Category AVIATION &ТНЕ ROLE OF GOVERNMENT

Special activity airspace is designated airspace wherein limitations may be imposed on aircraft operations, including restricted, prohibited, and military operations areas. This airspace is scat­tered throughout the NAS and poses potentially blocking areas to direct flight. Most of these areas have non-active periods that permit com­mercial and general aviation aircraft to tran­sit them, but their activity schedules are often difficult to determine for flight planning and flight operations. The FAA has published a con­cept of operations for SAA data automation, including a system of electronic schedules and updates of SAA operations, to provide real-time
information of the status of SAAs for flight plan­ning and en route use.

Global Integration

As the FAA moves forward to develop and imple­ment NextGen capabilities in the United States, similar systems are being put in place around the world. It is necessary that these systems and procedures be coordinated so as to provide seam­less and efficient operations globally, and that the same avionics are approved to be able to conduct similar operations everywhere. To that end, the FAA works with governments and representative groups worldwide, including the European equiv­alent of NextGen, Single European Sky Air Traf­fic Management Research (SESAR) and ICAO.

■ Why NextGen Matters

By some projections, passenger demand is expected to increase by 25 percent this decade. General aviation piston aircraft are projected to increase at an annual rate of 1.4 percent, while business jets are expected to increase at the rate of 4 percent. Very Light Jets (VLJs) will add hun­dreds of aircraft to the NAS per year. Unmanned Aircraft Systems will become routine in the NAS.

NextGen will help communities make bet­ter use of their airports. Flying will be quieter, cleaner, more efficient, and safer. Travel will confront fewer delays with less time sitting on the ground or holding in the air, and with more flexibility to deal with weather.

ince the 1950s, Europe has been on a journey to consolidate its economic power through a close association of its several states. Significant developments during that period are now having an important impact on the evolving global market. Specifically, the evolving equal­ity between Europe and the United States, and the resulting competition between European and American commercial interests in international civil aviation, is a direct result of these develop­ments. It is important, therefore, that we under­stand something of the history of the relationship between these two great areas of commerce.

The European-American Relationship

The primary advances in commercial aviation during the first part of the 20th century were made in Europe. The French builder Deperdus – sin, for example, flew a 100-mile per hour air­plane in 1912, a feat technologically far ahead of the Americans. European manufacturers supplied essentially all of the military aircraft used in World War I. French, German, and English man­ufacturers produced the world’s most advanced aircraft designs and the most powerful aircraft

engines. Further, the countries of Europe led the way in creating, organizing, and funding com­mercial passenger aviation immediately after World War I and began scheduled international aviation transportation as early as 1919. Amer­ica had to play catch up during the 1920s, and American business interests had a hard time try­ing to figure out how the airplane could make any meaningful contribution to the progression of commerce in the United States.

The first airlines in the United States dur­ing the 1920s often looked to Europe to supply their aircraft needs. Juan Trippe, for example, began Pan American service in 1927 with Fokker Trimotors, as that airplane set the standard with its cantilevered, monowing design. The Fokker departed from the biwing, wire-and-fabric air­planes of that and prior decades. This design was largely emulated in the Ford Trimotor in the 1920s.

But the pendulum began to swing in favor of the Americans about this time when Fred Rent – schler and Pratt & Whitney developed the power­ful Wasp radial engine, which would supply the motive power for the newest and most advanced designs of aircraft in the world beginning in 1927. In fact, aircraft would begin to be designed around the new radial engines.

The work of the small group of engineers at the National Advisory Committee on Aero­nautics would produce cowl designs and other innovations that would lead to the introduction in 1933 of the twin-engine Boeing 247, broadly acknowledged as the first modern airliner with its low monowing, retractable landing gear, and stressed all-metal skin design. At the same time, the fortunes of the leading European aircraft manufacturer, Fokker, went into decline due to design failures that resulted in stress fractures in its wooden wing. The first known failure of this wing caused the highly publicized crash of a Fokker Trimotor in 1931, resulting in the deaths of all passengers, including Notre Dame coach­ing legend Knute Rockne.

In addition, the vast geographical area of America proved to be a fitting laboratory for the evolution of the commercial airliner. Naviga­tional developments in the United States, begin­ning with its beacon system and followed by radio navigation, would lead the world in avia­tion technology as the airlines of America took to the skies. Beginning with the radial engine, the United States would take the lead in civil avia­tion technology and never look back.

Production of state-of-the-art transport air­craft intensified in the United States during the 1930s as Douglas inaugurated the highly suc­cessful Douglas Commercial (DC) series of air­planes. Lockheed joined the contest with the Constellation, Boeing countered with the first pressurized passenger airplane (the 309), and then came World War II.

The consolidation of military and political power by Germany during the 1930s, and the resulting devastation visited on the countries of Europe during the six years of World War II left the United States in a position of preemi­nence in all things relating to commercial avia­tion by 1945. America had a ready-made fleet of commercial-type aircraft, the most advanced of which included the Douglas DC-4 and the Lockheed Constellation. Immediately after the end of the war, advanced types of even larger aircraft began rolling off the American assembly lines, lines that had been set up during the war to produce the massive military airlift capacity of the Allies. The entire war production plant of the United States was now turned to peaceful and commercial ventures. At the same time, Europe lay in ruins.

In 1945, there were widespread hunger, unemployment, and housing shortages through­out the continent of Europe. Raw materials and foodstuffs were in short supply. Industries lay idle, or almost so, as much-needed machinery and capital proved elusive. European cities were little more than acres of rubble, an estimated 500 million cubic tons of it in Germany alone. A breakdown of moral, social, and commercial, life was threatened. The occupying forces of the Soviet Union were entrenched in much of Europe, and the expansionist Stalin government in power in the U. S.S. R. after World War II cast a covetous eye over the continent.

