Nothing Can “Influence” like the Right Attitude

Or as Ted Lasso taught us, “Be curious, not judgmental.”

We’re all learning. Some of us are just going to learn more.

As I scrolled Instagram this morning while I was consuming my breakfast—a sacred daily ritual for many millennials like myself—I came upon a post that provided a list of “surprising celebrities who possess a pilot’s license.” After swiping through a few of these aforementioned stars, I turned to the comments section, where you can always find a person who feels the need to downplay the merit of someone else’s accomplishment. This post was no exception: “Anyone could go get their Private Pilot’s License. It’s the instrument rating that separates the boys from the men.”

As a multi-engine and instrument-rated pilot, the egotistical side of myself could happily jump on board with that sentiment. Or, perhaps I could go a step further and one-up that person: “Yes, the instrument rating is great, but try shooting an ILS with one engine in-op. It’s the multi-engine rating that will set you apart.”

But, in aviation that game of one-upping each other might never end. An instrument rating and commercial certificate are mere stepping stones for an Airline Transport Pilot (ATP). From there, it’s a quest to find a seat in the biggest, fastest, nicest equipment available. Even once you’ve done that, do the Airbus A380 guys really have anything on the guys who flew the F-22 or the F-35? What about the guys flying for the Thunderbirds? Astronauts? Where do they all stand in this hierarchy? And, perhaps more importantly, does my instrument rating put me in their company instead of those “peasants” with their mere PPL? I should hope so!

I once had the opportunity to speak with Curtis Lee Brown Jr., a veteran of six Space Shuttle missions. During that time he served as pilot of both the Endeavor and the Atlantis, and he then became Commander of the Discovery. Our paths crossed because, as an aviation insurance agent, I was in the process of getting Mr. Brown added to an aircraft policy for a Piper Comanche that was owned by a friend of his. I can’t recall if Mr. Brown had a great deal of Comanche experience, but I knew that his pilot’s certificate approved him as it stated, word for word:

“All makes and models of single and multi-engine piston powered authorized aircraft.”

The guy had a government-written blank check for piston aircraft. As I might say to my friends after a particularly outlandish statement, “That’s wild, bro.”

In any event, if there was ever going to be an easy person to get approved for aircraft insurance, it was going to be this guy. Right?

RIGHT?!

Actually, wrong!

The insurance company came to the conclusion that it would be mandatory for Mr. Brown to receive an Instrument Proficiency Check in a Piper Comanche before he was approved to fly the aircraft as a single pilot. Despite being relatively green to the profession at the time, I was familiar with initial training requirements when new pilots were added to policies—but Mr. Brown was anything but a new pilot. In a desperate attempt to spare myself relaying that request, I sent the insurance company his Wikipedia page. They refuted that as a sufficient means of demonstrated ability (which begs the question, did they even read it?).

So there I was, a kid just trying to cover all of the basics of his job description, calling an actual astronaut to tell him he’d need a little bit of training before he could fly that Comanche on his own.

I expected some sort of disgusted rant from the other end of the line. Not because I knew anything about Mr. Brown’s demeanor, but simply due to the nature of the situation. In the world of pilots one-upping one another, in the world of separating the men from the boys, Mr. Brown was one of very few individuals who was truly at the top. But now he was going to have to spend his time and money just so he could check a box for the insurance company.

But instead of a rant, or a scoff, or a laugh, Curtis Lee Brown Jr. was brief and entirely cordial: “No problem. I’ll get that done.” Then, after customary salutations, the conversation was over. It was a simple acknowledgment of the situation and an acceptance of what needed to occur.

I’m not saying there isn’t a time and place to complain about things, because trust me, I know how to gripe as well as the next guy. If I had half of Mr. Brown’s credentials and was called with the same news, I’m pretty confident I would not have taken it with nearly the grace and poise that he did.

But I saw something in Mr. Brown that day that I think is what truly separates the men and women in aviation from the boys and the girls (and it wasn’t on his pilot’s certificate, although there are many things listed there might do the trick for even the saltiest Instagram commenter).

This distinction wasn’t in his resume, and I’ve seen this same quality in other pilots of lessor rank many times since. The best pilots I know, the women who get the good jobs, the guys who don’t have claims, the instructors who train other good pilots, they all have one thing in common:

They’re all still learning how to be a better pilot.

Even the aviators who are at the top of the mountain, they still think they might be able to get a little bit higher. It’s a mindset that separates the men from the boys, not what’s stamped on your certificate. I don’t know what Mr. Brown thought he’d learn during his IPC—and maybe he didn’t learn anything at all—but he at least accepted the possibility that there might be some value in his time being spent with an instructor in that Comanche before he went off on his own.

I’m proud to be the third generation of my family to hold my multi-engine and instrument rating. I would be the first to tell you that the value of an instrument rating cannot be overstated, and I feel significantly stronger in my pilot capabilities as a result of it. But the check-ride isn’t what did that for me, or the written test, or the receipt of a new shiny pilot certificate in the mail. It was the countless hours inside the airplane and away from it, learning all that I could, that made me a better pilot. If anything, the check-ride simply showed me I still had much more I could learn!

As Orville Wright once said, “If we worked on the assumption that what is accepted as true really is true, then there would be little hope for advance.” Aviation was born out of a desire for new knowledge and a rejection of the premise that we’d reached our limit. Flying in instrument meteorological conditions wasn’t even on the Wright Brothers’ radar.

April 2024 © Facer Insurance Agency, Inc. Requests to reproduce or redistribute our material may be sent to facerinsurance@gmail.com and may be approved only upon condition of credit to us.

Photo by C. C. Ledford, 1985. Combined Military Service Digital Photographic Files.