Orchestrating safety

The big tanker was shooting a practice instrument landing system approach to Runway 36. An intercom message from the approach controller reminded me the tanker wanted to execute a touch-and-go and then return for a back course ILS to Runway 18. I’d need to plan accordingly.

As the tower controller, my brain was already working out potential conflicts, like the Cessna 172 on the right downwind, also for Runway 36, for a touch and go. I knew I couldn’t squeeze the 172 in before the tanker, though. Even if I’d asked the Skyhawk pilot for a short approach, the KC–135 would catch him in the climbout, so I needed another plan. Instead, I asked the 172 pilot for a wide, left three-sixty to buy me a little time. I also had a Cessna Citation and another twin Cessna that had called ready for takeoff on Runway 36 to consider. I didn’t like making departures wait for training ops.

As I figured out my Runway 36 inbounds and departures, I was watching the tower radar display for the Piper Arrow inbound from the north on a practice back course to Runway 18. The pilot was still pretty far out. The Arrow pilot wanted to fly it to minimums, but then there was the opposite direction KC–135 to keep in mind. My tower airspace allowed me to turn the KC–135 to a heading between 330 and 060 degrees. Hmm. I might need to break the Arrow off the back course early, but I filed that strategy in my brain for a little later…say in two more minutes. I had a twin Cessna shooting a nonprecision approach to Runway 12 to a full-stop landing. That should be easy to fit in, except I needed a plan just in case the twin went around for some reason. I quickly decided I’d crank the twin hard left to the northwest to avoid traffic on the east side of the field. Plenty of moving targets. The planning continued.

Air traffic control is a never-ending series of often split-second decisions, especially at this airport, the Greater Rockford Airport (which has since had its runways realigned and name changed to Chicago/Rockford International Airport), about 90 miles northwest of downtown Chicago. In the mid-1980s, the airport entertained almost no commercial airline traffic, which made it a perfect place for flight training. My job as a tower controller was to keep them all safely separated.

Most of the single and twin-engine trainers flew over from Chicago-area airports, like Palwaukee (now Chicago Executive Airport), DuPage Airport, Waukegan National Airport, Chicago Midway International Airport, and Aurora Municipal Airport, where dozens of flight schools were based. The KC–135s often visited from the Air National Guard base at Milwaukee because Rockford offered almost every kind of radio- and radar-guided approach they needed to practice for as long as they wanted to hang out. Milwaukee’s airline traffic made training there nearly impossible.

While aiming a herd of airplanes at the airport from different directions might sound a little crazy, delivering ATC services to various aircraft was what we were paid for.

When I was still a trainee at Rockford, I’d watch in awe as the more experienced controllers smoothly directed big and little airplanes in all directions. They made it look like child’s play. That’s one of the great parts of being a controller. You didn’t need someone to tell you when you were doing a good job. You knew it when everything worked smoothly—you could feel it. A busy tower session served as constant recurrent training for even certificated controllers.

I learned early on that this kind of beehive training traffic was common on a solid VFR day because the tower controller could use visual separation to keep things running smoothly. If I could see the KC–135 and the Skyhawk on downwind and the Arrow on the back course and I kept each pilot informed about the other traffic, it was all legal. Admittedly, a little scary at times, but all perfectly legal. And to be honest, it was a heck of a lot of fun making my brain run this ATC chess game in my head while it evolved outside. It was just like working on my instrument rating.

Rockford was, after all, a huge training environment. Sometimes, just when I thought I had everything under control, some pilot would toss me a monkey wrench. A pilot might miss a radio call or make an unexpected turn or slow down or speed up at just the wrong time. I had to react quickly. The worst, though, were pilots who delayed their touch and go or turned the wrong way after departure. If that happened with a big aircraft like a KC–135 or a Lockheed C–130 on final at the same time, the pitch of my voice increased. “Eight-Five-Golf … no delay on the go. Traffic is a KC–135 on a two-mile final behind you.” That usually got them moving, but not always. If not, I might have to change my plan again. “Harley Three-Two,” (the 135), “go around. Traffic on the runway. Fly heading three-four-zero on the go.” Of course, about then, the 172 on the runway would lift, and I had to keep the KC–135 from running it over. Then there was the Arrow on the back course. I always wanted pilots to finish their practice approach, but with airplanes coming at them nose-to-nose, sometimes the only solution was to cry uncle.

ATC isn’t for everyone. Training can take years to complete. Even these days, at least 30 percent of ATC trainees drop out.

An ATC job pays extremely well today. In my day, not so much. But real controllers don’t work for the money alone. The adrenaline rush when we were busy got into our blood. We knew the consequences of a mistake were high in this job. But our brains craved the action. We were drawn to it like a moth to a flame.