The decision of the European Court of Justice in 2002, holding that bilaterals between Member States and the United States were in violation of EU law, posed a significant problem for the EU States, as well as for the United States. It did, however, provide an opportunity to pressure the United Kingdom into finally seriously addressing the issue of globalization and relaxation of the constraints imposed by Bermuda 2.

In 2006, agreement was reached between negotiators for the U. S. and the EU for an Open Skies agreement for all EU Member States, including the U. K. Open Skies agreements are, technically, treaties between nations and, as such, in the United States these agreements must obtain Senate approval. The Senate that year refused to approve the Open Skies agreement that had been negotiated, primarily on the basis that the agreement would have relaxed the law (enacted by the entire Congress) applicable to foreign ownership of U. S. airlines.

The negotiating teams went back to work, and in 2007, a new Open Skies agreement was reached, but this time the ownership rules were preserved, as well as historical cabotage restraints.9 This new Agreement was signed on April 30, 2007, by the representatives of the EU and by the U. S. Department of State. The Agreement was originally slated to go into effect in October 2007 but, due to objections posed by the U. K., the effec­tive date was moved back to March 30, 2008. This was, in part, to allow Heathrow airport to complete new terminal construction to enlarge its facilities in anticipation of the significant increases in traffic that the Agreement will cause.

The Agreement also contained exit provi­sions that allowed the EU to renounce the agreement in 2010 if the issues of cabotage and airline ownership had not been liberalized. This Agreement went into effect in March of 2008.

The EU has voiced one additional complaint. They say that the United States has the better part of the deal since U. S. airlines are permitted to fly into any EU country and then fly from that country into any other EU countiy. Although U. S. airlines may not fly from one point in any one EU country to another point in that same countiy, U. S. airlines do have a sort of cabotage right if the EU is considered a single sovereign entity. For instance, a U. S. air­line will be permitted to land at Heathrow, pick up passengers and fly on to Paris, while an EU airline, landing at JFK, will not be permitted to proceed with passengers to Dallas, or any other U. S. city.

The right of the EU to renounce the Agree­ment in 2010 gave rise to continued negotia­tions on the issues that remained unresolved in the 2008 Agreement. The EU wanted unlimited rights to fly intra-United States (cabotage) and they wanted liberalization of ownership rights in U. S. airlines to allow foreign majority owner­ship. Although there are good arguments on both sides, no agreement has been reached.

Some believe that foreign investment in U. S. airlines could enhance the financial condition of domestic airlines, take advantage of larger route networks and their economies of scale, as well as improve the level of service. Others fear that foreign ownership would bring a loss of jobs and control, and perhaps the disappearance of some U. S. air­lines. Such a revision of United States law would certainly alter or eliminate cabotage and would seriously affect the ability of the country to com­mand the participation of U. S. airlines in times of emergency or national need. Bob Crandall, formerly CEO of American Airlines, poses the question of why any foreign airline or group would actually want to own an American airline, given their proven poor financial track record, the high level of compe­tition, and the slim profit margins that exist for even profitable airlines in this country. He also poses the answer: Foreign ownership would be used by for­eign interests only for the purpose of access to U. S.

markets, which doubtless are vast, and to control airline transportation to and from the United States. Under his view, domestic airline service would sig­nificantly deteriorate under such a system.

A second-stage EU-U. S. Open Skies Agree­ment was signed in March 2010, but it did not con­tain the cabotage and airline ownership rights sought by the EU. The new arrangement does provide means for cooperation on competition, environmen­tal issues, labor standards, safety, and security. It will also give airline alliance partners greater flex­ibility in service areas.10 The Fly America Act which requires all travel funded by the United States gov­ernment to be on a domestic airline, is not applicable since it contains an exception for flight on airlines associated with nations that have a bilateral or multi­lateral agreement with the United States.

The 2010 amendment goes only so far as to commit the parties to engage in a process of reforming airline ownership and control rules, promising a quid pro quo for allowing majority ownership in each group’s airlines.

By 2011, the United States had concluded Open Skies agreements with over 100 countries. Although global liberalization began with the Airline Deregulation Act of 1978, it was difficult to actually achieve a common policy of liberal­ization within Europe, even after the founding of the European Union. Through steady pressure by the institutions of the EU, and the Open Skies accords that have been put in place by the United States and the EU, there is a shared appreciation for the benefits that accrue from the elimination of trading and operating constraints.

Traffic growth after liberalization averages between 12 percent and 35 percent according to a recent study,11 and in some cases has reached nearly 100 percent of the pre-liberalization rates. As an example, liberalizing 320 specific country pair bilateral contracts specified in the study would produce 24.1 million full-time jobs and generate an additional $490 billion in GDP (corresponding to an economy almost the size of Brazil).

While we have analyzed the results of these policies within the United States as a result of

deregulation, examples of similar global effects include the growth of international services to secondary airports in the United Kingdom (Man­chester, Birmingham, and Glasgow), the growth of Dubai as a major international hub, domestic deregulation in India, and the putting in place of the EU’s Single European Market, resulting in the growth of low-cost carriers such as Ryanair and Easyjet. Significant examples of other sym­biotic traffic relationships include United Arab Emirates and Europe, Malaysia and Thailand, and Australia and New Zealand. Please refer to Figure 40-1 for a chart depiction of the number of seats worldwide supplied by low-cost car­riers. Cooperation between countries utilizing these anticompetitive techniques also results in sharing the ideas and effects of improved envi­ronmental measures, such as noise reduction, improved fuel efficiency, and reduction of emis­sions, as well as efficient air traffic management.

