The Captain Who Was An Irrepressible Clown

Aug 27, 2023

Rod was everyone’s idea of what an airline captain should look like. He was tall, good looking in an “aw-shucks” sort of way, with a crooked, always-ready smile. A teensy bit of gray hair was sneaking into his temples.

The hero pilots in books are often described with “steely blue eyes.” Rod’s were blue, but warm and twinkly … for a good reason. Rod was a hijinks mastermind who caused the world around him to laugh out loud at his daring escapades. Everyone but the administration of American Airlines.

He began his career with American back in the 1940s in a most unusual way. He lived in Massachusetts, was in love with flying, and rented a plane as often as he could. One day, a businessman acquaintance needed to get to New York City in a hurry. He asked young Rod to fly him to LaGuardia Airport, and he of course, would pay for the plane. A free day of flying – and to New York City? Rod enthusiastically said yes – and it changed his life.

He hung around American’s hangar to see what he could learn. While reading the bulletin board, a manager, who turned out to be the Chief Pilot in New York, asked the stranger who he was. After determining that he wasn’t a thief or spy, he invited him upstairs to his office. Rod left LaGuardia that day with a job offer and a training date – and never looked back. By the time I met him in the 1960s, he was a New York-based captain.

The first time we ate lunch together, he told me he had just returned from a leave of absence. Concerned, I asked if someone in his family was ill. “Nope. The chief pilot thought I should have a few weeks off to clarify my priorities.” He grinned.

“What’s wrong with your priorities?” I asked. “You’re a great pilot. You’re nice to everybody. What happened?”

“Well, they don’t want me hanging around the insurance machine near Gate 1 anymore.” The Los Angeles non-stop, which he was flying, left from Gate 1.

“Why not? What’d you do?” I asked.

Back then, all terminals had insurance vending machines. With ten quarters you could buy $62,000 of flight insurance. For years, they were prominently placed, then reduced to one per terminal, and eventually disappeared by the end of the century. Back to story:

Rod told me that he thought it would be fun to twist his captain’s hat, loosen his tie, pull his jacket off one shoulder and hug the machine…all the while loudly slurring, “C’mon folks, get your cheap insurance here. I’ve already bought mine – we’re gonna have a wunnerful flight t’day. Terrrrrrrific.” The gate agent called operations. Rod was allowed to take the flight that day because it was too late to replace him. He arrived back in New York to a two-week suspension without pay.

I was working in First Class the day I watched him board with a round canvas bag slung over his shoulder. Usually, their suitcases and flight cases were enough, and this looked heavy. One doesn’t question the captain.

About halfway through the flight, after everyone had eaten, I heard the cockpit door slam open against the wall. I turned to see an airborne apparition. It was Rod, dressed in full uniform, riding a small bicycle. He rode it slowly down the aisle, tipping his hat to the ladies and exclaiming with a big grin, “Isn’t it a lovely day for a cross-country ride?” He rode to the rear galley and returned to hysterical laughter and even applause. All except for the one terrified passenger who later wrote to American. She wondered why the captain wasn’t up front, doing his job. That was another two-week suspension. It was my favorite though, because it was his only performance I witnessed.

Another afternoon, at Gate 1, he arrived on time, by a special conveyance. He paid a Skycap to push him to the gate in a wheelchair. Rod wore a colorful granny afghan over his shoulders and dark glasses under his Captain’s hat. With both hands trembling badly, he waved a white cane back and forth in front of the proceeding chair. He made a big show of fumbling in his pocket for the door key, handing it to the Skycap, who wheeled him through the door to the plane. The entire gate witnessed their ancient, blind, crippled captain being wheeled onto their aircraft. That cost him another two weeks.

I don’t know if the suspensions ever exceeded two weeks. I do know that he was such a good pilot that the company didn’t want to lose him. Airports and airplanes were his stage. His crews and passengers, his audience.

I adored him. Working with him was fun, mealtimes on layovers were hysterical. And yet, his conversation was always thought-provoking. Zany Rod was one of the sanest – and kindest – people I knew. Unforgettable.

Marcy O’Brien can be reached at [email protected].

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