Airliners

Civil aviation will take a step backwards this October when Concorde is retired from scheduled service. Until now, aircraft types have been upstaged by new and improved variants, but this unique airliner leaves with no such replacement on the horizon. It has been estimated that we will have to wait at least 20 years before the next generation of supersonic transports (SST) becomes available.

Concorde's long run is ending for several reasons, not the least of which is its tarnished reputation following the loss of Air France's F-BTSC shortly after takeoff from Paris on July 25, 2000. But to an even greater degree, the law of economics has dictated retirement for this strikingly beautiful airliner. The events of September 11, 2001 were not enough to keep the grounded Concorde from returning to the airways, but a subsequent decline in air travel brought load factors well below historical levels. Business customers have become more selective, particularly those used to liberal expense accounts that allowed the luxury of supersonic travel.

At the same time, the cost of servicing the sleek but aging, needle-nose jet continued to rise as it suffered embarrassing mechanical problems. Maintaining certification for a small fleet of SSTs became prohibitively expensive for Airbus and the two airlines that flew them. Although maverick Richard Branson created a public relations frenzy while attempting to acquire British Airways' Concorde fleet (one wonders why he didn't go shopping at Air France), the failure to initiate Virgin Atlantic supersonic service probably saved him a great deal of money.

Air France was first to put down its fleet for good, on May 31, quickly donating three aircraft to museums; the remaining two are on display at French airports. Two British Airways Concordes were not modified following the Air France accident, leaving five operational. At press time, their final destinations had not been finalized. Much has been written about Concorde's history. With this in mind, we decided to salute her photographically, along with the personal remembrances of a few of us who were fortunate to fly supersonically on an airplane we will fondly remember and sorely miss.

Paying Full Fare
By Jon Proctor
I was lucky enough to experience Mach 2.02 at 58,000 feet on July 21, 1977, on board British Airway's G-BOAA. I had just begun a contract with Saudi Arabian Airlines, based at London. Following a grueling indoctrination schedule, the opportunity to briefly return stateside prompted me to actually purchase a ticket on Concorde from London-Heathrow to Washington-Dulles. The fare was "only" UK£433, which equated then to around $650; compare that with today's soon-to-disappear one-way Concorde London-to-New York tariff of $6,600. Nevertheless, it was a substantial outlay of cash, especially for someone who could fly subsonically for free as an airline employee. My inspiration to spend that kind of money was based on a belief that Concorde would probably not be around very long; service to New York had been held up and was still in doubt.

I booked my flight about two weeks in advance, signing an American Express credit card form and carefully checking off the "extended-payment" option. To my surprise, the ticket agent stated that seat assignments would not be available until the day of departure. That prompted me to arrive more than three hours early for BA579, then with an "R" fare basis, even though I was allowed to check in as late as 45 minutes before the scheduled 1 p.m. departure. After being offered a seat in the rear section of the aircraft, I appealed to the agent for something forward. Only after producing my airline identification card I was finally granted window seat 4D. Free worldwide telephone calls were offered from the departure lounge, along with refreshments, but I spent most of my time staring out at the time machine that was about to take me across the Atlantic faster than a speeding bullet, and made it a point to be among the first to board when the welcoming announcement was made over the public address system. As if bending over to fit through the entry door wasn't enough to convince me of the small passenger cabin, a quick glance down the rather narrow aisle reinforced its "coziness."

Concorde had been carrying paying passengers for barely one year, so many of the extra amenities were still being provided. In addition to the traditional giveaways, each of us received a packet containing a hard-plastic baggage identification tag, three 35mm slides in a transparent sleeve and a mail-in form good for a personalized flight certificate. The elaborate menu also contained a tear-out certificate. Departure from the gate, as expected, was precisely on time, accompanied by a warm greeting from the cabin crew. As our aircraft joined a lengthy que at the approach to Runway 27-Left, the captain announced that all these aircraft taking off ahead of us would be "quickly overhauled" as we accelerated to supersonic speed. Our takeoff roll was a bit bumpy and certainly loud in the cabin; only the site of earth slipping away confirmed liftoff.