The Space Shuttle Program arose from discus­sions about what should follow Project Apollo and the lunar explorations and landings. In the 1960s, NASA’s grand vision for the future advo­cated placing increasingly large outposts in earth orbit, lunar orbit, and even on the moon itself. With the development of the Saturn V, these ideas became possible, and earth orbit sta­tions holding 12, 50, and even 100 people were expected. Mars would be explored by human crews. The need for crew changes and for supplies for the stations in low earth orbit is where the idea of the Space Shuttle first devel­oped. The concept was to minimize costs by developing a reusable vehicle.

As is often the case, dreams of engineers and planners frequently do not match those of earth-bound politicians and their constituents. President Johnson’s Great Society programs, followed by the exigencies of the Vietnam War, took precedence. The Department of Defense had its own priorities for space assets in orbit. The Nixon White House rejected NASA’s grand plans; the Space Shuttle for low earth orbit became the only feasible alternative, which was a compromise for all interests. Planned com­mercial, scientific, and national security payloads visualized 50 STS missions every year.

As each interest’s needs were realized and as designs were fleshed out, the Shuttle took form. The 60-foot-long bay, payload weight requirements, delta wings to allow maneuvering, and the reusable thermal shield for reentry were developed to accommodate those interests. The Shuttle would be the first reusable spacecraft, the first to have wings, and the first to land on a runway. But budget constraints in 1971 doomed plans for a completely reusable vehicle. Modi­fied designs were searched out. Nevertheless, NASA claimed in 1972 that for the $5.5 billion funded for the project, the Shuttle would meet all performance requirements, would perform 100 missions for each successive vehicle, and each mission would cost $7.7 million. The program was launched to great fanfare during the election year of 1972.

The promised delivery date of March 1978 came and went. So did the next one, 1979, when the program was fully reviewed by the Jimmy Carter White House. One of Carter’s priorities was the need for a space platform to verify com­pliance with the Salt II arms treaty by the Soviet Union, which, among other things, assured the continuation of the program of development to flight status. Problems with the Shuttle’s main engines and the reentry tile structure resulted in two more years of delay.

The first STS was named Columbia, com­pleted after nine years of development. It was launched for its first test flight from Cape Canav­eral on April 12, 1981 for a two-day orbit and returned for landing to Edwards Air Force Base. Four more test flights were made and, in 1982, the Shuttle was made fully operational “for eco­nomical and routine access to space for scientific exploration, commercial ventures, and for tasks related to the national security.”25

As finally configured, the Space Shuttle, mission-designated as STS with mission num­ber, consisted of the Orbiter, which in common usage became the “Space Shuttle,” the Shuttle’s three main engines, the external tank, and the two solid rocket boosters. The Orbiter carried a maxi­mum crew of seven, a payload of up to 56,300 pounds depending on the orbit, and an airlock for exiting either on the ground or in orbit. The main engines burned a mixture of oxygen and hydrogen at a rate of half a ton per second, each engine producing 375,000 pounds of thrust, four times that of the largest commercial jet; the large bell-shaped nozzles swivel for steering control during ascent. The bum rate of the main engines would empty a normal-sized swimming pool in twenty seconds. The external tank carried over 143,000 gallons of liquid oxygen and over

385,0 gallons of liquid hydrogen, stored at minus 297 degrees and 423 degrees Fahrenheit, respectively; the external tank was not reusable. The solid rocket boosters provided 85 percent, or six million pounds, of the necessary thrust for the STS. These motors burned for two minutes each, then separated and were pushed away from the array by small rocket motors; parachutes deployed from their nose cones returned them to earth 120 miles downrange in the Atlantic Ocean.

Declaring such first-generation technology operational after only five test flights was con­sidered risky and unusual by many informed observers. That decision has been laid over to

NASA’s desire to secure Presidential approval of its next manned program, the Space Station, which would necessarily depend on a credible Shuttle, and to the appearance of the European Space Agency’s “Ariane” expendable launch vehicle. Ariane was already competing for com­mercial launch contracts as early as 1982. The appearance of Ariane greatly conflicted NASA’s expectation of off-setting the Shuttle’s operat­ing costs with commercial contracts. As a result, even though launch costs were running at the time over $120 million dollars each, NASA offered commercial launches for just $42 million.

The Shuttle Story was not all negative. Between 1982 and 1986 it retrieved two commu­nications satellites, repaired another in orbit, and launched 24 more. It visited the European-built Spacelab, carried citizens of Germany, Mexico, Canada, Saudi Arabia, France, and the Nether­lands into space, as well as two members of Con­gress. By 1985, four Orbiters were in operation. Yet, that year the Space Shuttle flew just nine missions.

The goal was no longer 50 flights each year as originally predicted; the goal in 1985 was 24 flights, but even that was unattainable. The cost of each mission was over $140 million, seven times greater (adjusted for inflation) than that projected the previous decade. The interim prep­aration period for each mission had grown from a projected 10 days to an average of 67 days. Worse, pressure on maintaining the flight sched­ule caused NASA to begin to accept less than specification performance of shuttle components.

The 25th mission of the Shuttle, flown by Challenger on January 28, 1986, abruptly terminated 73 seconds after launch, killing all seven crew members on board. No Shuttle was launched thereafter for 32 months. The Depart­ment of Defense decided to launch all future mil­itary payloads on expendable rockets (excepting a few in progress). President Reagan announced the termination of all commercial launches via the Shuttle. The abandonment of the proposed

Shuttle launch site at Vandenberg Air Force Base was announced. This event, and these decisions, greatly reduced the effectiveness and glamour of the Shuttle and increased its net costs, and there was yet to be further tragedy.

