For The Woman Pilot

The following article was written by Dotty W.,  a retired airline pilot, and was published in the Fall 2002 issue of the newsletter of The International Society of Women Airline Pilots.  We reprint it here in its entirety.


     Alcohol and pilots.  Not a pretty picture.  And we've gotten a lot of publicity recently around this issue:  America West pilots, Atlantic Southeast pilot, Mesa.  The old myth of the pilot swaggering out to an airplane after partying just isn't real, but there is a problem.  Even now, some hang on to the idea that alcoholism is a social disorder or that it's caused by mental immaturity.  While it affects at least 10% of the general population, crossing social, economic and racial lines, people still think that a drinker can just put down the bottle if he/she really wants to.  It's not that easy.  Alcoholism is a disease.  Even the AMA finally came out with that fact way back in 1956.  "The alcoholic's enzymes, hormones, genes and brain chemistry work together to create his abnormal and unfortunate reaction to alcohol."  (Under the Influence, Dr. James R. Milam and Katherine Ketcham, p. 35).
      Back in 1972 a brave pilot in recovery spoke to the ALPA Board of Directors.  Up to that time, pilots simply were terminated if they had a problem with alcohol.  Some airlines insisted that they absolutely had no alcoholic pilots, and if one perchance were found, he would be fired immediately.   This brave soul was speaking about the need to keep pilots' jobs after they were in recovery.  In 1974 HIMS (Human Intervention and Motivation Study) was funded by a grant to ALPA from the National Institute of Alcohol Abuse and Alcoholism.  HIMS training sessions began in March 1975 and, in the beginning, the target airlines were Continental, Frontier and Braniff.  And finally in 1976, with approval of the General Service Board of Alcoholics Anonymous in New York City, a meeting in AA for pilots only was born.  They called it Birds of a Feather.

      What is this all about and why is it in our ISA publication?   Since we're a bunch of female pilots here, I thought you souls would enjoy this part.  For a pilot with an airline, the process of returning to the cockpit after being busted for drinking is a long and arduous one.  Perhaps you know of a fellow pilot who's gone through this.  She may keep this completely to herself; others, however, may feel no need to hide the fact of their recovery. They finally figure it out:  everyone else knew they were drinking too much anyway--although while their drinking's going on, they are sure they've been hiding it well enough and that no one knows.  Ah, that's the thinking of the true alcoholic.  But someone found out and they were intervened, caught, stuffed into a treatment program and eventually popped out again to face the world without alcohol.  Some of us walk into a recovery program under our own steam having had  enough of the confusion, pain and deception business which goes along with alcoholism.  I'm one of those.

     It's been fifteen years since I made the phone call to a friend I knew who was in recovery.  My final decision to call wasn't really an 'aha' phenomenon;  it was the result of an accumulation of the sorrowful and angry looks my kids would give me, the utter demoralization of realizing I had no power over my actions, and the stomach churning fear that my flying was at risk.  I'm sharing this for the ISA pilots, women airline pilots.  My purpose is twofold:  to get in front of the 90% the fact that alcoholism is out there, it is a disease, and perhaps to open your eyes to the thought of helping someone whose drinking you noticed.  And then to the 10%--perhaps to put another brick in their wall to eventually stop them from drinking.  I felt that way about my process.  Each sorrowful look from the kids, each calm word from a concerned friend--these were bricks in my wall which eventually stopped me, causing me to make the call.  I have learned a lot, seen a lot of fellow pilots and fellow humans survive major changes in their family structure, have watched them rejoice in their new lives, and yes, suffer from relapses too--all of it.  Kind of like living is--only now it's clearer and sharper since alcohol isn't there to blur the edges and soften the hard knocks.  You'd be interested to also know that pilots have the best recovery record of any.   With this disease under control in my life, I was able to finish my professional flying career, retiring as a B727 Captain and I now fly a Cub and an Aztec with my husband, a retired Delta Captain.

