Come Fly with Me

For real. I'll show you freedom from 5,000 feet.

by Bruce Schimmel

"How could a pilot just wander off and fly over the Capitol?" asks the burly sergeant in charge of Mayor Street's security detail. "Did he just happen to miss the Washington Monument?"

"It wouldn't surprise me," I answer. "I'm a pilot, and I've flown around D.C. since '93. To this pilot, a guy from Lancaster county, from his tiny plane, the whole East Coast looks like one big city. Look, I've got the training that JFK Jr. didn't, and I tell you: Shit does happen."

We're waiting for the mayor's City Hall press conference to begin, where most of the reporters' efforts will be spent asking Street about the recent verdict on the pay-to-play scandals. The cop and I are chatting casually, waiting to be let into Council Chambers, which also serves as a press briefing room. From City Hall's second floor, in the brilliant, midday sun, we can see a perfectly framed vista down East Market — only it looks like dusk through the building's filthy windows.

The sergeant is appalled, insisting that something's deeply wrong when a pilot can get into restricted airspace. I'm trying to argue that a mistake was made — sure — but in the end, it was OK for lots of reasons.

"Look, his radios were busted, but the system still worked," I say. "The plane was on Washington radar the entire time. And there are upgrades in the works to signal planes from the ground."

The sergeant is unconvinced. He'd been there in Washington with the mayor at the time of the incursion, who was lobbying in the Senate Office Building with other big-city mayors. When the alarm sounded, according to the mayor, the scene was "just short of a panic." Street ran fast and far. At a safe distance, Street describes how a strange, hysterical woman grabbed him by the arm, and hung on, chanting, "I am so afraid." Everyone was, says Street.

But nobody got hurt, I remind the cop. "And it's a great country that gives us such freedom."

With nothing else to add, the cop turns away. Then again, it is tough trying to defend a flying fuck-up. Still, if we can find some way to protect the arcane rights even of society's least competent, everybody's freedoms are strengthened. Thankfully, D.C. bureaucrats are not calling to restrict airspace further, which is a testimony to our government's occasional spasm of good sense.

Besides, if the cop had been with me the day before, I think he'd agree in an instant. Earlier in the week I took off with Diane, a friend of mine, for a view of Philly from a mile up. I've got a two-seat plane — actually a motorized glider — hangared at the airport in Northeast Philly. (There's a picture on my Web site at www.schimmel.com).

Over the last decade I've given away hundreds of rides, to people from 18 to 80, most of them total strangers. I've flown with folks from all walks of life. It's a privilege. Being suspended in the air, with a clear view but clearly detached from the earth, changes you. And, sure, we can cut the engine and silently glide, if you want.

My friend, Diane, was changed. A little depressed before the flight, she was light-footed after we landed. She's stage-managing for an upcoming play at Hedgerow, and after tasting the freedom of flight, she was bubbling with ideas. So that's my payoff: getting people energized. For me, this is a form of public service.

Now here comes a disclosure: I'm not a commercial pilot, so I'm not allowed to accept payment, and nor do I want any. (Though you may, if you insist, make a contribution to a charity of your own choosing.) So it's your call to assume some risk — which is altogether fitting. Because as I tried to tell the sergeant, having freedom means having to take some chances. Shit happens in a free society, as it does in little planes. But I think you'll agree that liberty is more than worth it.

Raise the Parking Tax, Please

Note to suburbanites whining about the proposed increase in parking taxes: Tough on you. Take a train, take a bus, get off your ass and walk. You want cheap valet parking, you wanna clog the streets and stink up the air, you should pay and then pay some more. Philadelphia's streets were made for walking. And you're getting a free ride that the rest of us are paying with our lungs, our ears and our nerves. You like the city? Great. Take public transit, or pay for what you're taking.

Junket to Japan: Last Call

CP's publisher Paul Curci and I are flying to Japan at the end of this month. And as I wrote a couple weeks ago, we're seeking Philadelphians living in the Land of the Rising Sun. We're looking for names of musicians, architects, chefs and other creatives with a perspective of Philly from the other side of the world. So send me an e-mail me with more names of friends abroad — and we'll buy the drinks.