The next mission was not launched until September 29, 1988, and the Shuttle was no lon­ger described as “operational.” It was, in fact, thereafter treated like an R&D test program, according to NASA Associate Administrator Richard Truly.26 Yet, the Shuttle accomplished many objectives before the loss of Columbia in 2003. During that 15-year period, the Shut­tle flew 87 missions, compared with 24 before the Challenger accident. It launched the Hubble Space Telescope in 1990, its repair in 1993, and its servicing in 1999 and 2002. It returned America’s first orbiting astronaut, John Glenn, to orbit again in 1998, and it delivered America’s contributions to the International Space Station. It launched several planetary probes and partici­pated in a number of Shuttle-Spacelab missions devoted to scientific research. It conducted nine missions to rendezvous with the Russian space station Mir. For a time, the Shuttle was the only vehicle that could launch the ready-built constitu­ents needed to complete European and Japanese contributions to the ISS and to supply access to and from the ISS for scientific experiments. It was this ISS-Shuttle symbiosis, in fact, that justi­fied the Shuttle’s existence.

The White House made a change in 1992 in NASA leadership with the appointment of Daniel

S. Goldin as Administrator. Goldin brought Rus­sia into partnership in the International Space Sta­tion, and the ISS became his (and NASA’s) main program with the Shuttle playing a subordinate role. He transferred engineering talent and work­force from the Shuttle to the ISS and to his pet project, the exploration of Mars. This also trans­ferred the emphasis of the NASA mission from the Shuttle to its original mission of exploration.

During the middle of the 1990s, the emphasis centered on ways to make public-sector programs more efficient and less costly. Transferring gov­ernment operations to the private sector (privati­zation) was a preferred way of doing this. At the time, NASA was managing 86 separate contracts with 56 different firms in order to keep the Shuttle going. In 1995, a joint venture of Lockheed Mar­tin and Rockwell won the Space Flight Opera­tions Contract and formed a new corporation known as United Space Alliance to run the Shut­tle program, with NASA oversight. Boeing soon replaced Rockwell.

Although by some estimates this devel­opment saved NASA some $1 billion over six years, the split of authority between NASA and United Space Alliance was not optimal. Plans for complete privatization were discussed along with a replacement for the Shuttle, which was recognized as approaching obsolescence. The X-33 program with Lockheed Martin and the X-34 program with Orbital Sciences were floated with the hope that the next generation of human space flight could be privately funded with little government spending.

These programs did not mature, despite sig­nificant spending to find a Shuttle replacement between 1986 and 2002. In the meantime, the Shuttle ground infrastructure was deteriorating dangerously and the Shuttle itself required costly safety upgrades. When the Bush Administration took over in 2001, the International Space Station was $4 billion over budget. Discussions about what to do about the situation continued without result into 2003. The workforce was depicted as “The Few, the Tired,” also an apt description of the entire Shuttle Program when the Columbia reentry accident occurred in 2003, according to the Accident Board investigating that tragedy.

In its final report in August 2003, the Board stated what it called “an inescapable conclusion: Because of the risks inherent in the original design of the Space Shuttle, because that design was based in many aspects on now-obsolete technologies, and because the Shuttle is now an aging system but still developmental in character, it is in the nation’s interest to replace the Shuttle as soon as possible as the primary means for transporting humans to and from Earth orbit.”21

In January 2004, President George W. Bush announced the mandatory retirement of the Space Shuttle, to take place in 2010. The Shuttle next flew after the Columbia accident some two and a half years later, when Discovery was launched on July 26, 2005. Congressional funding for the Shut­tle allowed flights into 2011, with the final launch occurring on July 26, 2011, of the STS Atlantis.

Although in 2004 President Bush had announced a subsequent space program known as “Constellation” in his Vision for Space Explora­tion, which would have sent astronauts first to the ISS, then to the Moon, and then to Mars, in

2010 the Obama Administration canceled the program.

In all, there were five Shuttles: Columbia, Challenger, Discovery, Atlantis, and Endeavor. Two of these were destroyed during Shuttle mis­sions, a 40 percent vehicle failure rate, with the loss of 14 lives onboard. Compared with other space programs, this loss rate was extraordinary. The Mercury and Gemini Programs had no fatali­ties. Apollo had three fatalities, which occurred in the capsule during a test while on the launch pad at Cape Canaveral. While there is no verifi­able data, the Russian space program admits one cosmonaut death during reentry (Soyuz 1) and three cosmonaut deaths during Soyuz 2 when they were exposed to space vacuum. There are unverified reports of other casualties during the early days of that space program. To date, there have been no reported Chinese space program fatalities.

NASA says that it cost $450 million to launch one STS mission. There were 135 mis­sions in total. It was independently reported in

2011 that NASA spent more than $192 billion on the Shuttle Program from 1971 to 2010 (in 2010 dollars), and that during the period 1982 to 2010, the average cost per launch was about $1.2 billion.28 The Russian Space Agency does not advertise its launch costs, but it is reliably rumored to be around $45 million per launch. They started out selling tickets to the public for orbital flights at $20 million a seat. The price lately has risen to $63 million.

The legacy of the Space Shuttle will be a subject of discussion for years to come.

И New York to Paris

harles Lindbergh was already being treated like something of a celebrity even before he departed New York for Paris. He and the Spirit of St. Louis had been ready to fly since Monday, May 16, 1927, but the weather was dreadful in New York and points north. Since his arrival in New York he had been feted and greeted by dig­nitaries ranging from William McCracken, the Assistant Secretary of Commerce for Aeronau­tics to Harry Guggenheim, Tony Fokker, Rene Fonck, С. M. Keyes of the Curtiss Company, Charlie Lawrance, the air-cooled radial engine pioneer, and Theodore Roosevelt, Jr.

The press had been pushy and ever-present, and the week had been very tiring. On Thursday, the 19th, Lindbergh visited the Wright factory in Paterson, New Jersey, and attended the theater that night, including a trip backstage. He did not arrive at his hotel until after midnight, and he was scheduled to arise at 3:00 a. m. to go out to Roosevelt Field to make the final decision for takeoff as weather had been reported improved. He was too keyed up to sleep.

