In late 1963, after a hiring hiatus of nearly seven years, all the major airlines in this country began hiring programs which would in some cases nearly double the size of their pilot seniority lists. TWA was among them. Because the airlines owner, Howard Hughes, had a long relationship with Hollywood, TWA was considered “The Airline of the Stars” and TWA aircraft were constantly seen in movies, along with those of the equally legendary Pan American. Because of its extensive domestic and international route system, it was considered by many pilots as the go to choice when applying for a job.
With the coming of the jet age, the FAA mandated that every jet had to have three qualified pilots in the cockpit. Since many of the major airlines had large four engine aircraft as part of, or even the major portion of, their fleets, and these airplanes required a non-pilot “Flight Engineer” as part of the cockpit crew, the position of “Second Officer” was created.
These FAA required third pilots basically had no function to perform on most flights. Sometimes they would keep the flight log, noting the times checkpoints were crossed, and copying down air traffic control clearances and radio frequencies, but these functions were traditionally the job of the pilot who wasn’t at the controls for that leg. We laughingly called them “Designated Eaters”, since mainly they just sat there and observed the other crew members perform their duties, and consumed a meal when crew meals were served.
To get around the FAA mandate, the airlines began hiring pilots and training them as flight engineers. These “Pilot/Flight Engineers” would hold both pilot and flight engineer certificates, but were prohibited from flying the aircraft unless an extreme emergency existed. So, whether you were assigned to initial training as a First Officer, Second Officer or “Pilot-Flight Engineer” was strictly up to what the airline needed on any given week. It was just “Luck of the Draw”. As pilots, who loved to fly airplanes, it was shocking and demoralizing to have been randomly selected for a P-F/E initial class.
Another problem was that those assigned as Pilot-Flight Engineer were given both a pilot seniority number and a flight engineer seniority number. That was ominous, because although it was generally accepted that once all the professional flight engineers received the company paid training to obtain their FAA required Commercial Pilot license with an Instrument Rating, the newly hired P-F/Es would be allowed to move up to First Officer, and eventually Captain, there was no contractual guarantee that would happen. We could be stuck in the Flight Engineer position forever, which was totally unacceptable.
There were other important issues. First Officers went on so-called “Increment Pay” one year from date of hire, but Flight Engineers not until one year from date of checkout as a fully line qualified crew member. Increment pay was more than double the training pay scale, and it took from three to four months to get fully line qualified as a P-F/E. So, not only would the newly hired pilots get paid more than the pilot-flight engineers, they would get the pay raise much sooner as well
As an added insult, many of the “Professional” flight engineers were doing everything they could to delay the completion of their pilot training, by calling in sick for weeks at a time, etc. Since the union contracts stipulated that no “New-Hire” P-F/E could bid a pilot position until all the professional flight engineers had completed their training, those of us who had been assigned to P-F/E initial hire classes were stuck where we were, with nothing to be done about it. As an added insult, we were forced to pay union dues to the “Flight Engineers International Association” or “FEIA”, whose goals were diametrically opposed to our own.
When I was finally allowed to move out of the flight engineers seat and bid first officer, I was over fifteen-hundred numbers senior to the most junior first officer. As you can imagine, that created some very uncomfortable situations. However, it wasn’t all gloom and doom. When the chips were down, we all had to rise to the occasion. Heres an example of that:
Although for decades the Lockheed Constellation, in many different models, had been ”The Queen of the Fleet” for TWA, by the time I was assigned to a Constellation P-F/E class in July of 1964, the venerable “Connie” as it was known to the industry, was on its last legs. In fact, in 1967, all the “Connies” were put out to pasture, and TWA became Americas first all jet airline.
On one dark night in early 1965, we were departing Columbus, Ohio, bound for St. Louis on the second leg of a three day trip. I had flown with the Captain several times before, but the First Officer was brand new out of training, on his first line trip after being line qualified the week before. He was a very nice guy, but green as grass in his new job.
On the Constellation, the Flight Engineers station was about ten inches lower than the pilots. You stepped down when entering the cockpit, and then stepped up again when you got into either of the pilots seats. The Flight Engineer, figuratively and literally could be considered “Below the Salt” in the cockpit hierarchy.
You couldn’t even see out the cockpit windows. After all, why would you need to? Your job was to keep the four engines running smoothly, with the propellers “In Sync”, and pressurize the cabin while maintaining a comfortable temperature. You couldn’t even hear radio communications, since your headset was only connected to the intercom system, allowing the pilots, ground personnel and the girls in the back to talk to you.
And they were all girls in those days. TWA called them “Hostesses” instead of “Stewardesses”, following the lead of many international carriers. They were universally attractive, many very beautiful, and were trained to be pleasant and attentive to the passengers needs. Most in their twenties, they had signed an agreement to retire at thirty-five if they hadn’t already gotten married, when they were required to resign. It was another era.
