Final Approach

by John J. Nance

  “That was the Airbus captain?”

  “Yeah. Even management captains need recertification by an FAA-certified doctor every six months. But several years back Timson went eight months between exams. Now, that’s not a terribly big deal, but the man crashed an airplane, so we have to ask the question, did he fly illicitly during that two-month period? And, of course, the root question is why wasn’t he recertified? Was he sick during that period? Was he on vacation? What was going on while the chief pilot was legally grounded?”

  “What was going on?”

  “We don’t know. That’s the problem. The FAA’s records showed Timson to be in perfect health, with no sick periods. North America has a company flight doctor on the payroll—a guy named McIntyre—who has given Timson his exams for many years, and Andy Wallace just routinely called up and asked the doctor for his medical files on Timson, the ones which back up those medical certificates the doctor had issued every six months, but the next thing we know, North America is getting hysterical and threatening to go to court to get an injunction because we’re harassing them!”

  “And you weren’t?”

  “Hell no! But their reaction raised flags for us. It was like painting a red target on the file cabinet, and what had been routine suddenly became a matter of some urgency. When Andy Wallace tries to interview the doctor, the doctor leaves on a sudden vacation. Finally, this week, we get an envelope from Banff, Canada, with the requested records of those medical exams inside. Now, the flight records which North America had already given us showed that Timson had not flown during that suspect two-month period, so a temporarily expired medical was no problem. But Friday we find that Timson, who has green eyes and brown hair in reality, has brown eyes and blond hair on the records the doctor sent. In addition, on the doctor’s records Timson’s blood is O positive, when we already know from hospital tests he’s B negative.”

  Jeff was wearing a knowing grin and nodding. “That would make me suspicious.”

  “Well, that’s what it did for us. We want to know why Timson seems to have dual hair and eye colors, and a changeable blood type.”

  “Was he in good health?”

  “That’s the point. The records say yes. Are the records lying?”

  Dean Farris had told his wife the trip was necessary, but omitted the part about having no official duties at the Kansas City hearing. He had left Monday afternoon, arriving very quietly, checking with the one staffer who had been his eyes and ears in what Dean had started calling “the Wallingford camp”—a faction Dean Farris couldn’t seem to control. Wallingford was going to have a small coronary when he ambled into the hearing room in a few hours and found the chairman there. Susan would be insulted too, but she would just have to handle it. In Dean’s estimation, she was giving Wallingford too much support. No, adult leadership was called for, and he intended to provide it.

  For one thing, it was time to take Andy Wallace and Joe aside and read them the riot and sedition act over this doctor business at North America. No less than North America’s chairman, David Bayne, had become involved in what had been shameless NTSB harassment of the airline’s medical department. In fact, Bayne himself had called on Friday. Oh, he had been gentlemanly, but his point was obvious. A substantial supporter of the Republican party in northern Texas—a personal friend of the President of the United States who had helped substantially with his campaign—was upset with the “vendetta” that Joe Wallingford and his people were conducting against North America, and if the chairman couldn’t correct it, the President might get someone else who could.

  “Professor, or perhaps I should say Mr. Chairman?” Bayne had said.

  “Dean is just fine, uh, David.”

  “Okay, Dean. Look, we’re going to do our time in the barrel for this crash. But this team of yours seems determined to put Dick Timson on trial, paw through his entire life and management history, and savage our airline’s reputation rather than dispassionately looking for the real reasons the crash occurred. Your investigators are not looking into windshear or air traffic control’s culpability with any serious effort, in our view, and we can see this is becoming a pin-it-on-the-Air-Force or bash-North America exercise.”

  “That’s an excessive view,” Dean Farris had replied. “Joe Wallingford, our investigator in charge, may have some pet areas which need adjusting in terms of emphasis and focus, but he’s hardly conducting a vendetta. And remember, it is the Board that makes the final determination, not the staff.”