In the pre-dawn gloom of Roosevelt Field on Friday, May 20, 1927, the clouds hung low and a light rain was falling. The weather was reported as still improving, and a high-pressure
area is moving in over the North Atlantic. After the Spirit of St. Louis is towed into takeoff posi­tion and fueled, the wind shifts to a tailwind. The engine on run-up is thirty revolutions low due to the weather, the mechanic said.

As Lindbergh himself explains the situation:

Plane ready; engine ready; earth-inductor compass set on course. The long, nar­row runway stretches out ahead. Over the telephone wires at its end lies the Atlantic Ocean; and beyond that, mythi­cal as the rainbow’s pot of gold, Europe and Paris. This is the moment I’ve planned for, day and night, all these months past. The decision is mine. No other man can take that responsibility. The mechanics, the engineers, the blue – uniformed police officers standing there behind the wing, everyone has done his part. Now, it’s up to me.

Their eyes are intently on mine. They’ve seen planes crash before. They know what a wrong decision means. If I shake my head, there’ll be no complaint, no criticism; I’ll be welcomed back into their midst, back to earth and life; for we are separated by something more than the few yards that lie between us. It seems almost the difference between the future and the past,

to be decided by a movement of my head. A shake, and we’ll be laughing and joking together, laying new plans, plodding over the wet grass toward hot coffee and a warm breakfast—all men of the earth. A nod, and we’ll be separated—perhaps forever.1

■ The Flight

Takeoff from Roosevelt Field, Long Island, New York. Mud, rain, and fog complicate the departure. Lindbergh clears telephone wires at the end of the runway by only 20 feet.

Over Rhode Island, 100 miles from Roosevelt Field, 3500 miles to go. Altitude 600 feet; Airspeed 102 miles per hour; Ceiling 2000 feet; Visibility 5 miles; True course 51 degrees; Compass course 63 degrees.

Between Boston and Cape Cod. Alti­tude 150 feet; Ceiling 4000 feet; Vis­ibility unlimited; Airspeed 107 miles per hour; True course 56 degrees; Compass course 70 degrees.

Over water. Burning 16 gallons of gasoline per hour. Altitude 50 feet; Ceiling unlimited; Airspeed 104 miles per hour; True course 57 degrees; Compass course 73 degrees.

Approaching Nova Scotia. Altitude 200 feet; Airspeed 103 miles per hour; True course 58 degrees; Compass course 78 degrees. He is six miles southeast of course.

12:52 p. m. Over Nova Scotia. Wind is 30 miles per hour from the West forcing a crab correction of 15 degrees. Alti­tude 700 feet; Airspeed 102 miles per hour; True course 60 degrees;

Compass course 82 degrees. Storm clouds are forming.

1:52 p. m. Beginning the seventh hour, over

Nova Scotia. 3000 miles to go. Alti­tude 900 feet; Ceiling 1500 broken; Airspeed 101 miles per hour; True course 61 degrees; Compass course 84 degrees.

2:52 p. m. Still over Nova Scotia. Altitude 600 feet; Airspeed 96 miles per hour; True course 64 degrees; Compass course 89 degrees. Storm recedes to the North. Lindbergh sees fog, his most dreaded condi­tion, directly ahead.

3:52 p. m. Leaving Cape Breton Island for a 200 miles stretch of water to Newfoundland. Altitude 500 feet; Airspeed 94 miles per hour; True course 64 degrees; Compass Course 91 degrees. Lindbergh is fighting the urge to sleep. Sleep is winning.

4:52 p. m. Over ice fields in the Atlantic. Alti­tude 150 feet; Airspeed 95 miles per hour; True course 73 degrees; Compass course 102 degrees. Lind­bergh has trouble holding course, causing repeated corrections.

5:52 p. m. Placentia Bay, along the southeast­ern coast of Newfoundland. Altitude 300 feet; Airspeed 92 miles per hour; True course 70 degrees; Compass course 100 degrees.

6:52 p. m. Sunset over Newfoundland. Alti­tude 700 feet; Airspeed 98 miles per hour; True course 68 degrees; Compass course 99 degrees. Lind­bergh has covered 1100 miles in 11 hours, exactly. Never before has an airplane overflown Newfoundland without landing. Lindbergh leaves the continent of North America.

12:52 a. m. Closer now to Europe than America.

Altitude 9600 feet; Airspeed 88 miles per hour; True course 72 degrees; Compass course 106 degrees. High thin overcast. Lindbergh only wants sleep, nothing else. Yet he realizes that sleep means death and failure. He must be intermittently sleeping:

He makes repeated course correc­tions in excess of 10 degrees in both directions.

1:52 a. m. 1800 miles to Paris. Altitude 9000;

Airspeed 87 miles per hour; Lind­bergh fails to record his true course or his compass course. Lindbergh begins to wonder what difference a few degrees can make. Figuring out his new heading is beyond his resolve and his ability. Suddenly, he realizes that it is daylight again.

2:52 a. m. Beginning the 20th hour. Altitude 8800 feet; Airspeed 89 miles per hour; Ceiling: flying between cloud layers. True course and compass course not recorded. The altimeter has not been reset since Newfound­land, by flying close to the water.

That was 8 hours ago. He descends to near sea level and determines that he has a quartering tailwind there.

But he encounters fog and begins a climb to 1500 feet. He frequently loses control of the airplane as he fights sleep, but recovers each time.

