May 2008 Cover Story:
United Air Lines
Line Maintenance at LAX

Story by Rick Broome

Nothing ever tasted as good as the airline coffee that poured nonstop for our United Air Lines crew of flight line mechanics at LAX. The old timers had their own private mugs, a status symbol of seniority. For new hires there was an assortment of old mugs. I selected an old black job that had the original United shield from the DC-6 era. (United Air Lines later changed their trade style to United Airlines, as did Delta, Continental and others.)
I cannot remember life without airplanes. At fourteen I moved to Denver to live with my aunt and uncle and was soon discovered by two of my childhood mentors. They were veteran United pilots; both were destined for fame. Elrey B. Jeppesen and United Training Captain Ed Mack Miller took an almost parental interest in me. Through their wonderful patience I received a priceless education in the world of airline operations. A few years later my employment as an airline mechanic with United Air Lines at LAX was planned as a stepping stone to the cockpit.

I lived and breathed aviation, and was encouraged to pursue my childhood flying passions. Stories of flying the line in the Boeing Model 80 and 247 came from Jepp. He showed me his original landmark notebooks which evolved into the Jepp Manual. He had dozens of file cabinets — full of his memoirs — in the basement of his home in Cherry Hills. Jepp did not hold back, neither did Ed Miller, who was one of the funniest guys I ever knew. Just to see him grinning could make me giggle.

Ed and his wife Cathy had a houseful of children. Eleven kids shared space while Ed played and flew jets with United and the Colorado Air National Guard. Cathy did the lion’s share of raising the kids. When Ed took me under his broad wings it was noted around the Denver flying community that the Miller family had rounded out to an even dozen. Ed was also an author of many dozens of aviation magazine stories and several books about flying, and he had been a contributing editor on the staff of Flying Magazine for many years.

In 1966 Ed introduced me to another famous pilot and author, Braniff Airways Captain Len Morgan who was then flying 707s on the “B Line” out of Dallas. Len and his family also wrote and published the popular Famous Aircraft series of books. Ten years later Len began writing his Flying Magazine monthly column “Vectors”. His stories were enjoyed by millions of aviators and enthusiasts for over twenty years.

My opportunity to turn wrenches for United at LAX was a highly guided affair. Strings were pulled from somewhere high up at United to even permit my employment interview for a job as an A & P. In the first place, United maintenance (LAXMM) was not hiring. In the second place they did not employ mechanics without prior experience. The powers that be recommended I apply for a job with Flying Tigers. I would gain valuable experience working on their Boeing 707, DC-8-63, and Canadair CL-44 fleet. It was fun and I even worked on one of Tigers’ venerable old Lockheed L-1049H Connies.

The brief time I spent at Tigers was an amazing experience. I even worked on the same Boeing 707-349C — registered N324F — which was the star of the movie “Airport” two years later. After working as a mechanic for Flying Tigers for 89 days — one day short of the day I would be required to join their union — I moved my toolbox over to the United hangars at the east end of the field. (This was a deliberately planned move, having become an experienced A&P I was nominally eligible to join United.)

As a new hire with United a few days later I went through orientation and was assigned my official UAL IBM File Number. Company file numbers were also like seniority markers, and never reissued. When I got my employee number, 8620 in 1968, it was noteworthy because at that time a typical new hire — in any department — was issued a file number in the 60,000 range.

Company veterans figured I was probably the grandson of an early owner, management, or pilot employee. I didn’t truly realize the significance of this honor until years later. Captain Miller cautioned me before my first day on the job with United saying, “Keep your mouth shut about your career goals and aviation experience! If the word gets out that you will soon be a pilot you will be scorned and an outcast. Some of these guys hate pilots! Keep your dreams and goals to yourself or bad things could happen and no one will teach you a thing!” Solid wisdom always came from Ed Mack Miller. He also cautioned, “You have a rare gift of enthusiasm. Never let anyone steal it” He was totally correct.

Ed Mack arranged for me to fly jump seat when United qualified the initial cadre of Braniff crews. I also logged some legal Boeing 747-122 flight time with Captain Morgan on that training flight. It was on November 7, 1970 when Len traded his four stripes, and left seat — as a Boeing 707 international captain — for the right seat flying the Boeing 747. As a copilot his seniority was good enough to be number one on the list of Braniff crews soon to take the controls of “Big Orange.” Braniff paid United a handsome sum for their initial crew rating rides aboard N4713U. Ed Mack had been their training captain. Another friend Captain Dick Boland issued the FAA Type Ratings.

A couple months had passed since I logged time in that brand new 747. It had been unusually quiet at LAX for several hours. Nothing was moving when my pal Gary Ruble and I prepared a domestic DC-8 for towing to the hangar area. The jet only had one write-up as we hooked up the tug at United’s terminal gate number 77. We were in no rush to tow N8019U off the gate.

The fog was as thick as we had ever seen at LAX. After we got the tug hooked up we agreed to take the journey down to United’s maintenance hangar and parking area an inch at a time. I climbed the stairs, closed the cabin door, and assumed my position in the left seat of the Douglas jetliner.

