Jumping To Conclusions

Misconceptions: We’re all guilty of them, especially when it comes to other people.

I carry a lot of passengers in my taxi, and as a student of human nature I've learned to "read" them. However, I do jump to some conclusions about people. I don’t like it when I’m wrong. And sometimes I don’t like it when I’m right.

I carry a lot of military kids in my cab. The Naval Aviation Technical Training Center (NATTC), based at Naval Air Station Pensacola (NASP) has over 4,000 young U.S. Navy and Marine Corps students in attendance at any given time. Many of them are under 21, and very few of them are allowed to have cars, and so they depend on taxis to get around. Over 90% of my business comes from the navy base.

Getting a tattoo is a time-honored tradition in the military. Lately, the government is putting more and more restrictions on tattoos, but nevertheless the desire for “ink” is strong and I transport a lot of young sailors and Marines to the various (and numerous) tattoo parlors in the Pensacola area.

Recently, three young ladies got in the cab at the navy base. …Three Marine women, all in their smart-looking Class C uniforms which the Marines are required to wear when they go off base here. …Three clean-cut, wholesome, conservative-looking, nice young women hopped in the cab at Foxtrot barracks.

“So…which tattoo shop can I take you ladies to today?” I said in my jokingly sarcastic way.

“Monster Ink!” was the excited reply. All three of them had appointments to get tattoos.

Well shut my mouth.

I hate it when I’m wrong.

Then a couple of days later I got a call from a woman whom I’d carried before and who lived way out west of town. Her daughter was at home and needed to go to the Cordova Mall. The woman could not drive her. A pickup time was arranged.

When I got there, the daughter (who is white) and a boy (who is black) got in the van. They were very young…sixteen...maybe. I couldn’t tell whether they were boyfriend and girlfriend. You never know. It might be racist of me for even mentioning it, but there is a trend today for white girls to go out with black guys. You almost never see the reverse: a black girl with a white boy. It just doesn’t happen. For obvious reasons, I suppose. (And if you have to ask…don’t.)

The ride to the mall took over a half-hour, so I had time to assess the young couple in the back. These kids were a puzzle. For one thing, the girl spent almost the entire time on her cellphone. Secondly, they weren’t holding hands, nor did they seem at all affectionate. They didn’t even seem very friendly to one another. In fact, there was a palpable air of tension between them. I got the distinct impression that the boy didn't even want to be there. Then it dawned on me. “Ahh, she’s pregnant!” I smugly thought to myself. That’s what sixteen year-old white trash girls do down here – they get pregnant by the first boy who pretends to be in love with them just so he can get laid.

Halfway to the mall the boy’s cellphone rings. He has a short conversation with someone I take to be a male friend and who I gather wants to get together and do something. A question is posed, but I cannot hear it. “I can’t," the boy replies in a disappointed tone. "I have a doctor’s appointment,” he says. Then he hangs up. Hmm. “I” have a doctor’s appointment? Not “we” have a doctor’s appointment? Could I have read this whole situation wrong? Perhaps. And so being nosy, I ask if they want to be dropped off anywhere specific “at the mall,” which coincidentally is right next to Sacred Heart Hospital and a bunch of medical clinics in the surrounding area. But they say no, the main entrance is fine.

We finally get to the mall and the kids get out. As she does, the girl drops a folder on the floor right behind and between the two front seats. I reach down to pick it up and hand it to her. On the front is a label with her name on it and…wait for it…the logo for the obstetrics clinic at the hospital. Aha! Okay, then. A fifteen or sixteen year-old girl, pregnant by a guy she's probably not all that fond of to begin with.

I hate it when I’m right.

MH370: Gone Pecan (and yes, those words do rhyme)

I often get asked, "Bob, as an aviation expert slash cab driver, do you think they'll ever find the missing Malaysian airliner?" And I always reply, "Nope! Not a chance.” People do seem astonished that a big plane like that could just...you know...vanish into thin air (or thick water, if you believe the Malaysian government). We wonder, "Aren't there devices onboard the plane (like the passengers' personal cell phones) that could be tracked by...something...or someone…GPS, hello? Hmm. Good question. I don't know.

