Some of the best pilots I’ve ever flown with are freight crews. They come from a variety of places; some were commercial airline pilots, some were lifelong freight guys, some came directly from the military, some come from foreign countries where opportunities to have a career as a pilot are severely limited.  For almost 20 years I had the privilege of being the Public Relations Director of (then) American International Airways, an international airfreight company owned by legendary NHRA Top Fuel driver Connie Kalitta. The airline has gone through several metamorphoses and is now certificated as Kalitta Air. I once asked Connie how many Cray Supercomputers he burned up coming up with that clever name. (The answer I received would make Chris Rock blush.)

When I was active in the airline we had a big jet side of the company where we flew 747s, L-1011s, DC-8s and 727s. The “small jet” side of the company flew Learjets, Hawkers, Beech 18s, Mitsubishi Mu-2s and a variety of other smaller, propeller aircraft. That side (known as FAA Part 135) would fly air ambulance flights, just-in-time auto parts deliveries and anything else that would require a smaller aircraft. The side I was on was known as FAA Part 121 – the Big Daddy of commercial aviation. We flew everything…and I do mean everything.

I’m sure many of you may have been to the world-famous Shedd Aquarium in Chicago and marveled at the big-assed Beluga whales. How do you think these guys got there…swam to the Great Lakes? Wrong again, Huey. One week I was with the crew that took four whale tanks, all the supporting equipment and we put in several seat pallets and had 10 marine biologists and other support personnel from the aquarium to Churchill, Manitoba, CANADA. We stopped in Winnipeg so they could clear customs because they were going to stay there at least a week, then took off for the 800-mile or so flight from Winnipeg to Churchill, which is located right on the shore of Hudson’s Bay. We were in a 727 and landed at the Churchill Airport, which at one time was part of the North American DEW (Distant Early Warning) Line that was on full-time alert for the expected Commie onslaught of red-starred bombers that were “probably” going to come over from all points west. We taxied to the “terminal” on hard-packed stones – very slowly lest the engine eat some of them and we’d be stranded in there until rescued. It was in May of 1992, so the weather was warm. The unfortunate part, however, is that it’s also Black Fly season. The black flies along the northern hemisphere are about as big as F-111s and meaner than hornets.

Except for the Captain, who had to go to flight operations and get a weather map and flight plan for the return trip to Detroit’s Willow Run Airport (home base of AIA), we stayed in the cockpit with the door closed. The aircraft was unloaded and the captain came back on board and handed us each a safety notice that’s given to visitors to Churchill, warning them that if they over-imbibe at one of the town’s 6,500 taverns (it’s a small place and not much to do) it’s better to stay in the bar and sleep it off because many times people stagger out into the darkness, pass out under a tree and the next morning all that’s left is their clothing and a few piles of polar bear dung. (True story.) The captain also informed us that since we’re the only air traffic in a huge vicinity we can make a couple of low passes around the Bay and see the whales, who usually migrate there that time of the year. I don’t know what the hell they do except maybe exchange resumes, see old friends or whatever, but we made a couple of swoops and if we saw one whale we sat at least 10,000. They were all Belugas and it was sight to behold.

We finally made our way back to Detroit but since Willow Run (airport code “YIP”) didn’t have a customs facility we had to land at Detroit’s Metropolitan Airport, clear customs and file a flight plan for the 10-mile trip to YIP. (YIP since has gotten a customs office.)

The following week a different crew went to Churchill in a DC-8 and picked up everybody and everything, including four baby whales that weighed about 750 pounds each. They were each in a wooden tank with a bladder underneath them so they could stay in water, but couldn’t get away. (Besides, a parachute wouldn’t fit around them anyway and none of them were armed to take over the aircraft and force the pilot to fly them to Frobisher Bay or some other haven for whales in Canada.) The aircraft landed at O’Hare and the whales, personnel and materiel were trucked down to the aquarium. Of the original four that we flew in, two were accidentally given wrong injections and died but two others grew to adulthood and now weigh in excess of a ton each. Other whales have since been flown in via the same course.

I’ve been to the Shedd Aquarium since to see them and the first time (with my wife) they acted like they didn’t know me. The second time was last summer with my twin-grandsons They were mesmerized by the whales and I was hoping against hope that at least one of those ingrates would recognize me, even though I’d put on considerable weight since I last saw them. But noooooooooooo. The white bastards didn’t give me as much as a glance.

