United Airlines Captain Bill Richards, my Father, Flies West

Two days ago, the 14th September 2021, my loving Dad - a retired United Airlines Captain - passed away at the hospital near the Florida Assisted Care residence he had called home for the past two years. The following will be published next month in RUPA, the retired United Airlines magazine. Blue skies Dad. Safe landing. Your son, Tom xxx

W. R. ‘Bill’ Richards

Bill flew West on Monday, 13 September, 2021. Dad is preceded by his wife Mary, his sisters Pat Caridad and Bobby Arkis, and his parents, Hector and Clara. My sister and I would like to use this space to review a career of giving.

As a kid, Bill worked as a Line Boy at Teterboro, NJ, exchanging his smile for flying time. When he moved up to work as a mechanic his boss suggested that he pursue flying as a career. Bill thought the man was nuts: Dad thought he could never afford it. Yet he persisted. His first logbook entry is almost readable: a J3 Cub, local flight, 30 minutes of time. During this period, he flew everything from Champs to Taylor Craft to Ercoupes; PT-19’s to Stearmans as he learned his trade. Then there’s a gap in the logbook. From ’46 to ’52 he appears to go AWOL. Part of this time is spent in the Army Air Force where he worked as a decoder at the airbase on Amchitka, Alaska. When he returned home, having achieved the rank of Sergeant, Dad used the GI bill to get many of his ratings. We need to thank our grandfather for much of this. Hector Richards had persuaded Dad to join the military in order to access GI Bill Support. Dad never graduated from high school prior to joining the service. However, our Grandpa persuaded that school to give Dad his diploma in absentia.

The logbook resumes on February 5, 1952 with a local flight in a J3 as Dad resumed flying. A year later, me made the transition to a professional career. On November 11, 1952, he flew his first flight for Resort Airways in a C46, and was based in San Antonio TX. Three years later he was hired by United, flying copilot on DC3’s out of Chicago. That’s where his son Tom was born. The next years are a blur as Dad pursued his Captaincy, moving first to Seattle (where Cindy was born), then NY; Miami, back to ORD, then SFO. He was forced to take a medical retirement in 1979 at the age of 49, flying his last flight as Captain on a 727. It was one hell-of-a-career.

During early retirement in California, Dad achieved his Associates Degree, then joined ASRS where he met Cleve Spring. The pair kept in touch for many years. Dad was also Membership Officer of RUPA. He particularly enjoyed sending out letters, welcoming newly-appointed retirees. Bill was forever grateful to both ALPA and UAL for the recognition they gave him upon his forced retirement.

Our Mom had always been a good sport about all the moves but in 2000 she put her foot down. Their final move was to Tampa, Florida. Mom passed away 15 years ago and is buried in Bushnell National Cemetery. Soon, Dad will join her.

Bill taught so many people to fly and to love it just as he did. For years he worked with retired UAL Captain Joe Messina (RIP Joe), teaching kids the fundamentals on an Aeronca Champ. Along the way, he taught Joe’s son, Joe Messina Jr (retired UAL Captain) and Alan Ahr (retired Delta Captain). He also taught his son, Tom, to fly as well as giving his daughter, Cindy, a love of the air. He was the best teacher, and could land that Champ like a kiss in any weather, on any surface, in the toughest crosswind.

We’ll miss our Dad but we take heart in knowing he’s still around, and is happy with our Mom. Last night at 0103 Eastern Summer Time, he made his final take-off. Along the way he was diverted by ATC, flying to altitude and there reaching up to touch the face of God. He reached his destination following a flight in only Blue Skies, and kissed the ground as he always did on any runway anywhere in the United States.

Thank you, Dad. You are one of the most fortunate, forgiving and giving men we’ll ever know. And we are the luckiest of children because of your gifts. God Bless you. See you around.

Why There's No Bad Guy in Ireland

See the family. See Tom. See Mom and Dad and sister Cindy. It's 1961 Seattle, and this photo is taken only a few miles from the Boeing Aircraft plant. Back in those days, and as a first grader in nearby St Philomena's School, we'd get lessons in hiding under desks as Russian missiles rained down. On the television, and every now and then, the broadcasters would test their Civil Defense System. I can still see the grainy black and white photo of the CD logo in the back of my mind, and the announcer saying, "This is only a test of the Emergency Broadcast System!"

Then, a wild whistle would emanate from the old speakers on our RCA set. Later on, and a bit older, I realized that it sounded distinctly like the whistle of a melting phone in the Cold War film "Fail Safe" - the sound that the phone made as it was melted in the heat of a thermo nuclear explosion. Ah the joys of childhood!

Growing up in Cold War America had its pluses of course. We could make fun of Kruzchav and the Russians and get away with it. Hollywood was constantly coming out with new films that scared us all silly (think of those great 'B' movies: "Invaders from Mars" and "The Day the Earth Stood Still".) Both films pitted good guys against bad - even Red against Blue (Invaders from Mars). But occasionally, one wondered who was the bad guy and who was the good (the Robot Gort in The Day the Earth Stood Still was no bad guy, let me tell you. He had a cool heat ray, didn't he?) And living in Seattle as we did, we occasionally got to see some of the very latest 1960s Western technology (think the Space Needle and the MonoRail - those beat the Rooskie stuff any day.)

In the United States in those days, we knew who the bad guys were, and we had Superman to help us out when those bad guys dared to show up.

In Ireland back then, they had no such bad guy to pick fun at. There were the English, of course. Seems to me that there had always been the English. Four hundred years of servitude makes one think that the Irish would have thrown them out sooner than they did, but that didn't happen until the 1920s. And even then, the Irish were divided in a bloody Civil War over the whole mess. For hundreds of years, the Irish were trapped in a country occupied by an oppressor who didn't do a whole lot for the society. The English banned Mass and the Irish language. They shipped hundreds off to penal servitude - or worse! - emigration to Australia. The English did their best to transform this little country and its people into a jewel in the British Crown. All that happened, of course, was a feeling of resentment that eventually gave vent to war.

And when the Irish at last threw off the yoke of the oppressor, the government did their level best to isolate the country from the rest of the world. Censorship limited imports. The Catholic Church limited free thinking. Films such as "The Man from Aran" portrayed the typical Irishman as a solitary man, alone against the elements, but winning none-the-less. The average Irishman, suffering the slings and arrows of a stagnant economy in those early days of the Republic, must have laughed at the idea of an Irish "Superman", knowing that they didn't have a hero to save them. Only Eamon De Valera, and all he was doing was refusing to mix with the rest of the world which caused only more hardship on an already marginalised economy and people.

Of course, Ireland and the Irish are no longer isolated. Even at the height of recession, this country has one of the highest per capita export industries in the world.

And yet, one thing the country still doesn't have: bad guys to poke fun at and a Superman to save the country. I guess Ireland would have had to go through a Cold War to experience those. Who knows? At the rate the country is going, we may experience a Cold War yet.