IN 1976, I WAS AN inexperienced 24-year-old pilot when I got my first “real” flying job. I was hired by a small commuter airline to fly mail at night and passengers during the day in Piper Navajo and Navajo Chieftain twins.
A normal sequence started on day one at 10:30 p.m. in Charleston, West Virginia, flying east to Baltimore, Maryland, then back west to Martinsburg, West Virginia, then further west, ending in Cumberland, Maryland, at 3:30 a.m. the next morning. At 11:30 a.m. on day two, I would fly passenger runs until 9 p.m., then at 9:30 p.m., pick up the airmail run back to Charleston, finishing up around 1:30 a.m. on the third day. At every stop, I had to unload and reload 1,600 pounds of mail and somewhere…