During the Lindbergh misses the 3:52 a. m. log

21st hour, entry. He reasons that it’s not worth the effort anyway. He is so tired that he cannot both control the airplane and make entries in the log. He has energy enough only to fly the airplane and keep track of fuel management. The Spirit of St. Louis has 5 fuel tanks: a nose tank, a fuselage tank,

a left wing tank, a center wing tank, and a right wing tank. He switches tanks hourly.

Still on instruments. He wonders what happened to the forecast high-pressure area that was sup­posed to be over the North Atlantic. His log entries are confined to fuel management. Over and over again he falls asleep with his eyes open, knowing all the time this is what’s happening, but unable to prevent it. (p. 387) He finds himself just above the mountainous ocean waves, flying in salt spray form the wave tops. He climbs.

6:05 a. m. The 23rd hour. No entries again.

What difference does it make, he wonders. No entries in the log for over 3 hours. Lindbergh flies above, below and between layers of clouds. The 24th Lindbergh decides to abandon any hour. further effort to keep his log. He fig­

ures that he is 2300 miles from New York, 1300 miles from Paris, and maybe 700 miles from Ireland. But he is beginning to realize that he can no longer accurately deal with figures.

Endnote

1. The Spirit of St. Louis, p. 182.

t would be easy to excuse a person’s confusion today when told that airline labor matters are governed by the Railway Labor Act (RLA).1 But in 1936, when the RLA was made applicable to the neophyte airline industry, the differences between the two transportation systems were not at all clear. Both systems carried passenger and freight traffic in interstate commerce, across state lines, and from coast to coast. Both were consid­ered quasi-public utilities obligated to conduct their operations in a manner consistent with the “public interest.” And both were capable of caus­ing severe disruption to the nation’s commerce by labor-management disagreements and work stoppages.

We have already considered the temper of the times. The United States was deep into the Great Depression, distrust of the corporate world and capitalism was in vogue, unemployment was widespread, labor protective legislation was being cranked out of Congress, and membership in unions was high and on the rise. The airline industry seemed poised to take over from the railroads, which were on the wane, and it was assumed that the confrontational model of labor relations fashioned out of the experience of the railroads would serve the interests of labor and the nation in aviation as well.

But experience has shown that the airlines were not very much like the railroads after all; they were, in fact, very different. Aside from the fact that railroad labor relations arose out of the violent confrontations of the late 19th century, airlines were much more technologically oriented, the product of inventions and develop­ments that had largely first come into being after the labor pattern of the railroads had already been established.

The job classifications (the “crafts” in the words of the RLA) were very different. The railroads had their train crews composed of engineers, firemen, brakemen, and conductors, which ranged from semi-skilled to laboring work, and owing to coal used for fuel, they were mostly soot-covered jobs. Job names like hos­tlers, boilermakers, car repair workers, main­tenance of way laborers (gandy dancers), and blacksmiths filled the railroad roster. The air­lines’ occupational groups were pilots, power – plant mechanics, and clerical employees. Only baggage handlers, ground crew, and cleaners came close to matching the personnel types common on the railroads. The knowledge and skill requirements of the pilots and mechanics were federally mandated and tested. As time went on, many pilots came from the ranks of
the college educated, and because of the fed­eral limitations on hours flown, many of those would have second careers, some even profes­sional careers based on advanced university degrees.

Railroad style unionism was promoted by the policies of the National Mediation Board (NMB), the federal body established under the RLA to mediate the relative positions of the two sides, which assumes a power-based equality of collective bargaining and promotes a “digging in” of the heels, rather than a cooperative effort based on a “mutuality of interests” approach. This has produced a history of labor strife marked by work stoppages and severe disrup­tions in the national transportation system over much of the life of the airline industry. Contrib­uting to the encouragement of militant union activity has been a competition between the different unions’ leadership to produce the best “package” in the industry, to set the standard for union gains. Resistance from management to such union activity was, during regulation, lessened due to the practice of the CAB of increasing rates and fares to cover the increase in employee wages and benefits. Management also appeared to be willing to trade off increased income from productivity gains due to techno­logical advances, such as increased efficiencies
associated with jet aircraft, to achieve peace with the labor unions.

Ш Major Airline Unions

The major certified bargaining units (unions) in the airline industry are:

• The Air Line Pilots Association (ALPA), rep­resenting the majority of pilots

• The Allied Pilots Association (representing American Airlines pilots since 1960)

3 The Southwest Airlines Pilots Association (Southwest pilots)

• Frontier Pilots Association (Frontier pilots)

• The International Association of Machinists and Aerospace Workers (IAM)

• The Association of Professional Flight Atten­dants (APFA)

• The Association of Flight Attendants (AFA)

• The Transport Workers Union (TWU), rep­resenting a range of employees from main­tenance employees to flight attendants and dispatchers

• The Brotherhood of Railway, Airline, and Steamship Clerks (BRAC), represent­ing mostly clerical and passenger service employees

• The Aircraft Mechanics Fraternal Association

• The Communications Workers of America

• The International Brotherhood of Teamsters

• The Professional Airline Flight Control Association

Most of the crafts of the largest 19 airlines in the country, accounting for 95 percent of industry revenues, were unionized in 1977. Only Delta, which had a nonunion work force with the exception of its pilots (who are represented by ALP A), and Southern Airways deviated from the norm. As of 2012, Airlines for America stated that about half of all airline workers belong
to professional unions and are governed by collective bargaining agreements.