It wasn’t the airline’s first experience flying whales. Several years prior to that a crew flew two Killer Whales (Orcas) from Tokyo to Honolulu (in a DC-8). The whales with their tanks weighed 65,000 pounds and on the 8-hour flight they ate a ton and a half of shrimp, each. They had been fasted several days prior to the trip and on the way to Honolulu the handlers kept feeding them and rubbing their backs.

There are hundreds, if not thousands of interesting stories that come out of the airfreight business and occasionally I’ll write pieces on them, and also on the fascinating crew members who make up the world of freight dogs. To give you an idea of what these guys are like, had it been the 1700s, they would have been ship captains, flying the Jolly Roger and based at Port Royal, Jamaica, where they lived when not plundering the seas for treasure.  They’re an outlaw motorcycle club who wear flight uniforms and white shirts with epaulets instead of leathers with pictures of skulls on the back of their jackets. (One of our senior flight engineers was in fact the former president of the Iron Coffins Motor Cycle Club, so watch what you say or the Wolf Man will be howling outside your door.) Let us know via your letters if you would like to read more of these and I’ll write them as often as possible.

Al hopes one day to be stuffed and mounted at the Shedd Aquarium in honor of his efforts.  See where he goes next week right here.

This week’s column deals with something that occurred recently at the Nashville Airport. It seems that Senator Rand Paul (R-KY) was going through security to go somewhere to give a speech to probably the largest audience he’ll have all year. For some reason the scanner he was using set off a noise. It was a complete shock to the Senator because as far as he knew he left his baseball card and hand grenade collection at his house. So, just like the officious “federal agents” some of them fancy themselves to be, a TSA Wehrmacht officer informed the Senator that because the machine got all verklempt, their rules call for a pat down. When the Senator asked what could have caused the machine to go nuts he was told it was probably just an anomaly. So he asked they he just be allowed to walk through the machine again and test the theory. At this point, the Field Marshall overseeing this Siege of Stalingrad basically told a United States Senator that “You vill do ass you are tolt.” Senator Paul was having nothing to do with that and demanded his rights as a United States citizen to avoid being treated like a new arrival at a concentration camp.

He was put in the “penalty box” to await his fate and took out his cell phone to try to call the people who were waiting for him to tell them he probably wasn’t going to make his flight. But NOOOOO. The Herr Major said, “Usink cell phones isss not allowed. You haf violated za rules again!” Long story longer (because I still have a couple of hundred words to fill this column) he was held for about two hours and then wonder of wonders…they let him walk through the scanner again. Golly Bob Howdy…nothing happened. It didn’t buzz, it didn’t poo, it didn’t even swear at him. It just allowed him to pass through like the good little boy he was two hours ago when this fiasco started.

I’ve often said that there are a lot of TSA people who seem really nice. Although I know they’re out there I’ve only met very few I would gauge on a “peter meter.” But like any other government entity sometimes a particular organization has people who have a difficult time finding a hat that fits their swelled head. I suspect in some ways it’s the same at the U.S. Postal Service, a fine organization I worked at for three years (1963-1966). I referred to myself as a “Federal Agent” who served as a liaison between 46 blocks of La Grange Park, Illinois, and the rest of the universe. I, too, could have developed a swelled head and the fact I was 20 years old and had a lot of beautiful women on my mail route, I probably did…but my conduct was exemplary. What most federal employees have in common is that their jobs are almost guaranteed lifelong employment. It’s next-to-impossible to eliminate a federal job thus reduce head count…not to mention redundancy. So the old adage of “Give him a fur coat and a little authority and he thinks he owns the place” is more truth than fiction and some take advantage of the situation to the detriment of not only the department and government, but fellow employees as well. And don’t forget that a groundswell of demands to become part of a union are now starting to emanate from this bunch.