      During this journey, I have found a meeting which has helped me immensely and it's called Birds of a Feather.  It's the same batch of pilots who found themselves in the forefront those 26 years ago, gathering together for their own benefit and to extend the hand to another stumbling flyer.  Up until 1999, Birds of a Feather had been headed up by male pilots.  After all, female airline pilots were few and far between during those early days, and, of course, they didn't drink too much alcohol.  Ha!  We females share the same percentage of alcoholism among ourselves--approximately 10% of us are destined to be alcoholics.  That's just the way it is.
      In 1999 Birds of a Feather had, as usual, its yearly international conference.  This one was held in Colorado Springs.  Since BOAF aspires to the same principals as AA, we do not have a president, a tsar or a dictator;  we just have a Secretary, know as "The Big Bird" and an Alternate Secretary/Treasurer to take care of the details of the yearly international convention and the other business which presents itself to any organization.  At the 1999 gathering they chose me as the  first female to serve in the number two spot of Alternate Secretary/Treasurer and in 2001 to take the job of Big Bird.  I teased them upon acceptance there in Dallas, where the convention was held that year, saying "Thank you for the trust you have invested in me.  And thank you for recognizing, after only a quarter of a century, that there is also a woman in the cockpit."
      To say I have been totally supported in this process by the Birds is to put it much too lightly.  The pilots in AA work with each other in ways too numerous to count--from providing transport to meetings, to listening to gripes and problems (real and imagined), to rallying behind another pilot who may be having a particularly tough time with his/her company or family or life itself.  Good stuff.  Having made the decision to take the step into sobriety--and knowing that decisions are the only things over which we have much control in life--we are fortified and championed by our fallow pilots in recovery.
      The organization has "moved" this year to assure the continuation of  Birds of a Feather.  We have applied to get federal registration for the names we use--Birds of a Feather, BOAF International and The Bird Word, our quarterly publication.  We're stepping out, putting notices in publications such as ISA News, ALPA Pilot and the like, about the fact that we exist and we can help.  Notices were put in publications in years past, and articles were written, so this is not new ground.  We're just reiterating the good news:  pilots can recover from alcoholism. Pilots can go back to work after a diagnosis of alcoholism.   Companies now support  the process, the FAA supports it, and ALPA has been a champion of it since the beginning.  We are making known our presence in the hopes that even just one soul, thinking she might drink a bit too much, would make the phone call which would set her on the path to recovery.
      We have a website (www.boaf.org) which gives the history in more detail than I have.  We have links to other help sites.  And we always have our hands out to help in any way for the pilot who needs help.  Anonymity is strictly preserved, no question about that.  Thanks for the opportunity to write this.