Southwest Airlines was a wholly intrastate car­rier before deregulation, having been founded in 1971. It had developed a no-frills approach to air carrier service that it brought to the interstate market after deregulation, gradually expanding in a deliberate and cautious way. It used just one type of aircraft, the Boeing 737, thereby greatly reducing its parts inventory requirements and the training of its airframe and powerplant people, as well as its pilots. Southwest chose secondary airports, like Uove Field in Dallas and Midway Airport in Chicago, where the turn-around time for its aircraft would be mini­mized. This practice avoided the congestion, the АТС delays, and the airport confusion that were becoming symptomatic of the hubs. South­west’s success moved it into the top 10 airlines in the United States during the 1990s, and it continued to expand its service into the east­ern United States market, opening up service to underserved or unserved airports. By 2012, Southwest had grown to be the third largest air carrier in the country as measured by passen­gers carried.6

As Southwest has grown, it has developed a “rolling hub” system instead of strictly point-to – point service. In practice, an appreciable number of Southwest passengers are being flown by way of connections (via LAS, LUV, and BWI, for example).

The success of Southwest caused new entrant airlines (increasingly known as “low cost carriers,” or LCCs) to imitate its model of low cost and no frills, thereby creating even more service to even more destinations. The legacy airlines also began, in self-defense, to imitate the model of Southwest by creating subsidiar­ies that provided the same kind of no-frills ser­vice and that used lower-paid crews operating a single type of airplane, just like Southwest. These subsidiaries have not met with any substantial success.

In Chapter 31, we discussed barriers to entry and how slot and gate ownership can have the effect of limiting competition. In Chapter 33, Airports and Deregulation, we will talk about how the operation of airports can also have anticompeti­tive results. The DOT has been concerned with all of these activities to the extent to which air­lines participate in them. But the DOT is also concerned with anticompetitive practices by the airport owners and operators themselves.

As we will see in Chapter 33, DOT over­sight of anticompetitive practices by airport owners was practically nonexistent until 2001. With the passage of the Wendell H. Ford Aviation Investment and Reform Act for the 21st Century (AIR-21), the DOT was given an important tool to use in monitoring and preventing these prac­tices. In order to participate in federal monies, airport owners and operators must now submit for DOT approval “Competition Plans” designed to insure that gate availability is equitably pro­vided. Under this program, the DOT can also monitor and, to some extent, control other anti­competitive and unfair practices associated with gate use, such as subleases, equipment leases, ground aircraft maintenance, and aircraft service agreements.

Endnotes

1. 49 USC sec. 1378.

2. 49 USC sec. 1384.

3. 371 U. S. 296 (1963).

4. Dempsey, Antitrust Law and Policy in Transportation: Monopoly Is the Name of the Game, 21 Ga. L. Rev. 505 (1987).

5. See Pan American World Airways v. United States, 371 U. S. 296, 306-308 (1963), and United States v. CAB.

766 F.2d 1107 (7th Cir. 1985).

6. See 49 U. S.C. sections 41308-41309.

7. GAO, Airline Competition: Higher Fares and Reduced Com­petition at Concentrated Airports, GA0/RECD-90-102; July 1990.

8. U. S. Department of Transportation, Statement of Enforce­ment Policy Regarding Unfair Exclusionary Conduct (Docket No. 0ST-98-3713, Notice 98-16) April 1998.

9. Ibid.

10. Ibid. This study was followed up by DOT in 2001, see:

U. S. Department of Transportation, Enforcement Policy Regarding Unfair Exclusionary Conduct in the Air Transpor­tation Industry (Docket ST-98-3713) January 17, 2001.

While air pollution considerations have become increasingly important in the years since jet trans­port aircraft were introduced into the civil aviation fleet in 1958, noise levels associated with the oper­ation of jet transport aircraft at the nation’s airports were an immediate concern to anyone within audi­ble range. Jet noise had previously been limited to military operations, and most people were familiar with jet operations only as they were usually con­ducted at higher altitudes.

Citizens’ groups became quite vocal about this intrusion into what had theretofore been a relatively peaceful coexistence with airport operations. Jet noise brought a new challenge to this attempt at coexistence. It took regulators until 1968 to accumulate enough anecdotal and

Source: GAO.

Notes: Landing and takeoff data for U. S. aircraft in 2001 obtained from AvSoft. Emissions were calculated using FAA’s Emissions and Dispersion Modeling System, version 4.01. The following variables were assumed to be the same for all aircraft: (1) taxi-time: 15 minutes, (2) auxiliary power unit time: 26 minutes, and (3) ceiling height for emissions mixing with local air: 3,000 feet. The model’s default was used for takeoff weight.

Source: GAO.

Notes: Landing and takeoff data for U. S. aircraft in 2001 obtained from AvSoft. Emissions were calculated using FAA’s Emissions and Dispersion Modeling System, version 4.01. The following variables were assumed to be the same for all aircraft: (1) taxi-time: 15 minutes, (2) auxiliary power unit time: 26 minutes, and (3) ceiling height for emissions mixing with local air: 3,000 feet. The model’s default was used for takeoff weight. The Boeing B77-200ER data is the weighted average (based on 2001 landings and takeoffs) for three different engines. The nitrogen oxides and other emission characteristics of these engines vary significantly.

The 58 Boeing 747-400s in the 2001 U. S. fleet have PW4056 engines and average 361 seats per aircraft. The 101 Boeing 777-200ERS in the 2001 U. S. fleet have the following engines: PW4090 (37 aircraft averaging 302 seats), GE90-90B (16 aircraft averaging 283 seats), and TRENT 892B-17 (48 aircraft averaging 249 seats). The three engine types for the Boeing 777-200ERs emit 138.6,123.6, and 112.3 pounds of nitrogen oxide emissions per landing/takeoff, respectively.

TABLE 34-4 Additional information on comparison of Boeing 747 and 777 emissions on a per aircraft basis.

empirical evidence to bring the matter success­fully before the Congress. In that year, the first aircraft noise legislation was passed.

Aircraft Noise Abatement Act of 1968

That year the initial step was taken to confront what was coming to be recognized as not only an environmental issue, but also a health issue. The Aircraft Noise Abatement Act of 1968 required the FAA, in consultation with the new Environ­mental Protection Agency, to establish noise standards for aircraft and to apply them through issuance of civil aircraft certificates.