The remembrance of others that follows reflects much of what I witnessed on my 3-hour, 39-minute dash across the ocean to America. Yes, the food was exceptionally good, accompanied by the finest wines and Dom Perignon 1969 champagne, all dispensed with personal attention only the British can provide. It took nearly two hours to complete the multi-course service, leaving precious little time to sip Napoleon brandy while smoking a Jamaica Macanudo cigar. I instead chose to close my eyes briefly, only to be nudged awake by the reduction in speed as we approached the U.S. mainland. At the start of descent, I could see the entire length of Long Island below as it slid past my tiny window. The cabin staff began securing galleys and curtains as Concorde com- pleted a series of turns to line up for landing at Dulles Airport.

All too soon the captain was thanking us for our patronage and it was over. I paid about $3 a minute for this unique flying experience, theoretically arriving more than an hour before I left. It was worth every penny.

An Unexpected Treat
By Terry Waddington
Being a "logbook hound," I had long dreamed of adding Concorde to the list, but I could never see how it would come about due to the high cost of a ticket. However, luck came my way on a business trip to Europe in early March 1980.

I had flown from Los Angeles to London on a Pan Am 747-100 and spent a few days there visiting several airlines. One morning, reading a newspaper, I saw that British Airways was offering a one-way upgrade to Concorde on the London-Washington service provided you had a first-class ticket and 10 U.K. pounds ($15). Happily, in those days, full-fare airline tickets were fully interchangeable between almost any International Air Transport Association (IATA) member. In addition, you could vary your route mileage by up to 20% at no extra cost if you had a first-class ticket. Naturally, I headed to the nearest British Airways ticket office and signed up for a flight on March 13, cheerfully handing over the 10 pounds out of my own pocket.

It was cold, but clear, when I arrived at the small Concorde check-in area in Heathrow's Terminal Three. I got there early so that I could sample the special Concorde lounge, where I was divested of my overcoat and told it would be returned when we reached Dulles. Delightful canapés and fine wines were served while the passengers waited to be called for boarding. A surprise greeted me when a fellow employee, who was traveling back from Spain, walked in. He had seen the same advert while transiting London a few days earlier and even had the seat next to me on the aircraft.

Finally, boarding took place by seat number. We were assigned to the rear cabin in seats 27A and B; I had the window seat. At that time, the seats were covered with pearl gray leather, very soft but not much wider than a DC-9 economy seat. The legroom was not particularly spacious either. We asked the flight attendant if it would be possible to visit the flight deck during the flight and she promised to ask the captain.

The flight pushed back on time and was towed well clear of the buildings before the engines were started. Given priority on the runway, Concorde quickly reached the threshold. We could feel the power buildup, and the noise became noticeable at brake release. Shortly after we started to accelerate, there was a sudden, small push in the back as the afterburners (ABs) were ignited. We were soon climbing out to the west. The ABs were shut off as our craft approached Windsor, followed by a climbing turn towards the Bristol Channel. A few minutes later, the ABs cut in again as we climbed out over the Atlantic Ocean. Everyone's attention was focused on the small Mach meter on the bulkhead as it crept towards Mach 1.

There was no perceptible feeling of penetrating the "sound barrier" as Concorde climbed steadily to its cruising altitude of well over 50,000 feet and continued to accelerate as the huge fuel load burned off. It wasn't long before we were all watching the Mach meter again as it approached Mach 2. The speed eventually stopped changing as we reached Mach 2.03, the ABs having been turned off shortly after passing Mach 1. The only noise I could hear was a low rumble from the engines and air rushing past the tiny window. I felt the pane and was surprised at how cool it was, probably no warmer than the cabin temperature.

The flight attendants delivered drinks and the meal service by carrying the trays from the galley, as the aisles were too narrow to have carts with any capacity. After dinner, the purser came back and invited us to visit the cockpit while cruising at Mach 2. We spent about five minutes chatting with the crew, and I took the opportunity to use the tiny lavatory on the way back to my seat. It was barely possible to turn around in the compact area. By then, we were starting our descent and deceleration to avoid planting a sonic boom over the Eastern seaboard of the United States. We proceeded subsonically, slowing rapidly to enter the traffic pattern for Dulles Airport. Concorde touched down softly during a heavy snow squall; the flight time was three hours, 45 minutes for the 3,665-mile trip.

My associate and I were among the last to get off. I noticed that some fellow travelers had not taken their amenity kits, so I started to pick them up. Noticing this, one of the flight attendants helped me collect them, filling my brief case and a utility bag she produced.