Dotty W.
Birds of a Feather


FOR THE WOMAN PILOT

Lady Birds

  • Tami H

    Tami H.- I don't remember my first ride in an airplane.  Actually, I have no memories at all of life before age five, when my family returned from Laos in 1966.  Then I have the good memories:  a house being built, my first pony and the green quilt of the Oklahoma prairie as seen from the front seat of a Cessna.  During one of my father's manic phases, he had started a flying club with two airplanes, a 172 and a Sierra Beechcraft for his fellow Engineering Professors.  About once a month, perched on a large cushion, I got to keep a sharp look out for airlines, while we flew around these strange patterns with him often wearing a weird hood covering his eyes. I was alway amazed at his ability to pick out the runway so easily. Neither my parents nor any of the grandparents drank or kept alcohol in the house.  Mom's side was Mennonite and Dad's side was Hard Working Folk.  Except for the flying, I thought the adult world as boring and glum.  In Stillwater Oklahoma High School seniors with excellent grades only needed to attend morning classes.  Boredom set in the very first week and on a lark I enrolled in the county's Vocational Tech Auto Mechanics class.  At the time I didn't know an Allen wrench from a Phillips head.  There was one other girl and sixty guys in that program.  After eleven years of being in the brainy/nerdy group at school it was very exciting to discover working class males, mechanical things and best of all alcohol. Strawberry Daiquiris served up at my first and only VoTech party transformed me from a flat chested, pimply faced, shy teen to a sexy and funny lady.  Memories from that night include flirting, laughing and then some how suddenly vomiting in a too white bathroom and panicking trying to clean it up.  There was no memory of driving home or going to bed.  The next morning I woke up excited.  I had found what I was missing in life, vowing to do that again.  But next time I would not drink quite SO much!  During that senior year I also took up my father's offer to finance lessons with his flying club, only $20 per hour.  I soloed on a clear, calm, chilly morning before school.  My 250 lb instructor warned me that the plane would perform better when he got out.  And like my heart, that Cessna seemed to leap in the air and like that first drink, a passion for flying was born. With the exception of my instrument flying class and Aviation History I had failing  grades my first year at OSU.  With my parents encouragement I dropped out of college.  Opportunities for flying and for partying seemed to open up magically and I took them.  I worked my way up in the aviation world flying larger aircraft.  In the alcohol world I worked downward,eliminating various types of spirits as not agreeing with me.  Finding beer to be the only drink which would allow me to stay up and remember how to get home.  In spite of one scary night, drunk and fighting off a stranger in the back of a parked car outside Wichita, Kansas, I wasn't to have an inkling that I had alcohol problems until moving to Detroit in 1984. Detroit airport was encircled in Concertina wire and dilapidated homes loomed in the neighborhood. It didnt take me long after arriving during snow flurries in cutoff jeans and a Honda Civic to realize that I wasn't in Kansas anymore.  The Part 135 cargo flying was running hot as the car companies were doing "just in time" inventory for their plants.  Most nights I would fly out a box of screws or such to an East Coast factory and return.  Often dawn found me drinking a couple of beers with breakfast as we had ten hours off and I needed eight for bottle to throttle.  I quickly had a couple thousand hours and got my ATP, but no social life at all. I then met a red-headed construction worker/banner towing J3 Cub owner.  It was love at first flight!  He picked me up for the first date with an ice chest of beer.  We drank, danced and kissed!  I was so elated.  By the next day I was so very low.  While recuperating in a dusty pilot's lounge after flying executives to Canada I started doing the math.  I was airborne that morning just under eight hours since we had left the last bar.  I promised myself that this would never happen again but I rationalized that Bill was my love, my soul mate, the man I should marry.  We were wed within a year and my years of attempts to control my drinking began. In spite of my best efforts (swearing off with an oath, never drinking at home, drinking only natural wines etc.) three years later Bill and I ended a night of bar hopping with a little fight, which left me with a black eye.  That bruise lasted longer than all the previous regrets from my bingeing.  This was shortly after I had passed training and was a 727 engineer for a major airline.  With just a little bit of yellow remaining, I put on makeup and Ray Bans and suited up to show for a trip.  In a weird God Coincidence, my former sim partner Claire was in the ladies room in ORD Flight Ops. She said "Oh my God Tami, what happened to you!"  I was mortified, for my conscience was much easier to deceive when I was only lying to myself. And thus started the DRY period of Hell.  With white knuckles and clenched fists, aided by flying as much as possible with minimum time layovers, I DID NOT DRINK any more.  Emotional swings which are so common in early sobriety came on strong.  