My job was to ride the brakes and turn the nose wheel steering tiller in the direction of the turns. With hydraulic pressure supplied by the auxiliary pump this movement of the tiller allowed the rear section of the main gear bogies to swivel during the turns. It was a feature unique to the DC-8 and designed to avoid scrubbing the tires on the heavy airliner.

Gary and I exchanged greetings on the intercom and I dialed up LAX ground control to announce our intentions. We were cleared for the tow and would travel a couple miles east to our old wooden hangar. We slowly brought her off the gate. I made sure the red cockpit lighting was perfect for my desires. Gary and fellow mechanics Mike O’Keefe and Harry Koskela knew that my number was up. This was to be my final job as a line maintenance mechanic at LAXMM. I was finally headed to Denver for training as a Boeing 727 flight engineer.

The tow took almost thirty minutes because of the heavy fog. Another responsibility of mine was to turn on the landing lights as we approached runway turnoffs. This caused a huge reflection off the fog bank. Gary told me that the lights were blinding him so we agreed to leave the landing lights off since we were the only thing moving at fogbound LAX.

Gary and I secured the DC-8 on Spot Nineteen for overnight parking and service. The nose pointed toward our hangar and the tail hung out over the fence that bordered the east-west service road next to the main taxiway. We took a break and talked about the future. Although we were still the new kids at LAXMM, we had learned a lot from those old “mossback mechanics” we worked with at LAXMM.

We both knew almost all of the good guys who worked the day shift, swings, and mids. Those true airline enthusiasts — who never lost their love of work — would share stories about the good old days at United. Some were cold-hearted though, they kept to themselves and never bothered themselves with the young kids who were working the line with them.

When Gary and I visited recently we agreed that we had never imagined that we would someday be the old guys. I don’t feel any different today than I did on that foggy night at LAX. We were a very proud crew of mechanics back then. We signed our names and file numbers on every job we did. We truly enjoyed — and experienced the most fun — when we were assigned to work the terminal area gates. That was where the action was! And we were a team that did our best to keep United number one in the airline industry.

We visited about the steady stream of “California Commuter” Boeing 727s that flew the coastal trips. They kept us on our toes! The pilots could take a full load out of LAX, zoom to altitude, and put the jet on the Barber Pole. (The three-holer was so clean it would do .88 mach!) The flight time to San Francisco only took about thirty-five minutes. After a thirty-minute turn, they would bring another full load back to LAX. Often we would work the same jets and crews for an entire shift. Intra-state airline competitor PSA would literally drag race United on every trip. The FAA took note when PSA busted speed restrictions below ten thousand feet.

Gary and I sat on the tug after we parked the DC-8 on that foggy night in 1971. We gazed into the fog, looking south across the field toward North American Aviation’s giant manufacturing facility. Los Angeles International was still closed. There was an ethereal silence as we talked about the old guys — and figured that we would stay young forever.
Off in the distance we heard the unmistakable whine of four JT-3D turbofan engines approaching. We looked at each other and shrugged in wonder as the TWA Intercontinental Boeing 707-331 taxied past us heading toward runway 25R. The TWA twin-globe logo was barely visible as the heavy Boeing passed our position. We heard him make a 180-degree turn and then fast-taxi a couple thousand feet forward on the runway. “What in the world is TWA up to tonight?” In the thick fog we couldn’t see our hangar and it was less than 200 feet away!

We watched as the Boeing made another 180-degree turn on the runway and stopped, facing back toward the runway threshold. The four mighty Pratt’s came up to near takeoff power! It was certainly something we had never seen before. A moment later we heard the fans spool down and watched the Boeing back-taxi to the threshold of 25 Right again. We could hear the airliner as it made another quick 180-degree turn. The heavy Intercontinental Boeing 707 was again rolling on the runway, this time with full take-off power!

We figured out that this airliner was no doubt commanded by a veteran who was a very sharp skipper. He knew where the RVR measurement devices were located. By “taking a look” he had beat the system. By artfully using the jet blast from the mighty JT-3D, engines disperse enough fog to change the RVR and make a legal takeoff!

Soon a conga line of international carriers were heading for the runway. The word was out; LAX was open for business again. We watched a Pan Am 707-321 and then a beautiful BOAC VC-10 as they took the active next. They rolled down the runway with a thunderous sound that no longer exists in these days of Stage III compliance. Soon they were followed by a couple more international carriers who had been on gate hold for hours. The rare silence at LAX was gone — LAX was bustling with the noise of normal airline activities. It was time to go back to work and prepare the United fleet for another day’s flying.

My flight officer training class with United was postponed, and later cancelled, since during the 1971 recession United had furloughed 526 line pilots. My full-time career as an aviation artist blossomed while I waited for recall. When the recall finally came I decided that staying home and creating paintings of aviation history was a better option than commuting from Colorado Springs to a far distant domicile to fly jets. It was a tough decision and I got a lot of criticism from pilots who envied my cockpit chances and opportunities.

As I reflect back on my love of flying, aviation maintenance, and aeronautical engineering, I am reminded of all of the wonderful folks in the industry that helped me and gave me vectors to a dream come true. In the end my childhood dream of flying for an airline never quite happened. My entire airline career was pretty much over before it had begun. Years later I came to understand that the feelings we had as part of the old “United Family” had long ago disappeared. They were replaced with the fear and intimidation so common in today’s air carriers.