My friends on the Canes chat, which keeps getting different titles, call me "Obituary Dave," since I'm usually the one who reports a death, though Norman and others have taken up the sport of scooping me on famous deaths. They now also call me "Tragedy Dave," as I typically report awful things that befall folks we may relate to. Give me a wreck involving a doctor or lawyer --totally my whistling past the graveyard wheelhouse.
So yesterday the news reported a doozy: a neurosurgeon named Michael Groff was piloting his high performance private prop jet, and crashed it near an upstate NY airport, killing his wife, a urologist, and 2 of his kids and their partners. The kids were MIT and Swarthmore grads, all young superstars either in med school, private equity, or, in the case of one son, a paralegal. That son's girlfriend was to start Harvard Law this Fall.
Awful -- 6 people who, in the words of the Dad of one of the boyfriends, had a LOT to offer the world had they survived.
For me, it recalled the sage words of my old boss Ed, an aviation expert who knew how to fly but never got his license. He always say second seat, but let the pros do the sky driving. I asked him once why.
He answered that a cliche in aviation accidents was the doctor who got a pilot's license, and bought himself a Beechcraft Bonanza. Since the doc's mind was probably on his patients, he'd fly the thing into a dangerous storm, the tail would separate, and tragedy would result.
Same for lawyers. Ed was ALWAYS thinking about his cases -- how to advance them, how to out maneuver his opponents. He said there was no way he had the laser sharp focus a pilot needed to safely operate a machine flying near the speed of sound, where a mistake could kill lots of people.
I googled the plane Dr. Groff owned -- a Mitsubishi prop jet infamous for being relatively cheap but tough to fly, particularly during difficult approaches. I don't know the facts, but it sure looks like that as experienced the neurosurgeon was, he lacked the experience to safely land his plane after things got chippy.
I came to greatly dislike flying in Ed's private planes after 2 incidents in his King Air -- like Dr. Groff's plane, a high performance prop jet. Once, Ed's pilot and friend Bill was flying me to a depo -- I sat in the co-pilot's seat. Right before we reached V-1 -- takeoff speed, Bill shut the engines off saying "Ah hell no." I was scared but silent -- when we got back to the FBO, he explained that the doodad the coordinated the two props' spinning was off -- had we taken off we might have immediately flipped over. I made my way to the commuter terminal at MIA and flew commercial to my depo.
The second time was much more hairy. Ed was in the jump seat, and Bill was flying said King Air. As soon as the plane took off, it kept wanting to only turn left. Ed and Bill struggled to keep the thing flying, and after all left turns, struggled to get the thing back on the ground. I was suffused with a strange sense of calm -- I KNEW I was about to die -- and wondered -- where would they find my body?
ATC cleared the runways, we landed, and pulled to the side. Bill looked at the controls. "Oh man -- just the rudder trip tab left in the far left position. Dumbass mechanic -- you're supposed to center it!" We took off again for Tampa, and hours later, in the depo, my hands began to shake. Later, we celebrated at Bern's with great steaks and the most expensive bottle of wine I ever had -- this was 1992 and I think it cost $500.
No one believed my tale of near death, until years later -- probably 2003. Paul and I hosted a party for Ed at my house, and Bill was there, and he said in fact that over his long aviation career, that was the closest he came to death -- and he was in a float plane crash which left him partially paralyzed!
Meanwhile, close to home, last night we enjoyed a banner second night of Passover. Wifey and Bo the Special Needs Spaniel arrived, and Jonathan poured us a couple of Stoli Elit martinis. I had a second. D1 and her skittish Spaniel and 2 beautiful boys arrived, and we feasted on Hometown BBQ brisket, chicken, and turkey breast, and some kosher desserts Wifey had fetched earlier from Whole Foods. We joked why it was called Whole Paycheck -- a small box of pastries was $25.
We talked of Passover, but Wifey got a great idea -- we put on the Rug Rats Passover show, which the Ds used to love, and the boys watched, transfixed -- even the 2.5 year old. So the story got told, we had a great night -- P2 was a success!
But my thoughts are with those 6 superstars who left us -- on the way to THEIR family seder somewhere in the Catskills.
And it reminded me -- I plan to NEVER fly with someone who isn't a full time pilot. If Ed is looking down, he's shaking his head.
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