  “Dean, he’s probing the so-called atmosphere of management in this airline, and that’s unnecessary, insulting crap! No more, no less. It won’t solve any crashes, save any lives, or gain the NTSB any respect. They’ve been sitting out here in Dallas wasting our time with endless interviews and prying questions about how Dick managed things in the flight department and why we run a tight ship and require our people to tow the line. I’m tired of it. I promise you that every airline in this country is going to have to take a long look at the role of the NTSB in the grand scheme of things if this goes where we see it headed.”

  “And I can promise you,” Dean had replied, “that I will monitor this personally and make certain that our normal, balanced procedures, if breached, will be corrected.”

  “I’m sure you will, Dean. My legal and legislative people have been chomping mad and ready to unleash a congressional broadside and a White House protest. I told them to stand down, that I’d talk to you, and I was sure you wouldn’t allow this conduct to continue. By the way, I Fed Ex’d to you a chronicle of everything we’ve been hit with. I’m sure you’ll agree it’s pretty unreasonable.”

  “As I say …”

  “One other thing, Dean. One special item I’m really upset about. Your people in human performance have got a wild hair up their rear about our company doctor. They’ve threatened him for no apparent reason and scared the poor man to the edge of a nervous breakdown. We finally sent him off on a Canadian vacation to recuperate, and now I’m told they’re trying to track him down up there. In addition, they even used an intermediary, some psychologist named Weiss who’s undoubtedly going to sue us because he lost his wife and sons in the crash—they used him, believe it or not, to come sleuth around our airline. That is ridiculous! I beg you, call off your dogs on Doc McIntyre. Anything you need, Ron Putnam can get it for you, but for crying out loud, the doctor’s a decent gentleman and he’s being hounded. And if you want to use a crash victim’s husband, at least have the courtesy to put him on the NTSB payroll and warn us, okay?”

  “That will stop, I assure you.”

  Farris had replaced the phone feeling a combination of anger, embarrassment, and fear. Damn Wallingford! Damn Wallace! And damn the fact that David Bayne could end Dean Farris’s political ambitions as fast as they had begun.

  Dean left his office that afternoon in a high state of upset, but aware that there was at least one bone he could ethically throw to David Bayne: Dr. McIntyre would be harassed no more.

  It was 8 A.M. when the chairman stepped from the downtown Kansas City hotel into a taxi Monday morning to head for the airport Marriott. He would arrive unannounced about an hour ahead of the start of proceedings, and that was enough time to take the appropriate parties aside, he figured, though the size of the crowd when he arrived caught him off guard. It was nearly nine before he herded Joe and Susan and Andy into a private conversation.

  “I’ve got a hearing to conduct, Mr. Chairman,” Joe began acidly, “are you going to attend, or did you fly out here just to have this little get-together?”

  Farris and Wallingford stood regarding each other in icy hostility as Susan looked on. Andy Wallace had come and gone, leaving the three in the small conference room just down the hall from the main ballroom where all the participants had gathered for the NTSB Board of Inquiry into the crash of North America Flights 170 and 255.

  Joe was struggling to keep his voice and demeanor under control, but he was afraid the effort was showing. Nearly tw
o months of nonstop political interference into every facet of Joe’s conduct of the North America investigation had pushed him to the breaking point, and once again Dean Farris was shaking his head in condescending fashion, that superior, professional sneer of his becoming intolerable.

  “Joe, I think I’ll join Susan and you on the dais, but of course she is still going to chair the meeting.” Joe could see Dr. Susan Kelly in his peripheral vision, arms folded, a flint-hard look freezing her features into abject dislike for what Farris had done in popping up unannounced, undercutting her position along with Joe’s.

  “Do we understand each other about Doctor McIntyre, Joe?”

  “I understand you are requesting that we leave the man alone if we can get the records through other North America sources.”

