When he first
turned up at my flight school on his
pride and joy old black Harley
motorcycle, with
a wad of cash in his shoulder bag, I could
tell that big Gazza was a bit different
from the other blokes.
Maybe it was
the fact that he stood out because
he paid in cash for his
flying - it was a lot of money
in these days of credit cards, or that he always seemed to wear the
same attire, or maybe it was how he
announced his arrival by riding his
motor bike through the front door of the
building – through the foyer
scattering other students left and
right - and
then out the back door, or his
unexplainable incredible apparent short term
memory loss or even the fact that he
said he was a non violent debt
collector (as he stated that the
tats on his arms and his large girth
made even the worst offender quiver
when he filled their doorway late at
night), whatever it was – I’ve never
forgotten Gazza.
He was quite a
character – and we all liked what
seemed an opposite to his visual
appearance - his gentle and happy ways and his
plain old good manners. Maybe his
green diet was the answer.
Sandy was an
excellent flight instructor and he
enjoyed working with Gazza, as the
big man would have caused an R22’s
right skid to stay stuck permanently on the
ground and Sandy enjoyed instructing
in the Bell 47G.
As good as Sandy was showing
him how and what to do - Gazza was
having trouble keeping the machine
in balance with the tail rotor during the first ab
initio lessons – and there quite a
few extra flight hours come to think of it.
Sandy was
getting frustrated until he came up
with a brilliant idea.
“I had taken
both doors off because it was
getting hot and mainly because Gazza had missed
his weekly
shower” Sandy said, “and that’s when
I saw that Gazza’s beard was the
answer”
From that day
on, thanks to Sandy, Gazza knew when he had the
machine out of balance.
Whenever
the slipstream came roaring through
either the RH or LH door space, his
beard pointed to the left or right
as the machine tracked sideways
through the air.
Trouble was, when he ever got it
into balance, it came up over his
eyes.
They nicknamed
Gazza (privately because he was a
big boy) “Windsock” and the name
stuck.
When he was put up for his
flight test, he showed me
what a happy and relaxed guy
he was as he flew serenely
over obvious navigation
points without noticing them
- like a happy cowboy riding
into the sunset.
After a few attempts he
passed and he then later
flew off onto the sunset in
his Bell 47G 3B1 never to be
heard from again. Maybe he
is still sitting in it with
his big happy smile enjoying
his "cigarette" and chasing
the sun.
Some people are born to be
happy Pilots.
True Story –
TC
