she responded. “You’ve got detention for being insubordinate.”

Following the rules is the way to go, but there’s still a slight risk you might get the short end of the stick anyway.