It was well past midnight. We were just east of St. Louis, and would soon begin our descent into the Greater Cincinnati / Northern Kentucky International Airport. “Ready for the approach briefing?” the First Officer, Bob Ranson asked.

I nodded. This was it. I would be landing the Boeing 767 for the last time, taking an early retirement at the young age of 56. But I knew it was time. Someone once said that you begin your flying career with a full bag of luck and an empty bag of experience. The goal is to fill your bag of experience before you empty your bag of luck. I’d pushed my luck too many times over the past 37 years. I began at age 19 at the Olney-Noble Airport in Southern Illinois. I loved flying, and it gave me a great sense of pride to say I was a pilot. Of course, I made a lot of amateurish mistakes early on, like everyone does. And I pushed too hard in weather, trying to prove myself. Not wanting to disappoint my bosses or my passengers by cancelling flights or missing approaches due to poor visibility. I’m not proud to say it, but I busted minimums more than once in order to get in, avoid diverting to an alternate airport. It was foolish. There’s an expression in aviation that summed up my flying career. “There are old pilots, and there are bold pilots. But there are NO old, bold pilots.” I was bold, back in those days, young and cocky.

Somehow I survived that, and became a regional airline pilot working for peanuts. Then, I got my big break, and became a “freight dog” with Airborne Express. The operation at Airborne was much more disciplined and professional. No busting minimums, but flying night freight meant that sleep deprivation would become a routine part of my life. Now, 21 years after coming on board with Airborne, the company had evolved to become ABX Air, an ACMI carrier – meaning that we provided Aircraft, Crew, Maintenance, and Insurance for other companies. We were basically a contract carrier for DHL and others. During that time, I progressed from flying as first officer (copilot) on the YS-11 turboprop and DC9 (my first jet!) to captain on the YS and the 9. And then, I found myself in the left seat of a Boeing 767. Not bad for a kid who grew up on a Southern Illinois pig farm!

It was a good life, once you adjusted to the weird hours. And the pay was good. Really good. Looking back, after all these years, I sometimes struggle to understand why I wanted to take the early retirement incentive the company offered us.

The company had been “junior manning” crewmembers a lot, basically requiring us to fly on our days off. Which made it nearly impossible to get caught up on rest. I had trouble staying awake while flying all night long from our sort center in Cincinnati to the west coast. And once there, I had trouble sleeping during the day at the hotel. Then, in the evening, when the rest of the world was winding down, I had to drag myself to the airport to fly back to Cincinnati. Then to somewhere else the next day. And so on for the rest of my duty block. I was wrung out, and burned out. Through the years, I accumulated a lot of knowledge, experience, and judgment. Dare I say wisdom? I knew my limitations. No longer bold, I was feeling old beyond my years.

“Approach briefing?” Bob prompted me again.

I sighed heavily, turned to him and said with a grin, “Hang on Goose, We’re gonna buzz the tower!”

Bob’s eyes widened. “You’re gonna do what?!!!”

I laughed, then proceeded to brief the approach for real. Initial approach altitude, touchdown zone elevation, approach speeds based on aircraft weight, and missed approach procedure. We would be landing to the east on a snow-packed runway with a quartering crosswind from the left. I wanted to make it a good one.

I couldn’t help but wonder what my new life was going to be like. I would have to find out if I could live full time with my wife, for one thing. We had been married for 36 years by then, but being a pilot, I was gone half the time. If she got tired of me on my days off, Marsha knew she would only have to tolerate me a couple more days and then I’d be out of her hair again. More than once she would ask, “When are you going back to work?” So yeah, it would be a challenge. Probably more for her than for me. Just a couple days prior to this, my retirement flight, we were laying over in San Diego. I was sitting at a table in the hotel restaurant, enjoying a leisurely breakfast with another ABX crew. The waitress overheard us talking about my upcoming retirement. She’d gotten to know me over the years, so she joined in the conversation, saying, “What are you going to do? You’ll need to feel needed.”

To which one of our group replied, “It won’t be long before his wife says, “I NEED you to GET OUT OF THE HOUSE!” I remember thinking he was probably right. (*Note: To any retired husbands who want a boat … spend LOTS of time at home with your wife … It worked for me, and it didn’t take long!)

Normally, I made smooth landings in the 767, but this, my final one, was not so smooth. I guess you could say I arrived with authority. (Which is another way of saying I pranged it in.)

We taxied to the ramp, shut down the engines, and for the final time, completed the shutdown checklist. I took a moment, listening to the sounds of the ground crew offloading the freight containers, looking at the cockpit, burning the images of the instruments, the overhead panel, the view of the ramp through the cockpit window. I wanted to linger, just a while longer. But the crew van was pulling up to the airplane. It was time to go.

A short ride on the van to our crew lounge, a call to flight control to debrief the flight, and then my final act, turning in my company manuals to the chief pilot on duty. I was so tempted to tell him I had changed my mind at the last minute, that I wanted stay with it a few more years. But, like I said, it was time. I said goodbye to a few friends, knowing I would never see most of them ever again, turned in my ID badge, and next thing I knew I was leaving the parking lot for a nearby hotel. In the morning, I would drive home to Florida. I was now a retiree. A new chapter in my life was about to begin.

I soon learned that I was nowhere near as ready for retirement as I thought I was.

The fatigue, the burnout, the sleep deprivation, combined with the junior manning – messing with my days off – had all combined to convince me I had nothing left in me. I, like most others, frequently bid to fly an extra trip or two a month, but that was different. I could pick and choose the days I volunteered for, based on how well rested I felt, where the trip was going, etc. When they arbitrarily threw me onto another trip in the middle of my days off, it only added to the fatigue and frustration.

After a few months of retirement, I was rested. All I really needed was a long vacation and for them to not make me fly on my days off. But there was no turning back. It was too late to change my mind. So I started looking for something to do. I took a couple of jobs working security. It was something to do, and it let me make a few extra bucks, but not much. And then one night, there was a gunshot. I was alone, unarmed, out in the middle of nowhere. It took the police 16 minutes to get there. After that, even though I was supposed to be working unarmed, I kept a firearm with me.

So, working security was a short-lived career for me. It did provide me with material for a fictional book I wrote – Walkabout – Taking a Mulligan. It’s a story about Ty Hamilton, a retired pilot, bored out of his mind, working as an unarmed security guard in the middle of nowhere. One night, he sees something he is not supposed to see happening on an adjoining property. One thing leads to another, and before you know it, someone is hired to kill him.

Ty manages to turn the tables, and the hired killer is the one who doesn’t live to see the next morning. Then, a funny thing happens. Ty realizes that there is a strong physical resemblance between himself and the assassin. Easy as falling off a log to assume the other fellow’s identity and start life over with a clean slate. Go wherever he wants. Do whatever he wants, with whomever he wants. For as long as he wants. All. The. Time. Sounds like a heckuvva deal, eh?

Well, Ty soon learns the hard way that as Erma Bombeck used to say, “The grass is always greener over the septic tank.” But it’s too late to turn back. And of course, with a title like “Walkabout,” you know he ends up in Australia.

So, that’s what I do to amuse myself. I write. As we move along on this journey, I will share more thoughts on ways to make use of our time as retirees. Working full or part time, volunteering, enjoying hobbies, as well as a number of other issues. I appreciate you coming along for the ride!