Here's what I think: Globally, the number of aircraft in the air at any given time is staggering. Nevertheless, I think the U.S. government does indeed have a way of tracking everything that is in the sky. Maybe there aren't people watching computer screens of global aviation activity 24/7 and monitoring every flight...but then again, who knows, maybe there are. In any event, I believe we *do* have the capability of tracking everything that's in the air. Don’t ask me the specifics of how, but come on…let’s not be naïve about what our government is or isn’t capable of doing. Edward Snowden, anyone? It’s 2014: The technology is obviously there.

But just as obviously the U.S. would want to keep the knowledge of this capability quiet. Why should ol’ Vladdy Putin know that we can in real time track every Aeroflot flight that takes off and crashes?

Furthermore, when MH370 disappeared I believe that the U.S. government reviewed its data of that area at that time. We probably knew there was no hope of survivors. Eventually, after waiting to see whether the Malaysians or Australians would figure it out on their own (which they obviously did not), the U.S government did...discreetly...tell the Malaysians where the plane went down. (Don’t you think it was strange that the Malaysian government suddenly had a very specific area they were focusing on and they never said why?)

We told them. We probably didn’t tell them how we knew; we probably just sent our ambassador to meet with the King of Malaysia, showed him a map and said, “Hey look, Yer Highness, it went down right here. We know this. I can’t tell you how we know this or I’d have to kill you. I’ll leave it up to you to figure out how you’re going to explain to the world how a 500 mph jet with no transponder overflew your country and didn’t send your defense forces into a tizzy.”

So the plane is a gone pecan. The extended, frantic, desperate search was in vain after a day or two of, “You know…umm…err…we’re not exactly sure *where* it went after the transponder got shut off.” I doubt they’ll ever find it…or more importantly find out why it crashed, which is what we really want to know, right?

My Real Life

Already it is nearly time to take off the cab driver hat and put on the helicopter pilot baseball cap. I can't believe the time has gone by so fast; it seems like I just got "home." Which calls into question where "home" really is. I spent six months up in Washington State last year - half the year. I don't intend to stay up there that long this summer, but then I didn't intend to stay up there that long last summer. I like it up there. And it's starting to feel like home. A fella could get used to living in that part of the country...if it just didn't get so dad-blamed cold in the winter.

I greatly look forward to getting back up to Brewster. We always have a really great crowd of people that I get to hang around with...pilots and what we sneeringly call "non-aviators" alike. Yeah, sometimes we pilots get to feeling full of ourselves - especially when we get full of alcoholic beverages. Then the rest of the world becomes not us. It's bad, I know.

Of course I'm bringing my guitar. Last year, I brought mine and my friend Brandon brought his. Turned out that one of our other pilots, Lauren could also play! (Plus she sings terrifically too!) And so did copilot Chris. Danny (one of the owners - who also plays) brought out his two guitars, a gorgeous vintage Fender Stratocaster and an acoustic. All of us had a fine time jamming in the hangar (which has great sound as you can imagine). And let me tell you, there is nothing...NOTHING more fun than making music with your friends.

Since then I've gotten marginally better at playing and I've learned a whole bunch of new songs (although I do not have a good singing voice). Maybe I'll even put up a YouTube video like the awesome one my friend Hal Johnson did. Oh you didn't see it? It's incredible - gives me chills. Watch! Sings and plays pretty good for a dang ol' helicopter pilot, doesn't he? I doubt I could top this.



I quite like my dual life. But it is getting hard to know at this point which is my "real" life and which one is the one I go to just to play. Maybe some day I'll figure it out.

Cab Driver - Therapist

Whenever a bartender flags you down you know things are going to be bad. Either a too-drunk patron had them call for a cab, or they’re throwing somebody out because they’re too drunk.

Like bartenders, hairdressers, priests and legitimate therapists, we cabbies are often called upon to dispense advice. Why on earth people would presume that I would have any words of wisdom for them is beyond my meager powers of comprehension. I’m a goddam cab driver fer cryin’ out loud.

With that in mind, I’m cruising up Palafox Street in downtown Pensacola last night when a guy hails me outside of the Helen Back bar. He gives me the, “Wait one,” hand gesture and goes back inside. That’s when I spot his t-shirt with the “Helen Back” logo. I think to myself, “Just drive away, Bob, just drive away.” But no.