Deplaning led to a sudden awareness of how narrow the Concorde fuselage was when we entered one of the wide-bodied mobile lounges that took us to the main terminal. After completing all of the arrival formalities, it was back to reality as we boarded an American Airlines 707-123B for a late-evening flight to Los Angeles via Dallas/Ft. Worth; it would take more than 7 hours.

However, there was one other nice surprise at Dulles Airport. When we boarded at Heathrow, I was unable to determine the aircraft registration. Driving away from it at Dulles, I was delighted to see that this Concorde was registered G-N94AD, but even better, the left side of the SST was still painted in the short-lived livery of Singapore Airlines. All in all, it was a very special entry for my logbook.

Supersonic for Sixty-five Dollars
By Fred Chan
Twenty-two years have passed since my flight on Concorde. It was such a unique experience that the memory is still fresh in my mind, as if it occurred only a few flying days ago.

Actually, my association with this unique airliner goes back to the early 1960s when it was still known, only briefly, as the Super Caravelle. I was working for an oil company on the East Coast, which was developing a lubricant that would be stable for use in high engine temperatures. My assignment was to determine the likely commercial payback for investing research and development dollars in such a venture. Being an aviation enthusiast, I accepted that assignment with great eagerness. A few years later, when I returned to graduate school for my MBA degree, my thesis was on government funding for large technology projects such as the development of supersonic transport aircraft. It was an appropriate subject at that time as funding was the major hurdle facing Boeing and its proposed supersonic 2707.

For personal reasons, I followed SST developments in the 1970s as Concorde became a commercial reality, having been developed by massive funding from European countries and flying on engines using lubricants made by my old company, I might add. The first time I saw a commercial SST was in 1973 when we taxied past an Air France Concorde at Orly Airport in Paris. From a distance, it looked as sleek as in its promotional photos, but I was somewhat surprised that the rivets on its exterior surfaces looked like blemishes when we got closer. Still, I envied those who could fly on such an advanced aircraft. After Boeing canceled the 2707 program and a Tupolev Tu-144 crashed, it was obvious that Concorde was the only plane in which I could, someday, travel supersonically.

My chance came in 1981 when British Airways offered a promotional upgrade from a first-class ticket for $65. By that time, I was working for an oil company in Los Angeles and, having advanced up the corporate ladder, I usually traveled in first class. I gladly paid for the upgrade myself, even though the London-to-Washington-Dulles segment by Concorde, connecting to a DC-10 flight to Los Angeles, would take longer than a direct polar flight from London to LAX. But I almost missed this flight of a lifetime. My return trip from Europe originated in Milan, and I was to have a three-hour layover in London before boarding Concorde. That was good, conservative planning, but I had not counted on a breakdown of the starter motor for the No. 2 engine on the British Airways Trident 3 that was to take me on the first leg of the trip. After much discussion among the ground crew and my constant glances at the clock, it was decided to start the No. 1 engine, then remove its starter motor and install it in the No. 2 engine. It sounded time-consuming to me, if not downright dangerous. But the mechanics must have known what they were doing and got us going in about 45 minutes, in time for my supersonic journey.

It was already dusk by the time British Airways' Concorde departed from London. Somewhere southwest off the English coast, the captain announced he would be lighting the afterburners so we would go supersonic. I remembered having read about the mishaps encountered in the early days when the test pilots first achieved supersonic flight. As I looked at the darkened sky outside my window, I wondered what sensation I would experience, then turned my attention to the Mach meter in the cabin. There was not even a shudder as we crossed Mach 1 and eventually reached our cruising speed of Mach 1.99.

As I settled down to a smooth Scotch on the rocks accompanied by smoked salmon, I decided to check some of the features of the aircraft and its performance I had read about. The window was indeed warm to the touch because of friction from the outside air, and the curvature of the earth was clearly discernible at our cruising altitude of about 56,000 feet. There I was, traveling at about 1,400 mph 10 miles above the earth. I remember thinking that this was really quite an experience, especially for a person who loves airplanes. The perfectly prepared filet mignon dinner that followed was an added plus.

It was a bright afternoon as we neared the coast of Newfoundland and proceeded subsonically down the East Coast of the United States. Our airtime from London to Washington, D.C. was just 3 hours and 45 minutes. It seemed that we had indeed "turned back the clock."

That is, we managed to turn back the mechanical clock but not our biological clock. This was one of the SST's drawbacks, much debated in the 1960s, but I was too tired to remember it as it had been a long day since I left Milan that morning. On the connecting flight back to Los Angeles, I kept falling asleep during dinner service, prompting the flight attendant to wake me up course by course.

