He also scored a 92% on the written test, which makes him a steeley-eyed, weather-savvy, aerodynamically enlightened, radio-familiar, mechanical, electrical and hydraulic savant who is also a 3-D airspace expert. The amount of material you need to know to pass the FAA written test is staggering. I genuinely believe that even the brightest Hollywood Celebrity -- yes, even those who finished High School -- would throw their own pooh at the test screen and storm off smashing American Tourister luggage without getting a single answer correct.
(The instrument rating, which I am almost finished with, is perhaps three times harder. Add weapons systems, combat flight maneuvers, counter-counter-measures, and the ability to fly a fire-breathing mach 2 deathsled called the F-102 Delta Dagger, and you begin the grasp the dimmest outlines of the intelligence it took for that Idiot Moron Chimp George W. Bush to takeoff, fly a mission, and land. Yes, daddy was rich and powerful and well-connected. But there’s no back seat in an F-102)
I know of what he speaks. I also hold a private pilot's license, the same certificate that Bill's friend just earned. I don't remember my exact score on the written test, but it was greater than 90%. It was not easy; I had to study hard for that test. And that doesn't even count the practical test where the student flies with the Designated Pilot Examiner, who evaluates the student's ability, and also administers an oral exam. That was even harder. Many of the questions he asked I did not know, although he deliberately asked questions whose answers were obscure. He was not hesitant in his criticism either, both of my answers on the oral exam and my performance in the air. It turned out to be yet another learning experience.
Most people have the capability to learn what they need to be a private pilot. However, not all would be willing to stick with the program to completion. Even I, who had desired this since I was a young child, became bogged down toward the end. I finally said "Screw this," knuckled down, and got it done. I had come that far and I would be damned before I gave it up.
And the reward for my effort is now I can exercise the privileges of a private pilot. That's the actual official language. It's not a right, but a privilege that I earned with a good deal of mental and physical effort. I can now pilot an airplane (currently I am checked out in the Cessna 172 and 152 models) pretty much from anywhere in the contiguous 48 states to anywhere else, provided the weather is better than well-defined minumum conditions and provided I avoid certain designated areas and observe certain restrictions while flying in other areas.
Perhaps most importantly, I am the final, absolute authority for the conduct of the flight when I am pilot-in-command. No matter what happens, it's my responsibility. I can allow my passenger to take the controls and it's all perfectly legal. But if he screws up and we crash, it's my fault, not his. If we run out of gas, it's my fault for not making sure we have enough fuel onboard for the flight. If my aircraft strays into restricted airspace and some pilots who make me look like a badly trained ferret have to come and escort my sorry ass out, too bad. It's up to me alone to know where I am, where I'm going, and to make sure that I don't cross that boundary. Pilots know the meaning of responsibility. It's a core part of the training. And it is the way it should be, one of the few examples of the federal government getting it right at the institutional level.
Congratulations to Bill's friend Steve. May your skies be clear and your winds light.
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