When I was a kid and lived with my parents, one of the nearly permanent fixtures in our house was a hard-sided boxy black bag constructed of thick leather with bright brass clasps. The bag was securely closed thanks to a set of flaps that opened like a book. Protruding from the outer flap was a thick black handle.
The bag was heavy. Inside it were documents my father carried to work. He never left without it. While my friends’ dads carried slender briefcases, or modest lunch boxes, or a slim pencil case and slide rule, my dad carried a bag that was big enough to haul bricks in.
It was heavy enough to believe it was filled with bricks, too.
Weirdly, all the men my dad worked with — and, yes in the early 1960s, everyone who filled a similar role was male — all carried the same bag. The exact same make and model. And so did the guys who worked in similar roles for different employers.
Such was the life of those who plied the skies at the dawn of the jet age.
The pilot’s flight bag had become a standard accoutrement of airline pilots everywhere. The uniform let the public know you were someone of substance. The bag told them you were on your way to someplace far, far away.
I did not follow in the footsteps of those jet age pioneers. And not just because I felt it might be too tiring to carry a bag full of oceanic plotting charts, Jeppesen manuals, company operations manuals, aircraft manuals, navigational plotters, pencils, flashlights, a headset, and a logbook the size of a dinner plate.
No, I went the general aviation route, where the bags are smaller, the tonnage is considerably less, and the dress code is far more casual. But the bags persist.
Because pilots need stuff. Lots of stuff. And we need to have it in a centralized location where we can get to it quickly and efficiently whenever the need arises.
That wasn’t always the case, however.
When the Wright brothers first flew, they needed no bag. Pilots weren’t really a thing yet. There were no tools to carry. No mandatory logs to be kept. The only thing a pilot of the day might need to be successful was a functional airplane, a hat and, perhaps, a pair of goggles. Honestly, the hat was optional.
The airplane was a stand-alone item. A rarity, but more of a team effort than an individual endeavor. The hat and goggles could be stored on one’s head whether they were flying or not. No bag needed.
Glenn Curtiss had his picture taken for posterity hundreds of times, surely. Yet, none that I’ve found show a dashing young man holding a bag as he boards the aircraft. Not a fanny pack. Not a man purse. His hands were generally empty.
Basically, the only way you could tell someone was a pilot back then was to see them in the pilot’s sling, or seat, or whatever. The pilot’s seat itself hadn’t been standardized yet. Truthfully, nothing much in aviation had been standardized at that point. So, pretty much anyone could be a pilot if they were brave enough, or dumb enough, to climb aboard and push the throttle up.
By the late 1920s, that was changing. Some kid named Lindbergh stunned the world when he flew a single-seat, single-engine airplane all the way from Long Island, New York, to Paris, France.
The aircraft was a proven entity. Pilots became sexy, cool, superstars. The idea of professionalism in the cockpit took root. The upshot of all that being the obvious need for a storage device of some sort where essential items could be tucked away.
The early flight bags were something of an adaptation of the classic doctor’s satchel of the era. Both vocations required the practitioner to carry a small but diverse number of highly specific items. In both cases, lives depended on the skill of the professional as much as on the quality of their tools.
As with all things physical, the battle between form and function began. Bags got bigger and more rugged. Over time they became smaller and less bulky. The advent of the electronic flight bag made it possible for a pilot to carry a veritable library of resource material in a bag no larger than a fashionable woman’s purse.
Which brings us to today. The flight bag is a ubiquitous piece of pilot gear that has been universally accepted, but never seems to perfectly meet the needs of the individuals who use them. Hence, the spectacular array of options we have available to us. Thanks to the internet we can get online and order a new model any time of the day or night. We can even expedite its arrival. No doubt by shipping our flight bags to our door by air.
How poetic is that?
Personally, I’ve owned a considerable collection of bags over the years. When I was a new CFI, my bag was bigger than it needed to be, largely because I carried more stuff than was necessary. I was very much prepared. But cockpits are small and heavy bags don’t last long in the real world.
Today, I use a simple backpack with more pockets than I can possibly fill. It’s light. It’s collapsible. I can pack an iPad, a headset, a charger block and cable, flashlight, etc. Everything I need is in there. Along with a Personal Locator Beacon, a bottle of water, and a couple strips of beef jerky. Just in case, ya’ know?
And, to be honest, it makes me feel a little like Lindbergh on a day trip. As we all should.
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