Noise Control Act of 1972 and Aviation Safety and Noise Abatement Act of 1979

In 1972, Congress passed the Noise Control Act, which amended the Federal Aviation Act of 1958 to specifically involve the EPA in the regulation of airport noise. This was followed in 1979 by the Aviation Safety and Noise Abatement Act, which authorized the Secretary of Transportation to formulate a national aviation noise policy and authorized the FAA to promulgate regulations pursuant thereto, including “air noise compatibil­ity planning.” These regulations are contained in 14 Code of Federal Regulations, Part 150.

FIGURE 34-6 Populations expected to benefit from noise funding.

The FA A established a program under the 1979 statute to help airport operators develop comprehensive noise reduction programs. Known as the Part 150 program (derived from CFR Part 150), this voluntary program encour­ages airport operators to develop Noise Exposure Maps (NEM) and Noise Compatibility Programs (NCP). NEMs identify noise contours and land use incompatibilities. NEMS are used to evaluate
existing noise impacts and to discourage future development not compatible with the airport plan. If the FAA approves the NEM, the airport opera­tor can submit an NCP, which describes measures that will improve noise and land use compatibility.

In 2005, 266 airports were participating in the Part 150 program and 226 airports had NCPs approved by the FAA. An FAA-approved NCP allows an airport to obtain federal aid for noise
mitigation projects. Since 1982, 247 airports have received a total of $4.3 billion for this pur­pose in addition to AIP noise grants (discussed below).

A fleeting two years of profitability in the nation’s airlines during 2006 and 2007 ended in 2008 with an industry operating loss of $3.6 billion.13 In that year began a global reces­sion of large dimensions, precipitated by a burst housing bubble caused by defaults on subprime mortgages (which began in 2007), largely due to loose credit policies of government backed mortgages. Stated differently, many people were encouraged by government policy to buy houses that they could not afford. As defaults increased due to homeowners’ failure to make mortgage payments, banks and hedge funds that had bought these worthless mortgages packaged up as tradable securities bearing high credit ratings by Moody’s and Standard and Poor’s, began to face huge losses. Bankruptcies and government intervention in such institutions as Bear Stearns, AIG, Fannie Mae, Freddie Mac, IndyMac Bank, and Washington Mutual caused a drying up of credit that precipitated a widespread decline in employment. Unemployment rates nation­ally exceeded 10 percent. Unemployment rates for years 2003 to 2007 were between 6.3 and 4.4 percent.

At the same time, in 2008, the price of a bar­rel of crude oil oscillated wildly between $145 and $33 within a few months, causing the price of jet fuel to range between a low of $1.26 to a high of $4.26 a gallon. Fuel was now not only the highest cost factor in airline operations; it was also the most volatile. Revenues plunged 17 percent in 2009, which caused the largest two – year contraction in the history of aviation, and which resulted in a loss of $2.5 billion for the year. Over the nine-year period ending in 2009, the air transport industry lost $58 billion dollars.

Between 2002 and 2007, Chapter 11 bank­ruptcy reorganization had helped slim down four of the largest legacy airlines (US Airways, twice—in 2002 and again in 2004; Northwest and Delta, which filed on the same day in 2005; and United, which filed in 2002). These airlines had used Chapter 11 to renegotiate their union contracts for lower wages and more flexible union work rules, eliminate jobs, reduce capacity, and increase fares. These airlines were in a much better position to weather the economic turbulence of the late 2000s because of restructuring in Chapter 11.

During the first decade of this century, merger was also employed by all airlines in addi­tion to bankruptcy as a corporate tool to consoli­date resources and to try to advance profits. TWA was absorbed into American Airlines in 2001, before 9/11. America West Airlines was merged into US Airways in 2005, as a part of the Chapter 11 process of US Airways. Northwest merged with Delta in 2008, and the airline continued operation under the name of Delta. In 2010, Continental became a part of United. Southwest acquired AirTran in March 2011. All of these mergers were approved by the Department of Justice and were deemed not to violate any of the constraints of the antitrust laws.

During the first part of the 21st century, the legacy airlines were reinventing themselves from a historical perspective through the use of bankruptcy and merger. Although there were no bankruptcies of any airline during the days of economic regulation, there were a few mergers. These mergers were facilitated by the CAB, in order to maintain service and rates as prescribed, by requiring successful airlines to absorb the less successful ones. That is the reason that the 16 airlines grandfathered under the Civil Aeronautics Act of 1938 had contracted to 10 airlines by 1978.

All of the legacy airlines, except American, had slimmed down through bankruptcy, and all had combined through merger with another car­rier during the first decade of the 21st century. In 2011, not having been “cleansed” through bank­ruptcy, American had lost $11 billion since 2001. American Airlines faced labor costs that were significantly higher than any of its competitors and pensions that were the richest in the industry. Its labor and operating costs in 2011 were about 10 percent higher than Delta’s. In fact, in 2011 Amer­ican was the only major airline to lose money.

To further complicate the picture, American owns and operates American Eagle, a regional carrier that uses small, 50-seat aircraft that other airlines have been shedding (most other major carriers contract out their regional connections to independent regional airlines and have moved a bigger risk share to them). It is the only major airline that still performs most maintenance in­house. It also flies obsolete MD-80s, which are not fuel efficient, and are a big liability in these times of spiraling fuel prices.

In spite of years of negotiations with its unions, there was little progress in moving the issue forward, so in November 2011 the last holdout of the legacy airlines, American, capitu­lated and filed for Chapter 11 protection.14 At that time, there had been 178 bankruptcy pro­ceedings filed by domestic airlines since 1978, 46 of which had been in Chapter 11.15