  “No. That’s not right. I’m ordering you to leave the man the hell alone regardless of whether you get those records. If you don’t get them, you come to me and I’ll take the appropriate steps to get them. You and Andy and his people are not going to harass innocent individuals. I have assurances from North America that they can provide whatever you want. I have given them assurances the harassment will stop. You leave the doctor alone, and, you get this man Weiss the hell away from your operations.”

  “Mr. Chairman, first of all, the doctor has not been harassed, and second, Doctor Weiss, who admittedly lost his family in this crash but also happens to be a trained aviation psychologist, is exercising his own rights as a citizen. He has never worked for us and is not now, although we have listened to what he had to say. But, sir, are you aware that you’re interfering with this investigation by pressuring me?”

  “Joe, let me see if I can make it simple for you.” Farris shook his head as if dealing with a recalcitrant child. “I’m the head of the NTSB. This may, I realize, come as a shock to you, but I really am. Not you. Not Andy. Not even Susan or the other members of the Board. As head, I have the responsibility to—”

  Joe slammed the folder he had been gripping against the wall. “Don’t you dare give me a goddamned lecture, Professor. I was a professional at this Board before you even knew the damn thing existed! I know the rules and the regulations, and I’m trying to advise you that what you are telling me to do is dead wrong. You’re prejudicing an investigation for what I can only assume are political purposes, and that is intolerable.”

  Farris was shaking his head again, side to side, his hands held behind him in a purposefully mocking pose, trying his best to imitate a disgusted Oxford don about to wash his hands of a student he considered stupid, his slight Oklahoma accent making the effort seem low comic opera. “Oh by all means, Mr. Wallingford, sir. Let us follow your kind and gracious lead and toddle on to the hearing. Perhaps afterward we can check on exactly when you were appointed to head this Board and I was deposed, because if that has not occurred, and if you so much as breathe that physician’s name again without my written permission, you can kiss your job with this Board good-bye.”

  Joe saw only mockery in Farris’s eyes, and he recognized his own reaction as growing rage, which was dangerous.

  “We have a hearing to conduct. We can sort this out later.”

  “There is nothing to sort out, Joe. I told you what I expect, and I mean what I say.”

  Joe had begun to turn toward the door, but the last words were too much. He turned back to Farris, raising an index finger slowly, deliberately, looking Farris in the eye, Joe’s face a picture of grim determination, noting the chairman’s recognition of his fury as Farris drew back ever so slightly, unsure of just how physically insubordinate his subordinate might become.

  There were no words Joe could think of that would not emerge in anger as a mortal challenge. There were no trite phrases or threats which were appropriate either, so he simply turned away at last and pushed through the door, leaving Farris speechless—if somewhat relieved.

  17

  Monday, December 3 Kansas City International Airport

  The start of any NTSB Board of Inquiry is an intimidating thing, especially for the parties involved, each of whom approach the forum with their own set of interests, hoping to leave that forum somewhat professionally intact. There are silent prayers among such participants, prayers that their testimony—or that of others they can’t control—will do nothing to increase the monetary or moral liability of those they represent. And there is apprehension that buried somewhere within the proceedings is a media bomb which, once exposed to the light of day, will explode into damaging publicity, damning one party or another for what was or was not done.

  As Joe made note of Senator Martinson’s unheralded entrance and watched the various tables fill with the appointed members from North America, Airbus, FAA, ALPA, and the NTSB technical staff, he also noticed an odd feeling in his stomach when Captain Richard Timson entered the ballroom. As heads turned throughout the ballroom, it was clear whom most of the audience had come to see.

  In the previous weeks, Andy had slowly and steadily come to the conclusion that the Board should focus on the copilot’s role: why he had been too intimidated by the captain to take over in time. Andy had pressed hard against Joe’s feeling that control failure or human failure on Timson’s part were the only true central issues. Bit by bit he had pulled Joe across the line, while getting North America angrier and angrier with each passing day.

