At some point during a professional pilots’ career it will happen; or so the statistics tell us.  For me, it’s now been three times.  You will lose a friend, a colleague, an aviator, to the unforgiving nature of the job and suddenly the romance of aviation fades into the horizon.

The first time was almost three years ago to the day, August 27^th, 2006.  The crew of Comair flight 5191 chose a shorter than required runway and, unable to gain flying speed, came to rest in the rolling hills surrounding Lexington, Kentucky.  It was a Sunday morning.  Two days prior I sat in the crew room with Captain Jeffrey Clay, the pilot who was in command of that fatal flight.  I’d seen him around several times before.  But on this day, he and I sat directly across the table from one another and conversed as the president of our airline addressed company issues in a town-hall style meeting.  I don’t remember what the meeting was about or what Captain Clay and I discussed.  What I do remember, is that it had nothing to do with emergencies or accidents.  In fact, nothing could have been further from our minds than the reality of what would happen less than 48 hours later.

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