Subsequently he comes back, and he’s just about carrying this little blond woman. Skinny thing, tiny…late 20’s or early 30’s. He plops her unceremoniously in my front seat and wordlessly shuts the door. Uh-oh. She immediately turns to me and says, “I am NOT going to get sick in your car.” Then she gives me an address that’s not too far away. Hardly reassured, I drive off. I keep a blue plastic pail (the kind kids play with on the beach) within quick reach in the event the drunks I carry have any accidents.

Before we get far, she’s sobbing. Against my better judgment, I ask her what’s wrong? She doesn’t answer, just alternates between sobbing and mumbling incoherently. And she seems vaguely pissed at me for some reason, saying that I don’t really care about her. Which I don’t, to be honest. Ten minutes from now she’ll be out of my cab and out of my life.

As we motor toward her house she suddenly sits straight up and angrily informs me I’m going the wrong way. “I guess that’s your plan, huh…to charge me as much as you can?” One has to be careful when insulting a cab driver. We’re likely to pull over and kick your drunken ass out. There is no law that says I must get people to their destination. Anyway, she quickly realizes her mistake, but does not apologize.

Finally she starts making sense. Between her sobs I learn that she’s all alone in the world. Her husband left her, she’s estranged from her son, they don’t talk to her…she has no family, and all of her “best friends” have turned out to be not friends at all but merely coworkers. All alone. And…of course…she misses her dead father terribly; he died thirteen years ago, she says.

We get to her house. The fare is eight dollars. “Can you please just show me some compassion?” she verily demands. “Can you please just say SOMETHING to me…give me SOME advice?”

Hey toots, I'm just some fuckin' guy, you know? But okay, you axed for it. I start off as gently as I can, kind of knowing how this conversation is going to go. “Ma’am, it’s been my experience that if you have a relationship with God, you’ll never be alone in life…you’ll never be lonely. No matter what happens, God is always with you.”

Before the words are even out of my mouth, I hear the tongue-cluck and the sigh. I knew they were coming. “Oh, I don’t have a relationship with God,” she spits. “I have a relationship with pantheism.” I don’t have time to ask her to explain because she quickly adds, “I tried the God-thing.”

The God-thing. I’m tempted to ask, “How’s that working out for ya?” but I don’t. She starts fumbling around, pretending to look for her purse. I decide that it’s time to help her out of the car, whether she actually gives me any money or not. But she finds the purse, pulls ten crumpled dollars out and makes a big show of dumping them on the floor between the seats.

“Thanks for nothing," she hisses as she walks away.

I feel sorry for people like her…people so wrapped up in themselves and their own misery and self-pity that they drive others away. From the very brief glimpse I got of this young woman’s life, I completely understand why she’s all alone and bitter. I get back in my cab, shake my head and I drive away too.

Risks We Elect To Take

So here we are, a week and a half after the disappearance of Malaysia Airlines Flight 370 and there is still no sign of it. The plane just vanished. Speculation runs rampant, especially on the all-news TV channels. Most of it is just inane-bordering-on-stupid. I can’t even watch CNN anymore.

Personally, I knew almost immediately that it did not crash at the point where it disappeared from radar. When searchers went to that location and found no wreckage I smelled a rat. Big airplanes like the Boeing 777 leave evidence behind when they crash. Something would’ve been on the water. But it wasn’t. Ergo, airplane not there; airplane somewhere else.

Where? Somebody knows, and somebody isn’t telling. I read today that Thailand’s government admitted that their military radar tracked the jet. Thai officials sort of disingenuously claimed that they never said anything about this because…get this…nobody asked. Yeah, right.

Big jets like the 777 do not just evaporate into thin air. It went somewhere, and it either landed or crash-landed. My sneaking suspicion is that it went somewhere and landed, and if it is still flyable it is now in the possession of some group. And my other sneaking suspicion is that the assigned flight crew did it…”stole” it…aviation’s version of “The Hunt For Red October.” Why? Who knows. It’s the stuff of adventure novels for sure. And it’s going to make a great movie.

The other aviation incident that made national news this week was the crash of a TV news helicopter in Seattle. It was apparently taking off from a rooftop helipad when something happened and it crashed onto the street below. Both people in the helicopter were killed, and one man on the ground was seriously injured.

Immediately after a bad accident like that, I knew there’d be a lot of speculation, just like with the 777 disappearance, especially on the internet. People want to immediately know what happened: What caused the helicopter to crash? This of course is impossible to know. Nevertheless, self-proclaimed “experts” are always throwing out their theories as fast as their pudgy little fingers can type them. Maybe it makes them feel better to be looked at as an authority by others. Older pilots like me refuse to even make an educated guess as to what would cause such a crash – because there are too many things that can go wrong with a helicopter operating from such a pad.