  It was ten minutes before Susan joined Joe at the head table, without comment, having left Dean Farris down the hall. She smiled fleetingly at Joe when he caught her eye, but then turned her attention to her notes. Farris was nowhere to be seen until moments before she called the hearing to order. He entered quietly, then, sitting at the opposite end from Joe. There was no time to ask her what had transpired after he’d left.

  Susan’s introduction went rapidly, the television cameras feeding it to satellite dishes and tape recorders as the proceedings got underway. Joe knew that many of those watching through television would expect the NTSB to issue a verdict at the end. The public seldom realized that such hearings were just part of the investigatory process, though providing a cathartic public relations tool in the meantime. But there were never any end-of-hearing verdicts issued by the NTSB indicating which way the Board might be leaning.

  The first two hours were given to testimony from the staff establishing the basic facts of the crash and the surrounding human aspects. Andy Wallace and Walt Rogers and then Joe took their turns, Susan then calling to the stand the ALPA pilot who had conducted the simulator re-creations for the operations group.

  Captain Dick Rohr, an accident investigator for the Air Line Pilots Association, was a fifty-eight-year-old ramrod-straight pilot with a Steve Canyon jaw and a full head of silver hair who looked like Central Casting’s image of an airline captain. Yet he was becoming well known as a human-performance expert of great sensitivity and intellect (an all-but-finalized thesis stood between Rohr and his Ph.D. in industrial psychology). Joe watched the man stride confidently to the witness stand, a gray business suit replacing the four-striped uniform he normally wore as a captain for another A320 operator. There were some preliminary questions on routine matters before Joe plunged into the heart of what Rohr had come to establish, eliciting the response they both wanted.

  “Basically, we found that the situation was recoverable.”

  “Please explain that, Captain?” Joe prompted.

  “Simply stated, if the copilot had taken control of the airplane up to seven-tenths of a second before the time he finally did, the crash would have been avoided. He would have been able to fly over the 737 without a collision.”

  The statement created a wave of reaction which visibly rolled through the audience, the press, and the North America table, as Joe had known it would. A number of whispered conversations had begun among various observers as people wondered why the focus of the hearing had already turned to the copilot of Flight 255. A print reporter had asked him that just before Farris had shown up, pointing to the summary of hearing topics in confusio
n.

  “Because,” Joe had told him, “regardless of why the captain let the nose drop, the copilot’s role as the safety pilot becomes a very important issue if we find he could have saved the aircraft by acting sooner. We need testimony on that point, and if the answer is yes, then the question the Board has to answer is: what prevented the copilot from acting sooner? Was it training? Environment? Temperament? What?” In some ways Joe couldn’t believe he was hearing himself say such things, but he had, in fact, come to believe them.

  “Captain Rohr,” Joe began again, “are there any physical control problems or difficulties with this airplane that would have delayed the copilot’s ability to take control?”

  Now the Airbus table was alive, one engineer flipping frantically through a thick manual while another watched Rohr for his response.

  “Because the captain’s and copilot’s control sticks—Airbus calls them side sticks—are connected only by wiring, they do not move together like conventional aircraft control yokes do. Therefore, Airbus designed a system to permit either pilot to take positive control by simply pushing the priority switch on either yoke. It works instantly, and no, it would not have delayed the copilot’s assumption of control.”

  Joe raised a finger to indicate a follow-up question. He had seen stirring at the Airbus and North America tables, and knew they would want the floor shortly. “And when the copilot of Flight 255 finally got on the control stick, he pushed that switch?”

  “Without question. When one of the pilots takes control with the priority switch, there are several indications. First, a red arrow illuminates in front of the pilot who has lost priority, and second, a green light comes on in front of the pilot who took priority. Now, we don’t have any record of those lights on the flight recorder, but there is a third indication, an electronic voice saying ‘Priority right,’ and in this case it tells us that the copilot did take control and precisely when he did so. It also tells us the captain’s side stick was in use immediately before the copilot pushed his priority button, or the message would not have sounded.”