Life as I knew it was over, and with the alcohol gone my marriage was miserable too. One evening returning from a four day trip I had to pull over on the shoulder of the highway because I was sobbing.  Much shaken, I called a Mental Health Hotline later that night.  God bless the therapist to whom I was referred because at the very first session she insisted I attend Alanon.  My first meeting was in a church basement in Antioch, Illinois.  The AA's met in a large social hall but they directed me to the Alanon meeting, at the door of what formerly was the choir robes closet across the room.  Eight women and one man sat somberly around a large table.  Reading the propaganda hanging on the wall I decided I would do one step a month and be well in a year.  Bill's drinking was definitely the problem and for one dollar a night I could cancel my new therapist and save a lot of money. The AA's were laughing, clapping and cheering in sharp contrast to the quiet, sometimes teary sharing in our little Alanon room.  But the effect of the love and comfort were immediate--no judgement of drinking here.  When I found out the group met every single day of the week and went for pie afterward I had companionship I desperately needed.  We went to the big AA Saturday night speaker meetings.  I was amazed at the similarity of the inner feelings and experiences.  Why, they drank just I did! Sticking to my plan to work a Step a month, five months later I got an Alanon sponsor, a lovely woman about my mother's age to hear my 5th Step. I had heard that we are only as sick as our secrets.  Tearfully, I told her five mortifiying secrets.  She put her arms around me, hugged me and told me that she loved me.  Then she said something that was to change the course of my life:  "Do you realize that during most of those situations you were under the influence of alcohol?" In October of 1992, my mother and I flew to Thailand to visit several students she had hosted in previous years.  On her birthday the group shared a bottle of champagne.  It had been nearly six months since my last drinking debacle.  Could I drink just one little glass?  Succcess!  But the rest of the night was occupied with alcoholic thoughts.  The very next evening, our last in Thailand, a large group went on a river boat dinner cruise. A male friend showed up with a bottle of whiskey, asking each in our party if they would like a drink.  As he asked all around the table, I practiced in my mind saying "No" as every other lady did.  Then, at my turn I said "Yes, please".  Inside my head I was stunned those words came from my mouth.  However, no one seemed to dare or was even looking at me. I said  to myself "Tami, don't drink it."  But I did.  A small incessant buzz started in my head.  Inside my mind's eye I could picture my friends' AA coins.  The words "To Thine Own Self Be True" played and re-played in my head.  That night I went to bed discouraged and hopeles.  I was defeated. Back in Illinois, instead of crossing the room to join Alanon, I stayed with the AAs.  I stuttered saying the word "Alcoholic" after my name the first time.  But no one was surprised I was there, they had thought I was a drunk all along.  I don't know why but after admitting complete defeat in Bangkok I have never had to take a drink again.  I do know I have been very, very fortunate.  By circumstances, seconds, and inches, in both flying and in recovery, various small miracles have occurred.  Repeatedly God has done for me what I could not do for myself. Bill wasn't ready to quit driking yet and I felt I couldn't stay sober with him.  We amicably divorded and I moved to California, where I met my second husband, Jack.  We discovered BOAF at the San Diego International BOAF Convention Banquet.  I was so surprised to see so many happy, healthy, well dressed couples.  As a couple we had two goals:  To raise children and continue to be an active part of BOAF.  Over the next twenty years, with the help of AA, counseling and God we parented two daughters and attended many BOAF annual conventions. Jack had a heart attack in April of 2018 on a hike during a Casa Palmera retreat for recoving pilots.  Thankfully, BOAF friends were at my side that day.  He might have died at a time and location where I would not have been along.  We had already registered and booked a  room for the BOAF Calgary Convention that summer, so I went, traveling by myself, a new widow.  The Calgary nest welcomed me and wrapped their arms around me.  While drinking mint tea with sober pilot friends at a nearby Indian restaurant I laughed a real belly laugh, my first since he died. BOAF carried me again the next year in Dallas where I was "volun-told" into the Secretary/Treasurer position of BOAF.  I think my friends knew it was better for me to be busy.  I count it a major God Coincidence that when Covid came, and my 757 fleet was parked I had both our BOAF credit card and BOAF history to be able to reach pilots on ZOOM.  Through that isolating summer the daily Big Flock meeting was a life line for me.  Instead of being the worst thing that could happen to our group it opened new horizons.  We have truly been launched into the fourth dimension.  I am still grateful and living one day at a time.  I don't know what the future holds for me, my life is still very unsettled but this mjuch I do know:  BOAF will be a part if it because I will always be a part of BOAF. Tami H.

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Last Updated: 6-17-25