WINGS -VI-

WINGS

-VI-

1975 had finally drawn to an end, along with my dreams of great spaces and freedom. I was trapped in a boring day to day life in the airport offices of Seaboard World Airlines in Charles de Gaulle, the newest European airport. I had been promoted to supervisor and was now leading a team. My airport job had proven fatal to my marriage and, true enough, I did not put the needed energy to mend it. My horizons had, however, widened a bit as with the introduction of the Boeing 747 “Containership”, week-ends in America were easy enough to catch. We needed to get a formal approval from the company headquarters to be able to ride on the first-class seats of the plane’s upper deck area. Quite frequently, the airplane was used by positioning crew members on their way to an assignment. Besides discovering long range missions, such as the one I had been involved in Ivory Coast and Angola, the time spent in Charles de Gaulle was not totally useless. It gave me the opportunity to improve on my operational knowledge, learn new trades, and familiarize myself with the commercial airline world.

Previously, in Orly airport, in the cargo area, in the underground of the cargo broker and airlines building, was a kind of semi-official bar where one could meet the “persons that mattered” in the local cargo community. A major export customs issue? Suspicion of cargo theft? an indirect way to buy fresh meet from a wholesale meet broker? all of these issues could be discussed in the smoky bar, called for that matter “the mine”, because it was underground. Sometimes, when customs officers wanted to spend time at “the mine” without being disturbed, they would simply leave their office door opened and the official stamps available for our utilization as needed to validate export documents. The “mine” operated H24, except for a couple of hours when it needed to be cleaned. Should you be looking for someone, if that person was not in his or her office, the first reflex would be to ask “have you checked at the “mine”? And indeed, the person one would be looking for was there, drinking more than reason would call for, or playing rami (1) with partners of the cargo community. With the airport operation relocated to Charles de Gaulle, new traditions had to be developed and new meeting places, both “official” and “underground” needed to be determined. Just across from the office building where Seaboard offices were located, was and administrative building hosting the cargo staff canteen and a post office on the ground floor, and many cargo brokers located in the three floors. In an anteroom to the canteen was the “unavoidable” bar, open from 7 am till 7 pm. It had quickly become the meeting point of the “people you would be looking for without finding them”. With the operation of the Boeing 747 on the North Atlantic sector, came the modernization of the warehouse and the arrival of new ground equipment which could be adjusted to the height of the airplane main deck. Special training had taken place amongst warehouse handlers, whilst the induction classes had been held earlier for the benefit of the admin people, traffic agents and shift supervisors. Balancing a Being 747 was an interesting affair. Because of the cabin contour being different depending on the airplane “station” (2) some containers or unit load devices would only fit in designated locations, thus making load planning more complex. Although I was not good in maths, and generally refractory to any kind of scholar education, I was now able to handle any kind of complex loading configuration, regardless of the type of the airplane involved. I would use time off to travel a bit, cross over the pond at least once a month and get immersed into north-American culture, visiting a couple of Seaboard World captains living in Connecticut. I Was also involved in a “medium-distance” love affair with a gentle British lady living in North London, and for which I had developed authentic feelings. My commuting, also once a month, to London was done with a great pleasure and a sense of fulfilment. Sometimes, I would get an industry discount return ticket to London, some other times I would simply shoot for a “longer adventure”, which consisted in catching a train from Paris to Dieppe or Calais, and board a Ferry to Newhaven or Dover, where I would connect to a train on its way to London. In London, the Piccadilly line would take me all the way to Woodgreen and St Michael’s Terrace were B. lived. On at at least one occasion, I had wanted to travel in a bit of luxury, and caught the night sleeper from Paris to London. After a night spent in the comfort of a “single” compartment, about 45 minutes before reaching London, the conductor (3) of the sleeping car had woken me up with tea, toasts and bitter orange marmalade. How British this was…

In April 1976, our second B 747 “Containership” was delivered by Boeing to the company. Cargo traffic was booming and the sales force was boosting figures. With an increased capacity, it was important of course to ensure that the fleet was made profitable. If the scheduled linehaul was a regular source of profit, the rest of the activities such as Military Airlift Command flights as a “supplemental carrier”, and other dry or wet lease contracts was not to be ignored.

