An American Lion

Some young hotshot pilot crashed this plane, I think…

You can’t quibble with the statistics:

The Fair Treatment for Experienced Pilots Act (the act) extended the federal age standard for pilots of large commercial aircraft from 60 to 65 years of age. The act also requires us to report—no later than 24 months after its enactment—on the effect, if any, of this change on aviation safety. This report responds to that requirement.

Our review of FAA’s accident and incident data and NTSB’s accident data from December 2007, when the act was enacted, through September 2009 showed that no accidents or incidents resulted from the health conditions of pilots 60 years or older.However, for a more definitive assessment, a longer period of time would be required to collect data for similar groups—both pilots 60 years or older and younger pilots— to determine if the act’s change in the age standard for commercial pilots has any effect on aviation safety. Such a study is not yet feasible because the act is too recent for flight records to be available for a sufficient number of pilots 60 years or older.

Chalk one up for age and professionalism. Being 65 is no great shakes, but if I were an airline pilot, you can bet that I would be a swaggering badass of an airline pilot. I would wear a scarf, mirrored shades, and I wouldn’t talk to anyone except to give that smile and nod that NASCAR drivers learn to give people when they’re hustling past them to get away from the hoi polloi.

Father wanted me to be a pilot, but I guess I let him down when I dedicated myself to not doing much of anything at all after college. I sold riot control vehicles here and there, but, mostly, I played golf and waited for a chance to try and crash a brand new sports car into something. My inability to do that would have made me a pretty good pilot—I was rather good at not crashing into things. I have an uncanny knack for not hitting other cars as I swerve blindly in traffic. It’s like I always tell the children, always find a way to be lucky rather than smart. If you have to be smart, be the lucky kind of smart, not the booky kind of smart. No one respects booky smart people.

Now, ghost riding the whip? When I’m ghost riding the whip, I often crash the rental car. That’s a given though—I’m not behind the wheel, silly.