Chapter Two - Armadillo Country
(Part Two)

Then came the letter from United.  I was offered $50,000 a year to come fly as a B-727 copilot.  This was a huge amount of money, considering normal starting pay for flight engineers was really low.  I can’t remember now what it was, but probably around $1500 per month or something like that.  Maybe even less.  At Wien, it had been only $1,000 per month for the first year.  Airlines call this first year at low wages being on probation, while they watch you and decide whether you’re worth keeping.  The first year working for a major airline comes with a certain amount of tension.

At Wien, part of the reason for the strike was the famous “hire-fire” policy.  Pilots would be fired their last day of probation, then rehired a day later.   Wien could keep pilots on poverty wages indefinitely doing this; no wonder the pilots were outraged.

After the pilots at United went on strike, qualified captains with the requisite time in command of the B-727 were offered $75,000 per year.  United was able to convince some pilots to accept this pay and cross the picket line.  

I didn’t accept the copilot offer right away, but called United, which had given me a deadline to respond, and asked them if I could wait for the strike to end, and then fly for normal pay as a second officer.  Although this was naïve on my part and I already knew the answer, I still made the call.  The answer was a resounding “NO” as they needed qualified captains and copilots right now.  They also informed me that if I did not accept, I would be blackballed forever—never again to be considered for employment. 

I stalled.  I called United again and told them I couldn’t come for at least a month.  Their response was to get down there within ten days or I would be removed as a flight officer candidate.

I had been a member of ALPA at Wien and knew the ramifications of crossing a picket line.  I didn’t want to cross a line against my fellow pilots.  It is my nature, however, to not take things at face value and try to discover a different course of action when obstacles appear.  I just couldn’t throw away my last chance of flying for this airline—not without a struggle, anyway.

I got in touch with some ALPA representatives with United and told them my dilemma, and they offered me a solution.   They told me what they had already told some others with the same problem.  We wanted to come to work, but not at the expense of the striking pilots who had valid issues with the company which needed to be resolved.

What these union representatives told me was I could come to training and accept the outrageously high pay for now.  If I was still in training when the strike ended, I could stay, apply for membership and relinquish all the excess pay.  It was a stall tactic, with the object of the game being that the strike would end before I was completely checked out as a United first officer.

Why would they do this?  It was a deliberate strategy on ALPA’s part.  Their motive was to “plug up the training center” with phony trainees.  That is, United would train some pilots, pay them for their time, and think they were producing pilots to fly the line when training was complete, only to lose them when training was over and they quit.  Although many pilots were not a party to this and did intend to fly through the strike, I was aware of at least several others who had the intention of staying with hopes the strike would end before their training did.  Otherwise, they would leave. 

None of us did this with malicious intent toward United.  It was just a stalling tactic to move the decision out a little further in time, giving the strike a chance to run its course.  With the union sanctioning this course of action, I was able to accept training, knowing, or at least believing, I wouldn’t be labeled a “scab.” 

In the meantime, because the strike seemed to stretch endlessly with no agreement near, I continued to interview at American Airlines.  I had already started the interview process earlier in the year and, on my first two days off from training at United, sneaked off to Dallas to finish the interview process at American’s headquarters there.  I told nobody of this, since of course United would terminate me immediately and deservedly if they found out. 

I still have the letter from American, inviting me to the final phase of the physical after I had passed the initial “mini-physical” and all the other parts of the interview process.  It starts, like so many other letters I’ve received from various airlines, with “Dear Mr. Getline, we are pleased to inform you…”

When I received this letter from American, I called and stalled with them, too, saying I couldn’t come for the physical for at least two weeks.  That was the remaining time I had at United in training before the decision had to be made—whether to remain or to leave—and that decision would be based on whether the strike was still in progress.  It didn’t look good—not good at all.  American was my ace in the hole.

There was a night and day difference between interviewing at United and interviewing at American. Walking into United’s facility to take their physical, and this was well before the strike looked like it was really going to happen so there was not yet the heavy tension surrounding a strike—everyone was friendly, smiling, making light conversation—they were just nice.

When I walked in the front door at American, I felt as if I had entered a hospital.  It looked and smelled sterile—almost antiseptic.  Nobody was nice and nobody was friendly.  Nobody spoke at all.  Even the other pilot applicants were up-tight.

The hearing test was administered in one of those little booths, and you’re supposed to hold up a finger when you hear the various tones.  I waited for the test to start, and waited, hearing nothing.  When I finally looked up the nurse was looking right at me with a hard expression.

I opened the door to the booth and told her the sound wasn’t working.  Instead of believing me and checking it out, she failed me on the test.  I have exceptionally good hearing, and I certainly wasn’t going to put up with this.  I asked to speak to a supervisor and challenged him to go into the booth himself.

Fortunately, he did believe me, tried it for himself and realized I was right.  Power was restored and I passed the hearing test with flying colors.  That was a close one, though.   That nurse was ready to toss me right out the door, no questions asked.

I did not leave American feeling either warm or fuzzy, in spite of their later job offer.  As I left the facility and was walking out on the main road, intending to go find a cab, I had the feeling I was being followed.  I looked over my shoulder and behind me was the strangest little creature I’d ever seen that wasn’t in a zoo.  It was an armadillo, but I wasn’t absolutely sure of this, and he seemed to be stalking me.  I walked faster.  He walked faster.  I walked even faster.  He kept pace with me.  He was making me very nervous, and I broke into a trot.

A guy driving a pickup truck drove by just then and stopped and opened the passenger door for me, so I jumped in breathlessly.  The armadillo passed on by and went off in the direction of the woods.  I turned to my rescuer and saw he was laughing.   “Whatdya’ think, that he was gonna bite you or something?” 

Well, how did I know?  I wasn’t up on my armadillo lore and had no idea what they would do.  They looked scary, and I didn’t know they were harmless.  I was feeling irritated about the whole thing with the hearing test, and now my dignity was bruised to boot.  I’m sure the armadillo had a laugh about it later on with all his armored friends:  “Yeah, I’m telling you she was terrified!  I had her running for her life!”  In my head, the other armadillos were all gathered ‘round a blazing campfire, rapt with attention, saying, “Cool!”

In any case, this friendly and amused Texan felt sorry for me and dropped me off back at the airport.  I flew back to United at American’s expense to continue training with United.  American didn’t know about United, and United didn’t know about American.  Sometimes I really do wonder how I manage to get myself into these things. Could things get any more confusing?

Oh, yes.  They could.  They most certainly could.