Ironically, Senator Paul’s father, Congressman Ron Paul, has been trying to curtail, if not totally eliminate a lot of quasi-government personnel and their subsequent costs, like the TSA. Examples of what happened to his son (he’s STILL a United State Senator – his status hasn’t changed in the last few paragraphs) are rampant and have happened to other authoritative people My own Congressman was once forced to drop his pants because something either set off some type of alarm or a fashion-minded security guard was just curious what kind of undergarments would go with the fabric on the suit the Congressman wore. Please don’t think I’m advocating giving someone a pass just because of his or her status. I honestly believe there are more assholes among the elites than there are at the world’s largest proctology clinic. Whether someone is the President of the United States, the president of the Porpoise Pointe Homeowners Association or the janitor at a homeless viaduct, common sense should prevail above all else.

The TSA doesn’t need any more black eyes. There’s plenty of potatoes that can take up the slack. So why does it constantly stick its foot up its keesters by high-visibility episodes like the one with Senator Paul? It seems that just when things start to mellow it’s time for the TSA to order some 90-year-old woman to take off her thong for a cavity search. They’re supposed to be there for our protection; fetishism isn’t supposed to be one of their perks.

I’m all for protection but I’m not the least bit for assholinity – especially by people whose salary we’re being dunned to pay. With episodes like the one described there’s going to come the day that a airports full of David Banners (you may know David Banner by his professional name of “The Incredible Hulk”) is going to rise up and once and for all put an end to these penny-ante power plays. To paraphrase the aforementioned Dr. David Banner, as he gives a speech in front of Homeland Security, “You don’t want to see them mad; you don’t ever want to see them mad.”

No one was searched to produce this story. However, it is running two days late — due to a number of complex things that Al had nothing to do with: Mostly, because we were having trouble signing into the site. See who gets short next Monday, right here.

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This is that snazzy deal that lets you almost act like a human going through normal security — you can leave you shoes on, your jacket on, your computer in its computer bag and just walk through a metal detector: You know, the way the rest of the world normally goes through security.

Currently, Delta offers the speedy check points in Atlanta, Detroit and Las Vegas. On Jan. 24, Minneapolis-St. Paul opens up the quick check point and Feb. 14 another will open at Salt Lake City.

To be a member of the fast traveler program does require someone to opt into the program and provide the TSA with additional information about yourself. That’s your choice.

The TSA is reporting that every year, all of those pennies people toss into those plastic bins and leave behind has become an annual budget windfall.

According to the LA Times, agents put the money in jars during their shift, then when they’re done, they count it up, put it into an envelope and mail it off to Washington so it can be used to buy things like light bulbs.

Naturally, none of the TSA agents ever use the money for personal stuff like sodas, candy bars or a Whopper because the TSA has such as solid reputation for doing the right thing.

There are more games that emanate from a license plate than come out of a Wii game. Let’s start with the basics: on long trips many people/families take notes of the various states they see license plates from. At the conclusion of the trip this sometimes results in a reward of some sort, like a candy bar, some loose coins or in the case of abusive parents, one less beating. My wife and I often play this game. We once found a license plate from Guam, which must have resulted in a lot of engine flooding as the person drove over from the South Pacific. Just as an aside I would doubt that anyone has ever achieved logging all 50 states during a lengthy trip but it’s still fun to see how many one can amass on the freeway. (Hint to those who are looking for a clever way to cheat: drive up and down the rows of a parking lot at a national attraction like the Air Force Museum in Dayton, OH, and you can pick up a ton of hard-to-find plates.)

Another form of amusement is to try to figure out the meaning of certain words found on vanity plates. Sometimes they’re simple, like a plate that reads, “IBILLY,” or “LVR BOY.” But other times they take a fair amount of thinking to correctly interpret them, like a plate that reads “1LESNUT,” which would obviously belong to someone who has had a testicle removed for health reason. See what I’m saying?

Even less common would be to look for license plates that have expired. Think of the scads of fun a family could have following such a vehicle while informing the police of this miscreant and taking bets how long it takes for a state trooper to thin this scofflaw from the herd. Oh the laughing in the family sedan could be heard three counties away.

My wife and I play a license plate game in honor of my father. His first name was Benjamin (Ben) but unlike his brother, who had two middle names, my dad had none. So whenever I see a license plate with a B and a V in it, if there’s a third letter then I say, “If my dad’s middle name were (fill in the blanks) then that license plate would be his monogram (or initials). I’ll usually state a male name and my wife will come up with a female name (like if there’s an “R” I’ll say “Raoul” and my wife will say “Ruth”).

