CHERISH YOUR WINGMAN MY 2 CENTS


By Randy Mains


Throughout nine years of speaking at Rotorcraft Pro’s HeliSuccess Career Development Seminar and Job Fair in Las Vegas, I’ve observed that most if not all attendees have had that special someone at ‘wingman.’


their side acting as their


In the context here, a wingman is the person who knows your back story, who knows your struggles, who not only believes in you but actively cheers you on in private and in public; a close confidant who lends a sympathetic ear and encouragement during times of self- doubt. A wingman may help you study your emergency checklist and will very often make numerous personal sacrifices, be it financially or their personal time, so your career may progress. A wingman unselfishly does this as a way to boost you up so you may someday accomplish your dream, whatever your dream may be.


My self-professed wingman is my wife Kaye. That’s how she introduces herself at conferences, my CRM classes and my CRM instructor classes: “Hi, I’m Randy’s wingman.”


Kaye’s loyalty soared to new heights in August 2010. At the time, I was flying offshore in the oil patch for Abu Dhabi Aviation and operating the Level D Bell 214 flight simulator in Dubai, UAE, training and


examining over 20 nationalities


of airline transport pilots. It was Aug. 31, 2010 when I learned of yet another helicopter air ambulance accident; this one was in Arkansas and claimed another three lives. That’s when I became an activist for change back home.


Although


I was overseas, my heart was still in the helicopter air medical sector back in America. I had flown at Hermann Hospital in Houston in January


10 Jan/Feb 2021


1979, as we six pilots strove to prove a safety concept with three machines. I was the first recipient of the annual HAI Golden Hour Award in 1982, recognizing an individual’s efforts to promote the concept, and I


still After I learned carried a strong


attachment to those flying helicopter air ambulance (HAA).


about that crash in


Arkansas, I told Kaye that I had the answer to bringing down the terrible accident rate in HAA back home from what I’d learned while flying in foreign nations for the past 26 years. I told her I wanted to return to America to try and spread that safety message as a way to save lives.


Kaye didn’t flinch or protest. Instead, she offered


full support, even though


she knew from past conversations that my message would be unpopular back home because (if adopted) it would cause an extra financial hardship to smaller operators.


My message was to advocate mandating all aircraft be twin-engine and two-crew, or at a minimum install an autopilot if single pilot. Pilots should be instrument-rated and proficient. Other needed mandates: NVGs, no landing at unprepared landing sites that hadn’t been recced during the day (as is done in Canada), and keep medical influence out of the cockpit; that is, aviation-related decisions should not be made by program directors or non- aviation personnel.


Thirteen months after making that pronouncement to Kaye, I found myself onstage at the air medical conference, held that year in St. Louis, preparing to speak to an audience of 700 medical professionals as Kaye sat anxiously in the front row. We knew what I had to propose would most likely be very unpopular to


anyone unwilling to spend more money on their fleet of aircraft, or to any medical director unwilling to pay for the needed upgrades.


Kaye had flown to St. Louis from Canada. I flew in from Abu Dhabi. When I arrived, she met me at the door of our hotel room with a smile, a hug and a kiss. She thrust a glass of whiskey into my hand. She ironed my dress pants and dress shirt in preparation for my next morning’s speech.


Before turning out the light, we talked about the very real possibility, in our minds anyway, of needing a police escort back to the airport to protect us from the lynch mob that may not be happy with my safety recommendations because of their costs. I told Kaye half-jokingly, “We may find out where Jimmy Hoffa’s buried.”


Several weeks prior while preparing for my presentation, I spent over six hours cutting out the names from my list of those who had died in an air medical helicopter crash since I wrote my first book in 1985 entitled “The Golden Hour.” That book was a wake-up call for a too- deadly industry.


I carefully placed the


name of each person who had lost their life


in an air medical helicopter into a white business envelope and sealed it.


I took 358 envelopes to St. Louis, where Kaye and several members of the National EMS Pilot’s Association handed out the envelopes to attendees as they filed into the cavernous conference hall prior to my speech.


Concluding my 50-minute speech, I asked those who held an envelope to please stand. Those who stood totaled half the audience. When they were standing I continued, “There is


the name inside each envelope of an individual who died


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