Читать книгу The Seven Year-Old Pilot - Capt. Steven Archille - Страница 6

My parents lived uptown in Harlem, in an apartment right across the street from a big building that had a sloping corrugated aluminum facade. The strange looking building both fascinated and scared me because I had no idea what to make of its weird structure. Years later, I came to find out that it had actually been a church. That strange building was far from the only new thing I had to adjust to as I settled into my new life with a new family, a new country, and a strange new language... English. My parents were able to enroll me in the first grade, with Betty attending Kindergarten in the same school. I sat in the back of the classroom trying to make sense of this new language, having no idea what the teacher or students were saying. Both of my parents worked, (Mom was a cashier at Burger King and Dad was a taxi driver) and on more than one occasion, Mom had to be called in from work to pick me up from school in the middle of the day. Since I couldn’t understand what was going on in class, I would often pass the time by singing to myself in Kreol, which apparently caused a bit of a disruption in the class. The other students welcomed the disruption and found it quite a bit amusing. They laughed whenever I started to sing, and I liked the attention. My teacher, for some strange reason, didn’t seem to find the humor in the situation... neither did my mom. Mom understood how difficult it was for me, having left everything and everyone I had ever known. She explained that I needed always to behave in class and that I just had to be patient as I adjusted to my new environment. She also assured me that I would learn the language quickly. She was right. Thanks in no small part to watching many Sesame Street episodes, I soon became conversant in English (to the chagrin of my classmates who had gotten a kick out of my singing).

Summer arrived, and with my abbreviated school year mercifully over, I was finally able to devote more of my time to one of my favorite activities: watching television. The magic box fascinated me, and I marveled at how all those people fit inside it. Most of the early arguments Betty and I had, centered on who would have control of the channel knob (this was well before remote control televisions became the norm). We were both slowly adjusting to not being the only child in our household. Betty was only seventeen months younger than I was, so the level of sibling rivalry was initially high. I always tried to wake up before her to park myself in front of the television, so I could watch my favorite shows such as the aforementioned Sesame Street, along with Mr. Roger’s Neighborhood and The Electric Company. Looking back, the countless hours I spent watching Channel Thirteen, (New York’s public television channel) was time well spent. I was unwittingly learning proper English as I was being entertained. My seven year-old brain soaked it all in like a sponge. Now, when I’m asked how I learned English and why I don’t have a New York City accent, having grown up there, I always say it’s because I literally learned English from Big Bird.

Television became a teacher to me... Not only of language but culture, relationships (from the soap operas mom loved to watch), social issues involving race, and American sports. Television was my one-stop learning shop; you name it and television had it.

In those early days, and in the years that followed, I always perked up when there was anything on television involving airlines or flying. I had no idea that deregulation of the airline industry had just taken place a couple of years earlier, allowing the airlines to compete in a free market for passengers for the first time. I soon learned (mainly from television commercials) that, in the New York City area, Pan American World Airways (I loved that name), TWA, and Eastern Airlines were among the largest airlines. I would stare at the television, as Pan Am commercials showed the magnificent Boeing 747 taking off from JFK airport bound for some faraway place, as the Pan Am slogan “You can’t beat the experience, Pan Am” would play. The slogan of American Airlines, “We’re American Airlines, doing what we do best” was another favorite, since they had been the only airline I had flown on up until that point.

In the years to follow, television taught me about the calm demeanor of airline pilots under stress, in such movies as Airport, Airport 75, and Airport 77. I admired the way the pilots always remained calm no matter what calamity had befallen their aircraft, as they assured the passengers in a confident, soothing captain’s voice that everything was going to be okay. I wanted to be that kind of pilot. I also noticed the way the passengers in those movies and commercials seemed to view flying as a special event for which they would dress up in their Sunday best, as we had on our flight from Haiti. As I learned more and more about the airline industry in the years to follow, Pan Am became the airline I wanted to work for because they literally flew all around the world. Sadly they had gone bankrupt by the time I finally had enough flying experience for an airline to hire me.