AIRLINES MIKE GOUGH
SENIORITY
FILLING A DEAD MAN’S SHOES Promotion based on Seniority is not liked by minorities.
We were told to report for duty, Room 109, at 0700, Monday 3 November 1997. There was, of course, absolutely no-one there except the seven of us in my intake, all looking a little lost. Things in this government department did not start until 0830 at the earliest.
I
had dutifully arrived early, dressed in my civilian finest – an ill-fitting suit that I had also used for that all-important interview a few months earlier. I was the youngest of my group, and the only non-SAAF pilot, tacked onto this intake almost as an afterthought. We wandered around the passageways of the training section, and cheekily stuck our heads into the simulator hall to ogle the very serious looking Boeing 747 Classic simulator that was to be our first assignment in the airline, as third (or ‘boy’) pilots. Around nine that morning, we were let into a classroom, and the welcomes and procedural stuff started. One of the first items up for discussion was a concept that was completely alien to me at the time – that of Seniority. I had previously been flying for a tiny airline that had five aircraft and around 20 pilots. I had joined as what I subsequently learned to be referred to as a DEC, or Direct
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FlightCom Magazine
Entry Captain. This particular operation had no seniority list, and the current first officers either lacked the hours or the Airline Transport Pilot licence required to become captain. I had managed to crack the nod on both counts. I had never flown a twin turbine, and certainly nothing as seemingly complicated and fire-breathing as the solid Let 410. However, three weeks and fifty hours later from the right-hand seat, I was not only signed out as P1 on the aircraft but also as instructor. It was just how things worked there, in a small, rapidly expanding operation. The significance of the discussion that we entered into that first day of being in a ‘real’ airline was, at the time, still a little lost on me, but ended up with me being officially awarded the most junior place of my intake. As the seven of us were all joining on the same day, we had to fight it out between us as to who would be who in our new zoo. The method used was firstly, who had an ATP? We all did. Next was using
Wings date (for the ex-SAAF guys) or date of gaining the civilian CPL, in my case. Thus, I ended up at the bottom of my particular pile and was officially awarded seniority number 701. As there were then 701 pilots in the airline, I also had the very un-prestigious role of being the most junior pilot in the entire outfit. For what it’s worth, I’m now officially number 213, but realistically around 190, due to the last year’s attrition. Moving 511 places in 22.5 years indicates an average loss of 23 pilots per year. Hardly an eye watering pace of moving up the ranks which is testament to the solid operation, and consequent lack of desire to leave, that we used to have within the national carrier. Of the seven of us who joined, however, only three of us remain active on the seniority list. An early retirement, a resignation, and recently contract flying and one death, has seen our numbers dwindle. RIP Gus. So, what has seniority done for me in the past twenty-two and a half years? In a