Commercial supersonic flights will not likely be available again in our lifetime. Although a technological marvel, many of the predictions made in the 1960s on SSTs have proven correct; the economics are not viable. In addition, landside delays, even before the 9/11 terrorist attacks, negate any advantages gained in flight time. Noise restricts operations on certain routes, and the resulting inconvenient turnaround scheduling reduces aircraft utilization. The depletion of the ozone layer is still open to debate, however.

Perhaps there has been too much glamour and hype associated with Concorde flights, but it was indeed an interesting experience. Sadly, that era has come to an end. British Airways and Air France will probably announce the total number of people who have flown supersonically on Concorde. I am glad to have had the opportunity to join this exclusive group.

I Flew in the Braniff Concorde
By Mike Machat
No, that's not a typo. Braniff flew Concordes in relatively short-lived interline service from January 1979 until June 1980. For me, it all started with my latest copy of Aviation Week magazine. The headline "FAA Approves Braniff Concorde" caught my eye, announcing the beginning of service that January between Washington's Dulles Airport (IAD) and Dallas/Ft. Worth (DFW) in Texas. The aircraft would be flown subsonically on the domestic run as an extension of both British Airways and Air France supersonic service between D.C. and London or Paris respectively. It just so happened I was going to be in Washington myself in April 1979.

A quick phone call to Braniff reservations (remember, no Internet in '79) confirmed that Flight 53, operating from IAD to DFW on April 16 was indeed Concorde service. "The one-way price from D.C. to Dallas?" I asked hesitantly. "Seventy-nine dollars," came the reply. I booked it.

The big day arrived, and I treated myself to a nice dinner in the then-elegant restaurant at the base of Dulles' futuristic, pagoda-style tower. What a thrill to watch the sleek, white beast taxi in, although I could only see the right side which was in Air France markings. Camera at the ready, I couldn't wait to view the left side with those striking orange-and-white Braniff markings I'd seen in all the promotional material and post cards. Airliner shows look out; those long-coveted Braniff Concorde slides were about to be shot! We boarded the mobile lounge and headed across the ramp to the aircraft.

As the Concorde came into view my jaw dropped. The left side of the fuselage was in Air France markings also! This can't be, I thought to myself, but as I caught a glimpse of the ground crew applying adhesive U.S. registration numbers N94FC over the French F-BVFC on the aft fuselage, it suddenly hit me. All those images of Braniff Concordes taking off or in-flight were simply retouched photos. No Concorde ever actually wore those markings!

Upon entering the aircraft, everyone knew something was very different. It was Mozart instead of Manilow on the Muzak, and the cabin was really small. "Look at those tiny windows," someone said. "Hey, what kind of weird plane is this?" another asked. Most folks on board didn't even know this was Concorde. To them it was Flight 53 to Dallas, and they just wanted to get home. The door was closed, engines started, and as we taxied out to the runway, every single tar strip on that ramp made itself known inside the cabin as those tiny, rock-hard tires rolled over them.

The night takeoff was spectacular. Rocket-sled acceleration followed by near-weightlessness as we came out of "burner." Reaching our cruising altitude, the cabin Mach meter read ".99," and a first-class dinner was then served to all 100 passengers.

We arrived at DFW exactly two hours after leaving IAD, and I peeked into the cockpit as we deplaned. When asked what it was like flying the airplane subsonic all the way to Texas, Captain Ed Shoup replied, "It's like driving a Ferrari on the freeway in first gear!"

Second Honeymoon
By Art Brett
September 1989 promised to be an exciting month for my wife, Anne, and I. Our daughter, Jeannette, was getting married, and months of preparation were coming to fruition. We, too, needed a vacation, perhaps a second honeymoon. What better way than to head to Europe, and, to make it special, what better way to travel than British Airways Concorde from JFK? Better yet, our passage was free, courtesy of the American Airlines AAdvantage frequent flyer program.

We departed on the morning of September 18. It was amazing to me, a frequent flyer, how exceptionally well we were treated as Concorde passengers. The baggage was shrink-wrapped and we were escorted through the ticket process and into the Concorde lounge to await boarding. Limo arrangements were made for our trip from Heathrow to our hotel while we waited. It was truly first-class service all the way.