By the middle of 1976, the headquarters of the company sent a young man to Paris for some kind of operational inspection of the facilities, which included witnessing a B 747 transit using the appropriate specialized ground support equipment. There had not been any kind of inspection for a long time, and although we had nothing to fear, everyone was on its guard. Time had come, after the audit, to select a restaurant in Paris, and for some reason, I had been questioned and had recommended a specific place near Saint-Michel in the heart of Paris Latin Quarter. Conversation had then started up and I provided this “auditor” some details about my professional past, how I had ended up joining Seaboard. The man listened to me, asked quite a few questions about my family life, my availability. I explained to him that I had been dreaming about an opportunity for a fresh start with more challenges, and that, basically, yes, I was bored but “please keep this for yourself”. The young man had given me his business card:

Stuart W. S, Manager System Traffic, Offline Operation, a title that meant both nothing, and a lot, especially in my eyes.

There was some magic in the word “offline”, there was a promise of adventure, of difference from the monotony of a day’s work. Lucky man, I thought. That’s the kind of work that I would certainly love. I had no idea about the activities this man was conducting, but seeing his business card at triggered some kind of resonance in me. I had no idea that destiny was winking at me. I did not know about these things, and If I had known, I would have certainly ignored it.

About two weeks later, the CDG airport staff learnt that we had passed the audit with flying colours, and routine was soon back, day in, day out. I had not necessarily been instrumental in that successful audit, but I had the certitude that I had done my best and it gave me satisfaction.

I had totally forgotten the conversation held with the New-York manager during the audit.

Time was flying.

I had even forgotten about the disastrous trip to Germany, trying to get a job “of some kind” with Overseas National Airlines. This was it, my life would be routine, I felt like if I was a flower which had not been watered for centuries. Flight hours were a rare commodity, and in order to keep a valid license, I had to give up holiday plan as prices of aviation fuel had drastically soared, as did the cost of flight hours on the PA.28 or the MS.880 which were my favourite airplanes at the CACB (4) My trips to London and New York did not compensate for the lack of perspectives that I had to face and although my salary had just been re-evaluated in the light of my recent promotion to supervisor, I still felt that something vital was missing in my life.

The change came just like a thunderbolt. I was summoned by the station manager. It was on a Thursday; spring had just started. The day before, trying to change radio station while driving, I had crashed a bran new Citroen CX with leather seats, and send the driver of the “adverse car” to hospital with several cuts on his scalp. I was not driving fast, but my carelessness was not appreciated by my insurance company which paid for the damages but denied further insurance for whatever car I would have to buy in replacement.

Georges Sisqué was smoking his usual cigar. He was always smartly dressed, enjoyed long lunch breaks and did not interfere with the operation, leaving that role to his management team, of which I was now a part.

“I understand that you will be shortly leaving us? I wish I had been kept informed…”

Whatever the reason was for this meeting with the station manager, things were not starting in a very positive way.

I simply had no idea about what the man was referring to, having forgotten my exchanges with Stuart W.S, the auditor from headquarters.

“They want you in their team” said Georges Risqué “and they want you fast”.

Although I was pleased with this turn of the events, and certainly did not really expect such a twist of fate and realized that a transfer to the United States had many implications in term of professional career, retirement plan, and medical insurance. This was not to be taken lightly and needed reflection. Should I be transferred on an American payroll, I would lose the French benefits which included free medicine and medication, retirement plans contribution, paid vacation, and other various benefits which were a part of the whole package provided to employees under French working laws. This change, if I decided to accept it, was a risky one. From the company standpoint, should I wanted to join the Offline Operation team, it had to be a voluntary move, and was not to be considered as a promotion.

