CAPT Pettitt calls me after my TRaining Review Board. He already knows the results of the Training Review Board because he helped with the decision. He explained to the Squadron Commander how motivated I was to be a pilot and asked him to give me more time. CAPT Pettitt gives me another pep talk and knows all the right things to say. Despite all my failures, he still believes in me.

My roommate at the time is Anthony Guido, supposedly pronounced “Guide-o.” He is the grandson of Italian immigrants who came from Cosenza, Calabria, in Southern Italy. He grew up in Chicago and tries to claim he is from the rough side of town. He is not. He is very proud of his Italian heritage and thus looks like he has been cast to play an extra in one of The Godfather movies. He has dark hair, olive skin, and always wears a white ribbed athletic tank and gold chain.

Anthony and I were classmates at the Academy and even in the same company fourth-class year, but we did not hang out. He was afraid, rightfully so, that I would get him in trouble, and Anthony was by all measures a model cadet. He hardly got in trouble, was an amazing athlete, became a Company Commander, and graduated at the top of the class. Anthony didn’t have to convince anyone in an interview that he deserved flight school. He was a shoo-in. He started flight school immediately after graduating, so he is several months ahead of me, and his hard work and dedication have resulted in him being a top performer. I never tell him how badly I am struggling. I am too embarrassed to tell anyone, but Anthony can see I’m in a rough spot, and he is always there for me.

Not surprisingly, Anthony loves Scarface, The Godfather movies, and the Rocky movies. He recommends that I watch Rocky Balboa, and I had always loved Rocky growing up, so I throw it on. I admire underdogs, fighters, and people who never quit, and I hope the movie will make me feel good.

In “Rocky Balboa” (2006), Rocky Balboa is retired and running an Italian restaurant in Philadelphia. A computer simulation predicts that he could defeat the current champion, Mason “The Line” Dixon,  and Rocky decides to come out of retirement for the fight.  At one point in the film, Rocky's son confronts him and shares his doubts. Rocky replies, 

“The world ain’t all sunshine and rainbows.  It is a very mean and nasty place and it will beat you to your knees and keep you there permanently if you let it.  You, me, or nobody is gonna hit as hard as life.  But it ain’t how hard you hit; it’s about how hard you can get hit, and keep moving forward.  How much you can take, and keep moving forward. That’s how winning is done.  Now, if you know what you’re worth, then go out and get what you’re worth.  But you gotta be willing to take the hit, and not pointing fingers saying you ain’t where you are because of him, or her, or anybody.  Cowards do that and that ain’t you. You’re better than that!” — Rocky Balboa

I feel like Rocky knows me, is a part of my story, and says these words directly to me.  His monologue immediately snaps me out of the self-loathing I am wallowing in.  I realize that it isn't enough to admire underdogs, fighters, and people that never quit, it is time to write my story.  I wonder how much more I can take, and keep moving forward.

Overnight, my attitude changes. I wake up the following day determined and ready to work, except I am unsure what to do. My major problem is that I don’t know how to study. In high school and at the Academy, I did just enough to get by with minimal effort. I learned well enough to pass the test and move on. That level of studying was enough to get through a preflight brief or the easy parts of the flight, but it wasn’t getting me through the pattern when fear took over. I needed to learn the material well enough that I could execute the procedures when everything was falling apart around me. I needed help.

There is an Air Force pilot named Matt in my squadron who is at the same phase of training as me. He is breezing through flight school and making it look easy. He is an Air Force Academy graduate. He doesn’t drink, doesn’t act like an idiot on the weekends, and is not only excelling in flight training but running 100 miles a week. I want to be like Matt, so I ask him if he is interested in studying with me. Up to this point, I studied alone because I was worried that studying with anyone else would make me feel stupid.

I meet Matt in a Barnes & Noble café, and we study together for hours. We discuss the preflight briefing items, systems, normal procedures, and emergency procedures. Most importantly, we mentally rehearse the flight. In detail, we discuss every button push, control movement, and radio call from takeoff to landing. He asks me questions as I walk him through the flight profile. I tell him about my struggles, and he gives me tips. Matt never makes me feel stupid. He makes me feel like I might succeed, and I will always appreciate his kindness.

Over the next few days, I take what Matt taught me and practice at the beach. I travel away from all the people so I don’t look crazy and draw the entire operating area in the sand. I add rocks for landmarks and pieces of driftwood for runways. I start at the driftwood Whiting Field and verbally rehearse the takeoff procedures. I walk the course rules, visualizing every point along the flight path. I spend hours in the driftwood landing patterns repeating the landing sequence.

During my break from flying, I study with Matt a few more times and walk the beach aimlessly for a few more hours. I visualize hundreds of perfect flights with beautiful landings.

I establish a new routine where I watch the Rocky speech first thing every morning. I repeat the message to myself throughout the day. I am ready to return to flying, and I have something to prove.