Boarding Concorde, I was naturally excited. As an aviation buff this was a dream come true. As soon as we boarded I turned to get a look at the cockpit, then was amazed at how narrow Concorde actually is. Anne took the window while I leaned into the aisle, absorbing more views of the cockpit as the pilots went through their preflight checklist. As departure time neared and the doors closed, I was shocked to see only a curtain separating the main cabin from the cockpit. Our supersonic airliner taxied out and was airborne before we knew it. My senses soaked up the differences between flying Concorde and other jetliners: the seemingly faster acceleration during the takeoff roll, noisier engines whining at full pitch, feeling of the afterburners pushing us along and the slight deceleration when they were shutdown.

Once airborne, the cockpit curtain was pushed back and I had a clear view of the front office. I was thrilled watching the pilots flying the aircraft. Then, to my surprise, the captain invited anyone interested to visit them in the cockpit. I didn't need a second invitation. Within a few minutes Anne and I were on our way forward. The pilots greeted us and began explaining the instrumentation. Anne sat in the jumpseat and I stood and watched, riveted to all that went on around us and mesmerized by the beauty of looking outside with a forward rather than a side view.

We looked hard to see the curvature of the Earth, and I think with a little imagination I think I can say we did see it. Just before the approach to Heathrow, we took our seats in the back and awaited our arrival. What had been a wonderful trip was now over, at least the first half, leaving me to anxiously await our return flight. We spent the next two weeks touring Europe. It was a wonderful trip, but I couldn't help but dream about our return trip back to JFK on Concorde. I remember walking past a boarding British Airways 747 that would depart an hour before us and thinking that they'd still be in the air when we arrived at JFK. I have to admit thinking that caused a bit of a smile.

Boarding Concorde again, I couldn't wait until we were airborne and I could head for the cockpit. However, being a bit hungry, I decided to delay my visit until after dinner. The meal service on the Concorde was exceptional, with fine crystal and china. Anne was also getting into the spirit and realizing that riding Concorde was not an everyday experience. I watched her as she recorded the flight details that flashed back on the console a few rows in front of us. She dutifully wrote down our altitude, flight time and speed at frequent intervals. A little over halfway into the flight the pilot announced we would be climbing to 58,000 feet, our final flight level for the remainder of the flight. I was a bit disappointed, as I'd hoped we'd make it to 60,000 feet.

Just as we finished dessert and took our last sips of coffee the aircraft began a series of pretty violent motions. At first I thought we'd hit some really bad turbulence. We pitched from side to side and up and down for at least 45 seconds, although it seemed much longer. Crystal and china from dinner was now flying off the trays and onto the floor. Luckily, we managed to hold onto ours and we even stayed dry. Anne firmly clutched my arm and hand as fear overtook her and, I'm sure, many other passengers. As quickly as the buffeting had begun, it subsided and we noticed our speed had dropped to 750 miles per hour, below the speed of sound. The pilot advised us we'd experienced an engine failure and an intake baffle had failed. He continued to explain that the only effect it would have on our flight was that we could no longer fly at supersonic speeds. We learned later the purpose of the baffle was to slow the speed of air from supersonic to 350 mph so the engines could ingest the air. When the baffle failed, supersonic air rushing into the engine cavity came to a bottleneck; with nowhere to go, it thoroughly shook the aircraft and passengers. Ending his announcement, the captain again invited anyone wanting to know more to visit them in the cockpit. I quickly asked Anne if she'd like to join me and she declined, preferring the safety of her seat. I managed to pry her hands from my arm and made my way to the cockpit.

Thinking a nervous passenger had come forward, the crew immediately began explaining the incident in more detail, pointing out the various engine instruments they thought would convince me the aircraft was still airworthy. While it was interesting listening to them, I was just happy to be in the cockpit again and there I remained until just before the approach for landing at JFK. Reluctantly, I returned to my seat when asked by the crew. Back at my seat I saw Anne sitting there clutching a BA pillow. She took my hand and arm, as she had before, and I explained everything was fine and there was nothing to worry about. A short time later, as we passed over Sandy Hook, New Jersey, the pilot advised, "We've advised JFK of the baffle failure and that we expect a normal landing. They have informed us they are going to greet our arrival with their emergency response brigade. We've told them repeatedly it's totally unnecessary, but they insist they need the training." A number of us in the back chuckled at this attempted humor, but I'm sure some were still worried.