These two events hammer home the point to all of us that aviation is still a potentially dangerous endeavor. Nothing is perfectly safe, no matter how hard we try to make them so. Airline travel is “fairly” safe to be sure, but there is always an element of risk that cannot be denied or ignored or wished away. And the fact that there are X-number of successful airline flights all over the planet ever day does not lessen the associated risks one little bit.

Helicopter flying is perceived by some as “dangerous” but really it is not. I could not have survived over 30 years of flying these contraptions if they were dangerous. More than that, I wouldn’t have done it. I mean, come on, I’m no fool. I understand that helicopter flying is riskier than staying in your nice, safe apartment or house all day. But I work very hard at keeping the risks as low as possible when I’m flying.

The other night I was driving my taxi on a four-lane, divided highway. A confused (drunk?) driver pulled out from a side road right into my lane going the opposite direction. Head-on and coming fast! I confess that my initial thought was, “I wonder if my airbag is gonna work?” I yanked the wheel to the side and managed to get my car into the next lane just as the other car same zooming by, accelerating hard as he went the wrong way, looking for a place to get back on the proper side of the highway. We missed each other, but hoo-man! It was close enough that I got that metallic taste in my mouth that you get when you’ve had a really close call.

I chucked to myself, “And they say FLYING is dangerous??”

Cab Driver

After I got out of high school in New York City, I drove a taxi for a short time. This was before the TV series, “Taxi." Even so, lots had been written about cabbies in the Big Apple (which wasn't even called that yet). They are kind of a legend unto themselves. And…I don’t know…I wanted to see if any of it was true. So I got my “hack license” and found a company that would hire me. It was not difficult.

I didn’t do it for very long and really have no interesting stories to tell. I never got robbed, never got hijacked, nobody ever jumped in and said, “Follow that car!” and nobody ever had sex in the back of my cab as far as I knew. I did sometimes get propositioned. I never did take anyone up on it. All in all, from what I remember it was a routine and mundane, unglamorous job.

Flash forward a bit to the time I found myself flying helicopters out in the Gulf of Mexico. We “Gomers” often referred to ourselves as glorified taxi drivers…because that’s really what we were. (In fact, until fairly recently the FAA referred to a company that did that type of work as an “Air Taxi” (wording which has since been changed to “Commercial Operator”). We air taxi pilots picked people up here, and took them to there. It too was a routine and mundane, unglamorous job. The only difference was the fact that my helicopter taxi flew instead of drove.

After over 30 years as a pilot I’m nearly retired now. No more full-time flying for me. I have my little summer gig, the cherry-drying thing up in Washington State. The job usually requires three months of my time – although last year I stayed up there for six full months. This leaves me in a bit of a quandary when I return to Pensacola. The cherry-drying gig pays pretty well, but I still need to do something to keep busy and make a little money the rest of the year. But don’t want to take a full-time job…and seriously, who would hire a guy who could only work from November until May? (And before you ask: No, there is no part-time work for helicopter pilots here in Pensacola.)

So instead of being a Walmart greeter I decided to lease and drive a taxi. It’s strange – it’s like a return to my roots, although admittedly driving a cab here in Pensacola is a lot different from driving one in New York City.

Oddly enough, I may have found the one job for which I’m particularly well-suited. I mean, what guy doesn’t love to drive? And get paid for it? Sweet! Plus, I get to meet tons of people. Yet I only have to interact with them for short periods of time; our trips are generally 20 – 30 minutes or less in length. Much of the time I am the first contact visitors have with this area, which I love. It makes us taxi drivers something of ambassadors for Pensacola.

And so a new chapter opens up and once again I find myself in yet another routine and mundane, unglamorous job: Cab Driver. But it is interesting, and has already provided me with plenty of stories. I’ll share some of them with you in this space.

More Commercial Fun, 2014

As you all know by now, I hate television but absolutely love television commercials that are done really well. Off the top of my head I can recall a number of specific ads, some from years ago for products: Like (of course!) the more recent, “The Most Interesting Man In The World” ad campaign for Dos Equis beer.

