Gill Robb Wilson, from The Airman’s World, 1957
You are at cruising altitude.
The westering sun is pink on the disk.
Your eye flicks the gauges. The engines are contented.
Another day - another dollar.
You look down at your hands on the wheel.
Tonight you notice they look a little old
And, by George, they are old. But how can this be?
Only yesterday you were in flying school.
Time is a thief. You have been robbed.
And what have you to show for it?
A pilot - twenty years a pilot - a senior pilot.
But what of it - just a pilot.
Then the voice of the stewardess
breaks in on your reverie. The trips is running full -
eighty-four passengers - can she begin
to serve dinner to the passengers?
A thousand times you have watched them
file aboard and a thousand times disembark.
They always seem a little gayer after the landing
than before the take-off. Beyond doubt
they are always somewhat apprehensive aloft.
But why do they continuously come up here
in the dark sky despite their apprehension?
You have often wondered about that.
You look down at your hands again
and suddenly it comes to you.
They come because they trust you -
you the pilot. They turn over their lives
and their loved ones and their hopes and their dreams
to you for safe keeping.
To be a pilot means to be one of the trusted.
They pray in the storm
that you are skillful and strong and wise.
To be a pilot is to hold life in your hands -
to be worthy of faith.
No, you have not been robbed.
You aren’t "just a pilot". There is no such thing
as "just a pilot". Your job is a trust.
The years have been a trust.
You have been one of the trusted.
Who could be more?