Our touchdown was a scene right out of the old Airport movies, with fire trucks waiting. As we passed each runway intersection, waiting fire trucks took chase, following us until we came to a dead stop before turning off the runway. We then taxied to the British Airways terminal with the vehicles following in procession. Anne, feeling much relieved, asked if I could get the carry-on bag from under the seat. Handing it to her she unzipped it and stuffed the BA pillow inside. "I've squeezed this pillow so hard for the last hour that it's a part of me and it's coming home with us." To this day she still has that pillow displayed next to a Concorde model I bought for her as a memory of our supersonic flight.

Piloting Concorde
By Daniel Costes
I never dreamed about piloting Concorde; in fact, I never dreamed about being a pilot at all. I just knew very early that one has to be ready to seize an opportunity if it ever comes and be satisfied with what he gets; otherwise, it's easy to become frustrated very quickly.

My dad taught me that from the beginning. He was a test pilot for the French Air Force, in charge of acceptance flights for all variants of fixed-wing aircraft from gliders to heavy iron. He made it the hard way, coming out of college in 1944 after five years of near-starvation in occupied France. He was hired by the re-born National Test Flight Center as a technician, loading data recorders in captured German airplanes or French prototypes. At that time, anything was possible for someone eager to fly who possessed the necessary qualifications.

That's why airplanes were always part of my life; I was lucky from the beginning. Luck is part of the process, but it's not enough. I grew up in Toulouse, in the south of France, where Dad was assigned. One particular Sunday, March 2, 1969, is a day I will remember all my life. We heard a growing rumble and spotted that huge delta wing in the sky, coming from the south with tiny chase planes on both sides. Concorde, Ship 001, on its maiden flight, flew right over my parents' house on final approach to Runway 33 at Blagnac Airport. It was noisy as hell; I was stunned and excited, along with all the other kids in our neighborhood.

Some years later, I went to college and earned a degree in mechanical engineering; I could have spent my life over a drawing board, working for one of the main French aircraft manufacturers or subcontractors at Toulouse. With the last days of college came my first big career opportunity: our National Civil Aviation School opened its doors for flight engineer (FE) training, sponsored by the ministry of Transports; there was no charge for trainees. You even got partial subsidy for room and board. There was an entrance exam; I spent two weeks head-down in the books and passed it. The FE written exam was easier to prepare, thanks to the up-to-date reference material available at the school, including a wind tunnel, engine test benches (piston and jet), avionics and a flight-instrument laboratory. Flight training costs came at a fraction of what they are today.

My second big opportunity was a job offer by UTA French Airlines. I was still in training for the FE license final test. Nine months later, in April 1979, I was assigned to fly on the scheduled DC-8 network to Africa; I was 23. Next came two more ratings, one on the Super Guppy, a modified Boeing 377 Stratocruiser and fantastic airplane; UTA was in charge of flight operations and maintenance under contract with Airbus Industrie. Then came an assignment to the DC-10, another marvelous airliner. But times were changing, and cockpits were to change as well. With new aircraft emerging without provisions for a flight engineer, the company set up a special training program for younger engineers to transition to the first officer position. After 18 more months of pilot training, I became a DC-10 first officer, a more delightful experience than ever.

Then, politicians and industry managers decided France needed just one big airline; that was Air France (AF), of course, so AF and UTA were merged. Seniority permitted my move to the A340 and yet another rating.

Years rolled on and I had to make a choice: Either remain at this comfortable position, get more gray hair and finally move to the left seat on the A340; or become a captain right now on the A320 and its short-medium haul network. I didn't like the idea of early takeoffs and fighting a schedule all day long on multi-leg trips. So I stayed where I was. As more years passed, I checked the seniority list from time to time. Months after the tragic July 2000 crash, training resumed for new Concorde crews. I took a closer look at that list and realized I could fly it as a first officer. Forget the left seat; time to make a bid, now or never! Six months later, it all worked out, just days after commercial flights resumed to New York.

Ground training took me back 20 years in technological time, but talking with a live instructor next to a blackboard was a lot nicer than clicking the mouse of a computer. The simulator was the tough part, due to rather complex, abnormal procedures pilots have to carry out, especially when flying supersonically. I found that, in a non-routine situation, the flight engineer is the busiest guy in a cockpit as he works out the procedures with the captain. As first officer, I have to fly the airplane to the adapted profile, depending on what has gone wrong, while handling radio-communications as necessary. My actions are limited to the variations of my own flight instrument panel, but I also have to know what is happening behind me to stay "in the loop."