Or how about the dark, moody commercial from ten years ago! for the VW Cabriolet that showed four young kids cruising around one romantic, summer night in their VW convertible to the tune of Nick Drake’s “Pink Moon.” I still love that spot - probably one of the best commercials ever made!

Or the brilliant “Adventureland” commercial for Little Friskies cat food that showed us what possibly goes through a cat’s mind during the day? Instead of using someone else’s song, the producers went ahead and wrote their own song specifically for the commercial. …And not just a short jingle – a whole song! Awesome!

Or the commercial for GE and the one for Saab automobiles that both used Donovan’s wonderful song, “Catch The Wind” (Sadly, the Saab commercial seems to have disappeared from the internet.)

I look forward to the Super Bowl every year because I know we’ll get to see some really creative commercials. Advertisers know that there is only a short time to grasp the viewers’ attention. Many of us use the breaks in programming to get up and do other things. Devices have been designed that allow us to eliminate having to watch commercials completely. So there has to be a reason to stay and watch them.

Most television commercials are vapid and stupid, barely tolerable. But sometimes…sometimes a company will push the boundaries, break “out of the box,” and do something unpredictable. They’ll spend the extra money and hire truly creative people who’ll produce little 60-second masterpieces of advertising art. Commercials are at their very best when you not only remember the ad itself but the product it is promoting. Like those mentioned above.

Two new commercials recently caught my attention. They are strikingly good. The first is one for Chrysler cars. Last year, Chrysler used (in)famous Detroit hip-hop artist Eminem. This year, they’ve snagged Bob Dylan of all people, talking about things that make us “American,” as opposed to, say, the Canadians or Mexicans who also could (but don’t) claim the title.

Dylan’s little poetic paean is accompanied by a subtle instrumental bed of his wonderful song, “Things Have Changed,” and some iconic photographic images (like Marilyn Monroe, James Dean, and the “Rosie The Riveter” poster from WWII). The ad evokes all of the good things about this country and our rich cultural heritage. Yeah, it takes a few…um, liberties. It implies that Americans invented both the automobile and the interstate highway, which we did not. We merely perfected and made them our own.

And okay, so maybe American cars aren’t perfect. But that’s not the point, nor is it the point of the commercial. The point is that we have a lot to be proud of. We are a unique, diverse culture that’s had a long love affair with the automobile and the open road. Dylan growls, “Yeah. Detroit made cars, and cars made America.” The commercial celebrates that heritage, instilling pride and patriotism. In the voice-over portion Dylan says, “Let Germany brew your beer. Let Switzerland make your watch. Let Asia assemble your phone…” Then they cut to a shot of Dylan in a pool hall, backed by a line of what are obviously UAW workers. He leans toward the camera and declares, “WE will build your car.” Damn!

For me, it works. It’s inspiring. It shows us that if you can look past your cynicism and disillusionment, for all the faults this country has, it’s still a great place to live and work. Thank you, Chrysler, for reminding us that “America” is not finished, and we should all be proud to live here.




The other commercial that really caught my eye was one for Heinekin. The beer producer has run a series of bizarre ads that border on action films. Their latest is this film that begins with a castaway climbing a rope to board a cruise ship underway on the high seas. Once on deck, the “castaway” progresses through a series of various and wacky antics (from doing the limbo to ballroom dancing – you just have to see it) – under the stern glare of ship’s captain. Although it is ostensibly the same guy throughout, they clearly used more than one actor for all of the stunts. At the very end, a beautiful woman asks the captain who the man is. The captain replies with great suspicion, “That can’t be just one man.” Then they cut away to reveal all of the actors who portrayed the character in the various bits.

During the three-minute commercial, clickable links appear that allow you to see the hilarious, short (one-minute) casting sessions for the various roles. If you were to watch all of them you’d be sitting at your computer screen for over 45-minutes…which is what Heinekin wants, of course.

The spot is ingenious because it’s so compelling to watch. And as you do, you'll say to yourself, “They put all this energy and time and money into a commercial for beer?!” Yes, yes they did! Hey, works for me!



There are other noteworthy commercials, of course. You undoubtedly have your favorites. And I’d love to hear about the ones that you think are memorable or entertaining or worthwhile. Because although I don’t like cats, don’t drink Heinekin and probably wouldn’t buy a Chrysler, I appreciate it when some company puts effort into getting me to watch an ad for their product. Sadly, most don’t even try. Kudos to the ones that do!