In 1987, I was a 28-year-old flying the CF-18 at the Paris Air Show. McDonnell Douglas who made the Hornet had asked the Canadian Air Force to perform at the Paris Air Show on their behalf and that task was given to me as part of my CF-18 demo season. Back then, it was the biggest air show in the world, full of performers flying the newest technology, and I was way out of my class. At the time, I was completely under the pressure of it all. I took it to mean I had to fly the Hornet as aggressively as I possibly could to show it off, and my fangs came out. Years later, I would see how little any of that really meant but as a young fighter pilot, I was all in.
Preparing for and flying that Paris Air Show taught me many lessons. The first was about leadership.
I flew into Paris on Day 1, Monday morning, from our base in Germany. I scrambled to perform an acceptance show for the air show director, landed, and got his approval to fly in the full program that afternoon. It was all very frenzied.
By Day 2, I had settled into a ‘more normal’ airshow routine. However, the weather was no longer clear of cloud, and a low deck was cutting into our chances of flying the high show. But I had been flying multiple shows a day in the lead-up to Paris, and my muscle memory was as good as it could be. So on the afternoon of Day 2, I did my afterburner takeoff and pulled straight up into a loop. At the top of that loop, I entered cloud.
I hadn’t thought it out beforehand. But I had flown so many practices and simulator sessions that I knew my only option was to do what I knew: finish the loop and fly the numbers. And after that, I continued to fly my high show, skirting in and out of cloud at the top of each maneuver, whether it was the Hornet’s signature ‘Square Loop’ or a vertical split-S to return to the show line. I knew how to fly the numbers I had been taught. What I did not do was honor the very real threat of flying into cloud. I had left myself absolutely zero margin for error and no way out if something went wrong.
Luckily for me, nothing did. I don’t know what the spectators thought, but I got an earful that night from my boss.
After Day 2, I attended a reception at the Canadian Embassy in downtown Paris with my father, who was then a pilot for Canadair (now, of course, Bombardier) and was also at the show. My Wing Commander, Colonel Al ‘D’Ville’ DeQuetteville, later Commander of the Air Force, came up and asked how high the clouds had been during my show. I sheepishly told him, though he already knew. I hadn’t violated my minimums, but I certainly wasn’t allowed to fly a show into cloud.
D’Ville recognized what I was facing: the pressure from McDonnell Douglas to fly for them and perform. He was clear and direct. “You fly for me and no one else.” It was a simple leadership message: forget the marketing BS and just fly your show.
It was a perfectly timed lesson for Paris, and I carried it for decades as an air show demonstration pilot and test pilot. I can only imagine just how aggressive I would have continued to fly and how many more chances I would have taken if D’Ville had not stepped in and settled me down. I had really pressed my luck and could easily have become another airshow statistic.
I think of the Hellenic Air Force F-4E fatality this season. I only wish the F-4 crew had heard from their leadership what my Wing Commander told me that evening before they went out for their show. It might have changed how they flew and saved their lives.
Luck got me through that day, and D’Ville’s leadership saved me.
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