After simulator training, it was time to enjoy the ultimate experience a civil transport pilot can imagine. While it is usually possible to get a type rating with zero flight time these days, the Concorde simulator does not allow that; you must fly the real thing. The supersonic transport is all yours for five hours and without passengers! For my rating ride, we flew from a desert air base somewhere in deep Central France, enduring rain and gusty crosswinds. I spent five days in one airplane with two other rookies (a captain and a flight engineer), two instructors and a full team of ground mechanics, the most competent and dedicated people I ever met around an airplane. Flight deck crews are always at the front of the scene, but mechanics are the ones who make it possible, safe and on time; they are our real guardian angels and deserve our respect.

So, the moment of truth came at last. Takeoff weight for training flights was quite low, actually just above the maximum landing weight. To keep things relatively easy, reheats (or afterburners) were not used, except once on takeoff for demonstration purposes. On that special run, I clocked the time from brake release to 6,000 feet (field elevation 500 feet) at 1 minute, 23 seconds. During the first seconds of acceleration, you learn to work quickly in order to stay ahead of the machine. Rotation is easy: Lock the pitch at 15 degrees and look at that airspeed. Wow! Where is it going? Two hundred feet into the climb, my instructor ordered a right turn to avoid the city; roll control is a delight. We throttled back even before reaching pattern altitude, keeping our eyes everywhere, in and out of the cockpit, adjusting the pitch trim.

Once you anticipate wide and quick pitch variations resulting from speed management around the pattern, everything is under control. On final, we locked pitch at 10.5 degrees. The auto-throttle did a great job; no flare, just sustained pitch and reduced to idle power, slooowly. I landed it on the tarmac like a feather (some of the seven following landings were not so good), the nose-tilt back at 5 degrees. The instructor called for full thrust and we went around; I couldn't believe it. Fifty-five minutes later, I left my seat in a complete sweat, but excited and happy like never before, joining the mechanics and hugging my kids at the bottom of the stairs. Everybody was at the runway threshold, taking pictures.

Line training began two weeks later. I learned the importance of organizing my work to ensure that everything is done on time and to be prepared for the minutes to come: navigation, communications plus weather at destination and alternates. No Flight Management System on this airplane. Sure, you operate much the same on other airplanes, but this one keeps you busy from takeoff to landing; there is no dead time. It's like a race, hitting Mach 2 as advertised. At the end of my supersonic, trans-Atlantic indoctrination, JFK came into sight with the Big Apple in the background. I disconnected the autopilot as soon as possible to enjoy Concorde's wonderful flight controls. After landing, while taxiing, my memory reran the past three and one-half hours; how did I do? Could I have made it better? I vowed to reevaluate my first performance on the way back, the following day.

As Air France supersonic service came to a close, we had a meeting in the Concorde maintenance hangar at Paris-Charles de Gaulle. Every man and woman involved in the company's Concorde operations was invited to get together one last time. It's hard to accept that these magnificent machines, with their unequalled gothic curved wings, surrounded by multi-chrome spotlights and in better operational status than ever, would stop flying … forever. There was no anger, just nostalgia. We were lucky to be part of the Concorde team and held this feeling somewhere inside ourselves. We tried to share the fun too.

Experiencing Supersonic Class
By Elliot Epstein
One should realize that the unique-ness of Concorde begins with her name. It should never be prefaced with "the," but it rather treated as a proper noun. Concorde's unique experience began the minute I arrived curbside at the British Airways terminal. Upon looking at my ticket, the first thing I saw was "Supersonic Class." Once past the dedicated Concorde check-in areas and headed to the gate, a glimpse out the window revealed an airliner like nothing else. Even seasoned travelers cannot help but press their noses against the boarding gate windows for a peek. However, the true Concorde experience doesn't really begin until entering this inimitable machine. I was immediately taken back by her cramped quarters. The cross-section is comparable to a 50-seat CRJ Regional Jet with two-by-two seating. Her narrow aisle and small passenger windows are not comforting for the claustrophobic. Once aboard, activity in and around the aircraft was normal, that is until a voice from the flight deck began briefing passengers on the anomalies to expect on takeoff. A chill ran up my spine when I was warned: "The Olympus engines and reheat (afterburners) will come to life once we enter the runway. The roar will be above and beyond that of a regular airliner." The pilot continued to brief us on the other experiences to be expected during takeoff and initial climb. These precautions came in handy for this first-time supersonic traveler.