However, the epitome of license plate fun was something that was taught to me when I was a young, impressionable Hoosier by my Uncle Barney. Barney was a truck driver who drove frozen food from Chicago to various places in Northwest Indiana. He would often stop by my family’s junkyard and on the days I was there because I didn’t have school, would let me ride with him for several hours to some of his stops and would drop me off at the junkyard on his way back to Chicago. At the time the license plates of Indiana, and most other states, contained two letters and a bunch of numbers. Barney would take those two letters and make really funny phrases out of them – generally off-color. (Oh, what’s the use of soft-peddling it; they were filthy!) To a young boy who knew all the words because they were spoken repeatedly and often at the family businesses, it was hysterical to listen to a pro put the words into a fluid phrase.

However, the biggest boost in my Uncle’s life didn’t come from monetary gain or anything as crass as that. Not a chance, Cecil. His whole life opened up to him when states started putting three letters in the plate along with a bunch of numbers. This gave Barney the opportunity to become so creative that should he utter them in front of grade schools he could be arrested as a pedophile. For instance, whereas a license plate might once have been “KA 1234,” the best you could imagine would be something like “Kiss Ass.” BUT…with the new system in place the possibilities were endless. A license plate like “KMA 1234” could see the “M” word as “My,” “Marie’s”, “Monkey’s,” etc.

My Uncle Barney has long-passed on but the family tradition of creative filth lives in his nephew and I’ve interpreted license plates that could make me blush. I’ll point them out to my wife and she will, of course, say that it’s just in my mind that these disgusting phrases are being spelled out. But if I’m thinking of them I’m sure others are as well and that’s no way to maintain an ethical, righteous citizenry.

So the next time you’re behind the wheel and traffic backs up don’t get angered; rather, think of it as a break from a hectic commute and enjoy the challenge of identifying horrifically-filthy statements that appear harmlessly on a piece of tin. Thanks to the tutelage of Word Wizards like my Uncle I’ve learned to hold a “civil” conversation with myself (and others, when need be). And if this doesn’t appeal to your sense of fun then please be on the lookout for a license plate similar to “GFY.” Those three little words say it all.

Of course, the machines are safe, it’s the silly TSA officers who are the ones who may finally get a dose of reality.

The TSA is asking for dosimeters to find out the level of radiation some of its agents have absorbed since spending day after day to potentially high levels of the that magical substance that allows those airport scanners work.

And people wonder why I still won’t get scanned?

Of course, the TSA still refuses to actually test its machines, taking the word of the manufacturer — the company that is collecting hundreds of millions of dollars, if not billions — to build the machines. So, of course, we should believe them, what do they have to lose?

Except their TSA agents, passengers and the trust of the people — though it’s hard to say how much of that they really have.

Is this a quarter or a nickle? - Photo from Blog.case.edu

We’ve all experienced the lines, the wait and the flurry of grabbing our items off the conveyor belt after going through security at the airport. Apparently, we’re so rushed we leave behind that little bowl of whatever we had shoved in our pocket.

Annually, that comes to about $400,000 per year. And, that money goes directly to the TSA to finance “agency operations”. As if the $7.85 Billion federal funding to impose fear and loathing at our nations airports isn’t enough.

Granted, travelers are the ones leaving the money behind. TSA is not demanding travelers leave their spare change behind and individually a penny here or there is not a big deal. But it all adds up and look who it’s going to. Does the TSA really need any more money?

Travelers who leave the change behind are said to have either forgotten the spare change in the flurry of getting through security, be traveling abroad where spare change won’t be convert to much foreign currency or think it’s just too heavy to carry. The idea that the change is too heavy to carry makes absolutely no sense unless travelers are showing up to the airport with multiple rolls of quarters in their pocket.

Travelers are not tipping the TSA agents for a job well done by leaving their spare change behind and, for that reason alone, the TSA shouldn’t keep it. House Representative Jeff Miller (R. Florida) has proposed the TSA donate the money to the USO. It’s a nice sentiment and a smart use of forgotten spare change at the airport, but doubtful that once passed in the House that anyone will touch it in the Senate.

The TSA could go a long way with improving their image to the public if they willingly gave the money to a charity, but that would require thinking about what is best and smart. Not a strong suit for the TSA.

