Page 21 - Never Fly Solo

xvi | INTRODUCTION
When I was eight, my childhood and life path changed
dramatically the day my dad took Dave and me to work
with him at Kennedy Airport in Queens. I jumped onto the
concrete tarmac and grinned with enthusiasm as the roar of
jet engines blasted my eardrums. I gazed into the sky, mes-
merized by the floating metal birds taking off, as I breathed
in the intoxicating scent of burning jet fuel for the first
time.
Then my dad sat me in the cockpit of a real Boeing 747
jumbo jet. I fiddled with the switches and was fascinated with
all the dials and instruments.
“What’s this place for, Dad?” I asked.
“This is the cockpit, Robert. It’s where the pilot flies the
plane.”
And right then and there, something clicked, and my life
path was clear to me. I didn’t want to fix planes like my dad
did—I wanted to fly them!
Years later, when it came time for me to pick a college, the
Air Force Academy seemed the logical choice. I had always
thrived on challenge, and the thought of becoming a fighter
pilot and officer in the Air Force really excited me. After the
long and tedious application process, I was offered an appoint-
ment. It was one of the happiest moments of my life.
To ensure that I was making the right choice about my
future, I decided to take a guided tour of the academy with
Mom and Dad on my wing. We entered the huge gymnasium
with its beautiful Olympic-size swimming pool. And in the
distance was what would become my nemesis my entire fresh-
man year: a thirty-three-foot high diving board.
I slowly pointed to the diving board, and the hair stood
up on the back of my neck as I asked the tour guide, “Uh, sir?
Do we have to jump off that thing?”