As we entered the runway for "throttle up," Concorde paused for a 3-to-5 second "power brake," as the engine sound became most apparent. While definitely louder than a conventional airliner, the interior sound was not ear-shattering, but akin to sitting in the aft section of an older-generation jet. Progress down the runway is brisk but honestly not as one may expect. An Orange County, California 757 departure produces similar or greater acceleration. The immediate left turn after lifting off from New York-JFK's Runway 31-Left, to adhere to noise abatement procedures, was obvious along with the massive amount of condensation that dispersed off her wing.

Within 30 seconds after liftoff from JFK, I was startled by a strong "breaking" sensation as power and afterburners were retarded for the noise-sensitive Rockaway Beach population. Once past these areas, the throttles were again pushed forward for the trans-Atlantic journey to come. Concorde accelerates rather impressively, but one would probably not notice without looking at the Mach meter displayed on the cabin bulkhead. Speed and altitude increases are constant right up and through the supersonic mode. Just prior to Mach 1, the afterburners are "lit" again, to propel Concorde through the supersonic stage. At approximately 1,370 mph, the flight level had reached 49,000 feet.

Cabin service was swift and efficient with the crew hard pressed to wine and dine the high-caliber clientele. I could easily see that this aircraft is quite a challenge to work with its narrow aisles, complicated by far more enthusiastic passengers who are moving about the cabin in order to get a better perspective of what Concorde is all about. Because her windows are so small, peripheral sighting outside is highly restricted. Despite the challenges faced by the cabin staff, all manage to maintain a professional agenda.

About halfway into our journey, Concorde burned off enough fuel to permit higher altitudes of 57,000-plus feet. Then, just beyond two and one-half hours into the trip, a most amazing thing caught me by surprise: Descent. In the amount of time that one is use to traveling from New York to Miami, we were preparing for arrival at London. Deceleration was as brisk as the climb-out, with an angle of attack aimed at earth and airspeed and altitude steadily bled off. I found final approach to be more impressive than takeoff as this delta-winged beauty struggled to remain aloft at lower speeds. Anyone who has studied the physics of flight knows that the delta wing is designed for speed, not for lumbering at low altitudes.

As we began the final approach, Concorde raised her bow very high, and thrust levels steadily increased. Nearing touchdown, it was obvious that her speed was substantially faster than a conventional airliner. The airflow around the wings became turbulent at the lower speeds, and Concorde bucked and rattled like a thoroughbred trying to leave her starting gate.

While most airliners glide into their landings, Concorde is driven into hers with the throttles; a hard landing is common. Power is immediately transferred to reverse thrust with main gear touchdown as the magical flight ends.

Concorde is a lady and she will be dearly missed.

Lifelong Dream
By Ben Wang
On July 1, 2003, I took advantage of a British Airways special offer and realized my lifelong dream of flying Concorde, on board G-BOAC, operating as Flight BA 001 from London-Heathrow to New York-JFK. The flight met or exceeded all of my expectations. Two things stick in my mind as being the most memorable. I was most impressed when the afterburners came on, helping to boost us through the sound barrier.

When they were first lit, I got a feeling of being pushed from behind. Then the second "relight," providing another kick from behind and a definite feeling of acceleration. Within seconds, we were past Mach 1. The ride was so smooth that the event ended up being rather anti-climatic. It is interesting to think that, until 56 years ago, pilots and engineers were mystified by this "barrier" that we just crossed with relative ease. In fact, everything happened quickly; I did not realize we were through Mach 1 until I saw the speed displays at the cabin bulkhead.

The airplane was rather noisy inside. It was loud regardless the phase of flight we were in. During cruise, there was a constant, subdued roar with a resonating hum. If I pushed my head hard against the headrest, I could make my head resonate with the airplane and cause everything I saw to be blurry. Conversation at a normal voice level with the person sitting in the next seat was difficult at best. The flight attendants seemed to be used to this noisy environment, however, turning their heads to hear the customers.

Granted, the flight was expensive. Yes, the windows were only as big as a closed passport. And the cabin noise level gave me a headache. But it was a dream fulfilled. Now, along with 2.5 million other Concorde passengers, I can claim that only astronauts and test pilots have flown faster and higher than me!

Article originally published in Nov/Dec 2003 issue of Airliners.
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