Bob Barbanes repost #3: Copter crashes in Gulf of Mexico

The Associated Press reported:

MORGAN CITY, La. (AP) - A helicopter crashed and sank Saturday after its
landing gear caught on the handrail of an oil rig off the Louisiana coast.

The Coast Guard, Petroleum Helicopters Inc. and two offshore supply vessels
searched for the pilot, identified as Charles Getchell, 56, of Milton, Fla.


Wednesday, March 27, 2002 was a beautiful day...the kind that this area of
north Florida is famous for: bright blue, cloudless sky, clean air, warm but
low-humidity...a beach day! ...The kind of day that you look at ordinary stuff
and are just happy to be alive. Which was ironic, because the reason I was out
in the sun in the first place was the funeral of a friend. We buried Charlie
Getchell yesterday. He died this past Saturday in a helicopter crash out in
the Gulf of Mexico. We know iwhat/i happened; we just don't know
iwhy./i Yet. We will.

Charlie and his brother Larry both worked for PHI. When PHI had the contract
with Baptist Hospital in Pensacola, Larry was Lead Pilot and Charlie was their
vacation/relief guy. Omniflight has the contract now. Coincidentally, March
of 2002 found both brothers assigned to the same gulf coast base on the same
""hitch."" Larry was crewing an S-76 and Charlie, although he certainly had
the seniority to fly the so-called ""big ships,"" chose to stick with 206's and
the like. It was in an L-4 that he had his accident.

I liked Charlie Getchell from the moment I met him. Gregarious, outgoing,
good-natured, generous, kind, quick with a joke...ialways/i with a joke and
a smile. You could not help but like him. Even on the rare occasions when he
might be aggravated and ranting about something, you could tell his good mood
was bubbling under the surface, just waiting for him to take a breath so it
could reappear. Our paths crossed a couple of times at PHI, where he worked
for twenty years. Off the job, I occasionally was the lucky member of a group
comprised of Charlie, his brother Larry, and their good friends Jim Norris and
Stan Grossman (also PHI pilots) that met to ride bikes and hang out talking
aviation for hours and hours. Those guys are not mere helicopter pilots,
they're all Professional Aviators and I can't think of a higher compliment to a
pilot than that.

But there was another side of Charlie that I hadn't seen, or perhaps had
ignored. When I showed up for his wake on Tuesday night, the parking lot of
the funeral home was jammed and the line to get inside stretched out and around
and completely down the side of the big building. Puzzled, I wondered how many
wakes were going on that night...four? Five? When asked, the couple in front
of me said that they were there for ""Brother Getchell."" Hmm, this guy was a
bigger member of his church than I'd known! I hadn't seen Larry in awhile, and
frankly didn't have too many words. Neither did he. We just looked at each
other with the understanding that we helicopter pilots sha that our
business is risky and sometimes fatal and as painful as it is, we just have to
accept it. Finally, I noted that you could tell from the size of the crowd
that Charlie was a man who truly was loved.

That was evidenced the next day at the funeral. The First Baptist Church of
Milton, one of the largest churches in the area, was chock-full. I stood
outside in a group of other pilots and med crews who flew with him, before
entering ien masse./i The service was touching. Grown men wept. ""That's
alright,"" the Preacher said. He quoted Scripture, ""Jesus wept."" He
continued, ""Fifty-six year-old men shouldn't die. Parents shouldn't have to
bury their children."" Charlie's mom had already done it already once before.
A third son, Kenny, after two successful tours in Viet Nam was working as an
instructor at Ft. Rucker when he was killed in a training accident. (Fourth
son Harris elected to not take up flying.)

As I looked around, I could not help but notice how many ""Schedule II"" (i.e.
on-duty) pilots were there. PHI, in an incredible demonstration of compassion,
allowed as many guys off as wanted to go. I've been sharply critical of PHI
management in the past. But this showed a startling level of sensitivity. And
I, for one, appreciated it. Companies can be human sometimes. (Helicopter
companies need to be.)

The procession to the cemetery disrupted the entire lunch hour of the small
town of Milton, Florida. There is a thoughtful, respectful tradition down
here. People on both sides of the road stop and let funeral processions pass
with dignity. Ours was so lengthy that surely people are scanning their
newspapers today to see which famous person died. As we entered the cemetery,
Stan Grossman remarked that if you ever wanted a measure of your success in
life, this was certainly a good one. We should all have so many friends and
relatives come to see us off.

During the graveside service, our attention was directed westward. Soon, a
Twinstar approached. It was Baptist Hospital's LifeFlight. It came in low,
slowed to a hover, then gave a respectful dip of its nose in salute to a fallen
comrade before moving off. Very moving.

In a thread on the www.justhelicopters discussion board, a pilot whose friend
was killed in a recent S-61 accident ruminates about why we do this job. It is
inexplicable, and we try to avoid the question. I mean, we're not curing
cancer here, or doing anything else that is truly beneficial to society (with
the exception of EMS, that is). Sure, Charlie died doing something he
loved...even his wife Anita said that to me...and that's our famous
rationalization. But where does that leave iher?/i And how about his mom,
and the rest of his family? Do we owe them nothing? Okay, I'll stop ranting.
It's why I'm not a full-time pilot anymore. I cut my risk/exposure waaaaay
back.

It has been said that aviation is a cruel, heartless mistress, and it's true.
We know we could die, much more easily than in many other professions. And we
know that our friends could die. The point is poignantly driven home every
time we hear of someone killed in our line of work whether we know them or not.
Personally, I've lost too many friends in this business over the years, thank
you very much.

After the funeral, a group of us repaired to Stan Grossman's house, where we
engaged in another time-honored aviation tradition, toasting a departed
colleague. He was no Superman. In fact, Charlie himself would be the first to
tell you that he was just a regular guy. Yeah. Right. From what I saw
yesterday, most of us can only hope to attain the kind of respect, admiration
and love accorded to Charlie Getchell.

Rest in peace, my friend.

Bob Barbanes


"The dignity of the craft is that it creates a fellowship."
Antoine de St. Exupery