WINGS
-II-
I was fascinated by airplanes and on week-ends, in return for playing helping hand on the airfield, tanking up aviation and clening-up windshields ,I could log up some flight time for free by the end of the day. Taking off towards the west, one would have an incredible view over Paris area. I was already thinking about getting my IFR rating, then an instructor qualification, once I would have had the required flight hours, as this would obviously help me gain experience and credibility.I could see myself,within five years, joining an hiring program with some French airline, or even better,somewhere in Africa to fly DC.3 or whatever had two wings and , at least, two engines. It was 1971.
On a glorious july morning, as I had just landed the Jodel D112 following a session of stall recovery on my own, my dreams got suddenly shattered…I was going to be a father,like it or not. It was time to close the books, fold the flight log, and find some work to feed a family.There was simply no choices.
Rather than looking for any kind of ordinary job in a standard environment, and since I had bailed out of law school, nothing prevented me to look for a job outside of Paris, and preferably on an airport. At least, I would be close to airplanes, and would be able to breathe avgas fumes. A major car rental company was hiring, and the job did not require specific qualifications or talents. I applied,was hired, and became an office clerk. Between my appartement and Orly Airport,there was enough reading time while sitting in bus # 215. Reading ? Aviation books of course, whatever I could get my hands on. On Sundays, I would escape from home and go for a walk along the river Seine, where the « bouquinistes » (1) had their stands,and look for cheap reading material such as flight manuals, wiring diagrams, picture books of iconic airplaness such as the Douglas models, and the Lockheed magnificent Constellation which had been produced in three different versions at least. My appartement was located in the southern part of Paris. As the crow flies, I lived about eight miles from the Airport. During the warm spring evenings, wind helping, and my window wide open, I could hear the noise of piston engines runs taking place on the AIR INTER maintenance site (2) and this was sweet music to my ears.
The job was boring and besides the special rental rate for employees, the perks were scarce….but it was a job and I could feed the family,even if the salary was modest enough. From the window of my office, no more than three hundred yards away, I could see an African State official plane parked there for some reason. I remember the name as being « Flèche des Almadies ». Not far from that very plane was a Fairchild C.82 Packet operated by TWA, and used to ferry spare engines around Europe, should there be a need . Within three months after I joined the company, I became obsessed by the vision of these two wonderful airplanes. But the money became insufficient and,rather than enduring frustration, I backtracked to a new job in Paris,also for a car rental company, but as a salesman. I had of course no idea about the salesman job, but in these days there was work for those daring, so pretty soon, I found myself integrated in a « sales team » and started visiting companies around Paris and promoting rental rates and company credit cards. My office was on the seventh floor of a building located in the wealthy 7th arrondissement, a few hundred yard from the Eiffel tower, and the salary was well above what I could make with the previous company. All the occasions were good to get a drink, the closing of a sale, the middle of the week, the birthday of a buddy, the birth of a baby. We were the kings, and the view over the Paris roofs was magnificent. My travel time to and back home was a mere twenty minutes, and the morning coffee with croissants made life bearable. During lunch break, while my collegues would congregate in a local restaurant, I would walk to the Air France bus terminal of the Invalides,not far away, to watch long range travellers board their busses to Orly, on the way to Anchorage, Tokyo, Moscow or Saïgon. I had put a lid on my professional dreams. I knew that being a pilot was now out of question. It was just not my way. I should have been single, rich, and above all more serious. The dream was gone,so were the flight hours, even if, now and then, I would more or less legally « borrow » a PA 28 to fly from Coulommiers to Reims just for the sake of the panache and the flamboyance of having a glass of champaign at the airfield bar just after landing.
It suddenly seemed like my life had stopped. My passion for airplane was burning my brain, and I entered a period of great doubts, thinking that law school was still and option, with, at a later stage, the Porsche, the extravagant cost of my services, and the headlines in the Paris newspaper when I would be the best lawyer on the market.
I was then 22, a young father, already on the way to a divorce, and I desperately needed the proximity of airplanes, without even knowing exactly why. I always supposed that it had something to do with a childhood vision of an Air France Postal Service DC 3 flying a low pass over our country house,just after take-off.
I then decided to take my destiny in my own hands and prepared a « respectable » resume which, I was certain, would be the key to a brighter future close to airplanes. I can still recall the early bus in that september morning, with a pile of resume freshly printed in my attache case. I still remember the feeling of being trapped in a tie and jacket. I will never forget the Orly Cargo area and the major airlines which I visited, explaining that I was looking for a job close to airplanes….Everyone thought that I was weird, and looked suspiciously at my resume, promising a formal interview should they be finally interested. I still have in my memory the black and yellow colours of the Seaboard World Airlines logo on the entrance of that Orly building.
« We let you know » told me a secretary, showing me the way out.
It was the last Monday of september 1973. I received a telegram (3) . The text was short :
FOLLOWING YOUR APPLICATION AT SEABOARD WORLD STP BE AT 9 AM ON SEPTEMBER 25TH FOR A FORMAL INTERVIEW STP YOU WILL BE MEETING WITH GEORGES SISQUE OUR STATION MANAGER .END
The 25th of september was a Tuesday. I ironed a shirt, chose a smart suit, went to the hairdresser,prayed Bleriot, Saint-Exupéry,and Amelia Earhart for their help and got ready.
It was 8 :30 AM when I showed up at Seaboard World Airlines in the cargo area of Orly airport. All over were my airplanes, the noise of the engines, the humming of the ramp traffic. I crossed fingers and went into the building. The secretary offered me a cup of coffee and asked me to wait a bit in the anteroom to the station manager’s office, who was due to arrive momentarily.
My cup was still half full when Georges SISQUE,the station manager, arrived for his day at work. The interview lasted 45 minutes. My work experience was reviewed, my passion was discussed, my honesty tested.
« We’ll let you know » said the man with the big moustache. I bussed back to Paris.
On the morning of september 26th 1973, a mail lady rung the bell of my appartement. In her hand she held a blue folded piece of paper. It was a telegram, an other one. My heart was pumping blood like never before . I opened the telegram in front of the mail lady.
YOU HAVE BEEN HIRED.STP.BE READY TO START WORK ON OCT 1ST 1973.STP REPORT TO CARMELO CIARAMELLA FOR INITIAL INDUCTION STP SIGNED GEORGES SISQUE STATION MANAGER
I Kissed the mail lady
I was hired
My airline career could start.
(1) A bouquiniste is a bookseller who typically sells antique and second hand books in the iconic green stalls along the river Seine in Paris.
The booksellers have been around for centuries and today their stalls run for kilometres along the river – on both sides. In fact, many people say the Seine is the only river in the world that runs between two bookshelves.
(2) AIR INTER was a domestic airline operating in the 70s with a fleet of jet and piston airplanes, most of them inherited from Air France which was modernizing its fleet. Air Inter was based in Orly airport and operated a big maintenance site cles to the Zone des Petites Industries, where my office was located.
(3) In the 70s itw as a common way to contact a person that you wanted to see rapidly, for instance for an interview.
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