The cabin doors were closed and the air-stairs pulled away so we could start our engines. That was frequently an impressive operation, especially at night, because the eighteen cylinder Wright R-3350 piston engines started with much smoke, and occasionally flames coming out of the exhaust stacks until they stabilized at idle rpm.
That was repeated four times until we got clearance to leave the gate and taxi to the end of the runway to do our “run-up”, checking each engine at a higher rpm to make sure everything was operating normally. Piston engines were simply not as reliable as the jets which replaced them.
The run-up completed, we received takeoff clearance from the tower, taxied onto the runway and began the takeoff roll. The Captain commanded that takeoff power be set, which I did, using the duplicate set of throttles on my engineers panel. We soon became airborne and after the landing gear was raised the Captain called for “METO” (maximum except take off) power. He had to almost shout the command, since it was so noisy in the cockpit at that time. As I did so, I heard the Captain say “WHAT? WHAT DID HE SAY?”, and the First Officer turned to look out his side window and exclaimed “GOSH, IT’S REALLY BURNING!”
“WHAT?” I thought. “What’s burning?” As I said, I had no way to monitor the radio calls, and nothing on my Flight Engineers panel showed anything abnormal. Suddenly, the number three engine fire waring light illuminated, accompanied by the fire warning bell. I silenced that and shouted “FIRE IN NUMBER THREE!” The Captain responded “FEATHER NUMBER THREE” and “ENGINE FIRE CHECKLIST”.
I repeated his commands, feathered the propeller on that engine, and shut it down with the mixture control. Then I started all the memory items on the engine fire checklist, which were extensive, and released both engine fire extinguisher bottles to that engine, since the first one had no effect. The red fire light was still on, and we were quickly cleared to return to the field and land under emergency conditions.
The First Officer confirmed that he could still see fire coming out of the rear of the engine. This was as serious as it could get. Then, just after we touched down, the engine fire light went out. We exited the runway, with the fire trucks following us to the gate in case the fire should reignite. Thankfully, it didn’t, and after we shut the remaining engines down and secured the cockpit I left to confer with the mechanics and examine the engine. Although there was no visible damage to the engine cowling, the entire right horizontal stabilizer on the tail was coated with black soot.
When we got back to flight operations in the terminal, we pieced together what had happened. The aircraft we were flying that night was a Lockheed 1040-G “Super Constellation” like the one pictured above. It was equipped with Wright R-3350-DA engines. These included an innovation called “Power Recovery Turbines”, or “PRTs” which actually added horsepower by funneling the exhaust from the eighteen cylinders past shroud covered turbines, connected to shafts which were gear reduced and attached to the engines driveshaft. The PRTs had a self contained oil supply which lubricated and cooled the unit.
When the PRT in question was removed after the incident, it was discovered that one of the oil seals on the shaft had ruptured, spraying oil into the nearly white hot exhaust from the engine operating at a high power setting. This created the long plume of fire which coated the tail surface with all the oil soot.
We were taking off to the south, with the right side of the airplane out of view from the tower and when the flame erupted, the tower controller said: “TWA, I can’t tell where it’s coming from, but there is flame trailing past the tail on the right side of the aircraft.” That brought the comment from the Captain and the statement of surprise from the First Officer.
He had just finished training in Kansas City, and that had included simulated engine failures and fires, feathering, but not shutting down the engine. What he was seeing that night was “The Real Deal” and spectacular to say the least.
From my point of view down in what we called “The Black Hole of Calcutta”, the engineers panel, I could hear or see none of this. The engine fire warning didn’t go off until the exhaust fire got hot enough to begin to heat up the entire cowling, and didn’t stop until all the PRT oil had burned off and things started to cool down.
The most frightening tales came from the passengers on the right ride of the aircraft and behind the wing. They described the exhaust stack fire as resembling a military flame thrower!
Possibly the most harrowing tale came from the hostess who was sitting at her takeoff crew station in the “powder room” of the aft lavatory. Located on the right side, it had a window just behind the sideways facing seat where she was sitting, and facing the mirror and wash basin in front of her. She had been reading a magazine, and suddenly noticed a flickering light. Looking up, she saw the window behind her filled with flames. “I knew I was about to die”, she later said, and I could well understand why.
That happened over fifty-six years ago, and if she’s still alive, I would guess she can recall it as if it happened yesterday. I certainly can, and easily remember the combination of humor and fear that it engendered. It is said that an airline crew members career amounts to: “Hours and hours of boredom, punctuated by moments of stark terror”. That dark night in Columbus was certainly one of the latter.