Major Galluzzo is hand-selected to be my instructor for my extra training flights. Before being a flight school instructor, Major Galluzzo was a Combat Search and Rescue helicopter pilot. He is more senior than most of the other instructors. His hair is a little more gray, his flight suit a little more weathered, and you can tell he has seen some stuff.

“So I heard you are having some trouble with the landings?”

He can tell I am nervous.

“Yes, sir. I have been having a lot of trouble.”

“That’s okay. We’re going to fix that.”

The way he says it is so confident and reassuring that he could have told me I would be the next astronaut to walk on the moon, and I would have believed him.

He has a calming, easygoing demeanor. He is exactly the instructor I need.

Flying out to the pattern, I am nervous, but I know I have done everything possible to prepare. I have flown the profile perfectly so many times in my head. I just need to do it in the plane.

I take a slow, deep breath.

“Airspeed below 120, flaps coming down,” trim, turn, talk.

I transmit, “Red Knight 031, one-eighty, gear down and locked.”

I take another deep breath. I feel okay.

“Gear down, flaps down, landing checklist complete.”

I approach the landing threshold.

“Gear down and locked, negative lights.”

I am nervous, but I don’t freeze. I think back on all the tips from Matt and the hours on the beach. I cut power and float down the runway. I touch down, and it is not terrible. I push up to takeoff power and lift off the runway.

Major Galluzzo calmly says, “Not bad, but where are you looking as you’re landing?”

I have no idea. Mostly, I just stare blankly at the runway right in front of me.

“I’m not sure, sir.”

“Let’s work on that. On final, I want you to focus on aimpoint and airspeed. Look at your landing spot and fly the aircraft toward it. Look back at your airspeed and cross-check that it is staying at 90 knots. Once you start the landing transition, move your gaze out to the horizon. See the runway in your peripheral vision.”

The way he calmly instructs puts me at ease, and I line up for another landing.

I repeat to myself, “Aimpoint, airspeed. Aimpoint, airspeed.”

Just above the runway, I pull the power back to idle and look at the horizon. I feel like I am in control, and I make minor corrections to my landing attitude while I float down the runway. I touch down gently on centerline. It feels incredible.

“Very nice!”

I take back off, and we stay in the landing pattern for the next hour. After each landing, Major Galluzzo calmly identifies small errors and gives me one or two corrections to focus on. I notice improvement on every pattern, but more importantly, with each landing, I am gaining confidence. By the end of the flight, I am exhausted, but for the first time, I enjoy flying.

I can’t wait for the next flight with Major Galluzzo. We fly together two more times, and after five hours and 23 landings, it is time to attempt my check ride. He assures me that I am ready. I believe him because we didn’t stop practicing landings after I made a couple of successful attempts. We continued in the pattern until I was certain I would never fail at landing again.

[I never properly thanked Major Galluzzo. I searched for him recently to let him know that he changed the course of my life, but I couldn’t find him. Fifteen years and several thousand flight hours later, I still try to emulate Major Galluzzo as an instructor pilot because I learned the tremendous impact one passionate instructor can have on a struggling pilot. Thank you, Major Galluzzo.]

My check ride is scheduled for November 20, the day after my last flight with Major Galluzzo.

As I walk into the preflight briefing space, I am confident. I write all of the briefing items on the dry erase board and wait for my instructor. I reflect on how far I have come. I am not only a totally different pilot, but a different person. The last month has been transformative in every way, and instead of nervously cowering before the brief, I can’t wait to show the instructor how far I have come.

I am paired with another senior instructor pilot. He asks about the last check ride and how I ended up needing extra flights. I explain my challenges with landing, and he reviews my record with me. Similar to Major Galluzzo, he is calm and confident and makes me feel at ease.

On the walk to the aircraft, I feel strangely calm despite the fact that everything is on the line during this flight. I run through all the procedures, takeoff, and high work with no issues. Now it’s time for the pattern. I think back to Major Galluzzo and all the people who believed in me and helped me get to this moment. I won’t let them down. As I approach the landing pattern, I am confident and intensely focused.

“Airspeed below 120, flaps coming down,” trim, turn, talk.

“Red Knight 252, one-eighty, gear down and locked.”

I am nailing every checkpoint.

“Gear down, flaps down, landing checklist complete.”

I repeat to myself, “Aimpoint, airspeed. Aimpoint, airspeed.”

“Gear down and locked, negative lights.”

Power out. Flare. Look at the horizon. Time slows, and I make micro-adjustments to the landing attitude. I land successfully.

I stay in the pattern and perform the rest of the landings and emergency landings. Each landing feels smooth and effortless. When the pattern is complete, we fly home, and I feel extremely proud of how far I have come.

After the flight, the instructor says, “I have very little feedback for that flight. All of your procedures were great. Your pattern work was above average, and you had absolutely no issues with your landings. I’m not sure how you could have failed your check ride to begin with.”

On November 25, 2008, I fly my solo in the T-34, and I am immensely proud, but I still have a long way to go.