Raoul A, the French financial officer had taken side with me. Through discussion with him, I made it clear that I was interested by the offer but, in no way was I ready to relinquish on my employee status of the French branch of an American company. There was too much at stakes. For Raoul A, the important point was the cost aspect of keeping me on the French payroll, whilst I would be working for another division and reporting to headquarters. This situation was yet unheard of, and needed to be discussed with “upper management”. Obviously, the European Vice-President was against the deal, so was Georges Sisqué, for obvious reason. I kept a low profile for a while, even hoping that the “challenge” would fade away and that I would simply continue with my life in France. I did not realize at this time that life was offering me a chance to explore international travel. I did not know yet that I would be swapping living quarters soon and would end up at the Howard Johnson hotel, on Kennedy airport, located a quarter of a mile from the company headquarter at building # 178.

Finally, two and a half months later, the matter of my transfer was settled through “high level talks” and the support of Stuart W.S who, later, became a friend of mine. My new boss was a “legal alien” in New – York! Franck S was a subdued English man with a pronounced taste for beer. During the induction meeting, as I was introduced to my new hierarchy, he explained to me what was expected such as unconditional mobility, initiative, and above all, the ability to operate far away from home or headquarters and to submit activities reports on a regular basis. I would have an expense account, would be travelling extensively and would be “on my own” most of the time, representing the company in whatever place I was asked to go, for whatever task I was to conduct when on assignment.

My first assignment was a catastrophe, not as far as work was concerned, but from a personal standpoint. The first feeling in my new capacity was that of loneliness. My initial mission was to go to Saudi Arabia and offload a Boeing 747 which had been chartered by Saudia, the Saudi Arabian flag carrier with whom we had commercial contacts. I remember that after the offload was completed and I finally got to the hotel for shower and food, I simply broke down and cried for hours. I did not want to be alone, to travel on my own, to be left aside. I had been stupid, this kind of job was finally not for me, the whole affair was ridiculous, this would be my one and only trip, my one and only mission. I was finally not the kind of man they needed; I had been a fool to even try. True enough, I had got a taste of freedom when on the “ hajj mission” in Morocco, but this one was something else. Saudi Arabia was not Morocco, it was hot, and the luxury of the hotel was putting me ill at ease, just like if I should not have been in that environment.

I had dinner in the hotel coffee shop, and tried to put some order in my thoughts. Was the reality of the job becoming overpowering, and leading me out of my dreams of freedom? My administrative transfer had taken place. I was now reporting to the US staff, and they decided of my missions and programs. Backtracking to the “safety” and “comfort” of my former professional life in CDG was impossible without losing face. I indulged into a huge ice-cream, got to bed after yet another shower, watched a James Bond movie subtitled in Arabic, and finally fell asleep. As I woke up the next morning around 6 am, to get to the airport to stack up the airplane with food, and file the flight plan, I felt kind of enthusiastic about this new day. Anxiety was gone, just like if I had been given a magic pill along with my morning coffee. Alone? No, I was not alone, I thought I was. I decided to give myself a month to see how things would evolve, and what my reactions would be to this new job. Giving up just then was not an option, out of pride, and possibly because life had led me on this very path. Curiosity overcame uneasiness and after an uneventful return to our European base in Frankfurt and a dinner at Meier gustl (5) things were definitely looking better. May be, after all, this would be the job of my life ?

(1) A popular card game

(2) Regarding weight and balance on an airplane, the station is a location along the airplane fuselage given in terms of distance from the reference datum.

(3) Man, responsible for a sleeping car according to the International Sleeping Car Company C.I.W.L. He was directly in contact with travellers.

(4) Cercle Aeronautique de Coulommiers et de la Brie, was my flying school cum flying club. It was located on a former military field and hosted both a grass runway as well as a long concrete one.

(5) Meier gustl was a small restaurant located downtown Frankfurt, not very far from the Intercontinental Hotel . It was usually packed with crew members from the various American airlines operating to and from Frankfurt. They had many pork based dishes on their menu. Should you be looking for a crew member in Frankfurt, you would go first to Meier gustl…!