Or, “I would love to see the end of world hunger.” (Go to Applebee’s some time and you’ll think there’s no such thing as “world hunger.”) So, since I get to pick the topics of my columns here’s my own list of what air travel-related wishes I have for the New Year. They are in no particular order and Heaven (or Hell, depending on your preference) knows, most, if not all will never be realized.

I don’t ever want to fly again without receiving a free upgrade
The lines at TSA become non-existent
TSA itself becomes non-existent
There’s always overhead space for my carry-on luggage
Flight delays become a thing of the past
Anyone holding up the boarding line dies
Anyone taking too long to exit the aircraft dies
Any person in front of you lowering his seat back dies
Short of an international trip, anyone sitting in the middle or window seat on an     airliner who inconveniences the person in the aisle seat more than once to move     so they can go to the lavatory is destined to wet themselves for the duration
Anyone bringing a fragrant sandwich aboard an airplane like tuna salad or garlic     chicken should have said sandwich shoved up their ass by the person sitting next to them
Anyone listening to music on an iPod or similar device that’s so loud that people     three rows away are bothered by the bass should face death
Anyone speaking on a cell phone in a voice louder than the narration by the     legendary “Whispering” Joe Wilson during the hit television program     Championship Bowling should have knitting needles shoved through his or her     larynx
People who walk down the aircraft aisle and constantly bang people already     seated with their purses, backpacks or whathaveyou should have their extremities     removed
Since the sight of a mechanic standing in the cockpit causes angst by those     boarding, the airlines should dress them up in in Disney-like costumes to     alleviate any tension among the passengers
Screaming, writhing babies should be tied and gagged…and stowed in an empty     overhead bin until the aircraft has come to a complete stop at the gate
Waiting longer than 20 minutes for luggage should result in mob rule with airline     ground personnel being held hostage and just like in the movies, for every minute     the passengers have to wait beyond the allotted 20 minutes will result in the death     of one hostage
Instead of charging a premium for extra seating room in Coach how about     including it as part of the already exorbitant cost of flying
For every piece of equipment that’s blocking an aircraft from sidling up to the  Jetway a ground services person will be ingested into the screaming engine of a  747
If people are lined up at the gate like cows at the Kansas City stockyards waiting  for slaughter and the crowd makes it difficult for those just arriving and exiting the Jetway to head towards the concourse the gate agents should be provided blowtorches to help clear the way
Any questionable individuals soliciting money at airports (like the Oriental women dressed up like nurses at LAX) will face immediate death upon seizure
Anyone waiting who has to be told twice “I can help the next person in line” should be trampled to death by the people behind him or her
Anyone who has carry-on luggage when they enter the aircraft and expect some     good Samaritan to hoist it up and take it down for them should be mauled to death     by a syphilitic hamster
Any person putting their carry-on luggage under your seat should be crippled
Finally, anyone who has a problem with any of my wishes and suggestions should be sent to an internment camp just prior to a tidal wave
I’m hoping that my readers don’t find the above too radical for implementation. As I see it it’s the only way we can survive as a civilized society. Meantime, I hope everyone has a happy, healthy and safe 2012. And if it’s only possible for one person to achieve this…thanks, Folks.

Al’s comes into this new year as he left the old one — just a little crustier. See what he has to say next week, right here.

Good luck keeping up, as something you were doing on New Year’s Eve is now illegal, somewhere in America – the land of the not as free as it used to be.

For example:

California added 10 new laws that include everything from allowing prison labor to be used to sell stuff for schools (see: Prison labor is good) to small breweries can now add tasting rooms as long as they don’t serve food. (As food would be bad for people if they are drinking beer.) Also, anyone under 18 can no longer legally buy cough syrup, as if they do, they’ll instantly go home and try to make a batch of meth. See those laws right here.

In New York, it is now illegal to use fertilizer between December and April. Additionally, if a tow truck is behind you and it’s flashing it’s light, drivers must pull off to the shoulder of the road.

It’s also illegal to throw away computers — as they must be recycled in the Empire State.

Eight states added laws that require businesses to verify the immigration status of its employees, and a handful states raised the minimum wage.

Utah banned happy hour.

Illinois makes it legal for motorcycles to drive through red lights.

And the list goes on, and on, and on.