Tower Jokes

Love 'em. I remember one from the 707 days. A Lufthansa 707-320 pulled out of the queue and started to taxi back to the terminal. When asked by the tower if he had a problem he answered that they had "lost" a passenger. Someone responded, " Did you check your ovens?" Not very nice but there were a lot of ex-B-17 pilots flying airliners at the time.
My favorite was the comment after one of the first 737's made a take off, " NICE PUNT!"

 

From the old "If you can hear this transmission, rock your wings," one WW-II trainee asked if they could hear this transmission, rock the tower.

Back in the days when the Thunderbirds flew T-38s, they were usually in a big hurry to take off because of their short legs. From an F-111D pilot sitting number one, tower asked if the Thunderbird could take off first. The F-111D pilot answered "Sure, let the trainer take off first," making himself very unpopular with some and a hero to many more.

 

Funny stuff guys.

I copied the following from one of the SR71 threads a while back. I thought it applied to this thread. It's definitely a repost but I always get a laugh from it

 

All of those and more here:

Short Final - AVweb

 

Mule- I guarantee you will not find the Thunderbird story in there.

 

Taz,

So that must be sacrosanct Aardvark lore... are you sure you can divulge it on a public forum?

 

Yes - that was the one (Lufthansa) I remember. And the version I heard had the Tower making the ovens comment and the Lufthansa pilot shutting down on the active taxiway and demanding a personal apology from the controller until he would move.

 

T- Affirmative, I was sitting number 2 when it happened.

 

There's an old, but funny book of cartoons by Bob Stevens by the same name: "If you read me, rock the tower".


More tower humor:

One day a CFI and his Student are holding on the runway for departing cross traffic when suddenly a deer runs out of the nearby woods, stops in the middle of the runway, and just stands there looking at them.

Tower: Cessna XXX cleared for take-off.
Std: “What should I do? What should I do?”
Inst: “What do you think you should do?”
(think-think-think)
Std: “Maybe if I taxi toward him it’ll scare him away.”
Inst: “That’s a good idea.”
(Taxi toward deer, but deer is macho, and holds position.)
Tower: Cessna XXX cleared for take-off, runway NN.
Std: “What should I do? What should I do?”
Inst: “What do you think you should do?”
(think-think-think)
Std: “Maybe I should tell the tower.”
Inst: “That’s a good idea.”
Std: Cessna XXX, uh, there’s a deer down here on the runway.
(long pause)
Tower: Roger XXX, hold your position. Deer on runway NN cleared for immediate departure.
(Two seconds, and then — by coincidence — the deer bolts from the runway, and runs back into the woods.)
Tower: Cessna XXX cleared for departure, runway NN. Caution wake turbulence, departing deer.

 

There was a rather fussy controller at Berlin Templehof airport back in the '60s, and he was issuing terse instructions to various planes arriving and departing. One day, a Pan Am flight arrived and made the wrong turn off at the runway, and partially blocked a taxiway in use for departures.

The fussy tower controller was on the radio and excoriating the Pan Am pilot: "Pan Am, you are not supposed to be there, and now are blocking the taxiway. You have caused confusion and are not following directions! Have you never been here before!?"

The Pan Am pilot replied in his best southern drawl: "Way-ul, Templehof tower I was here before. Twice in fact, in early 1944, but it was an overflight, and I did not land."

Tower didn't have anything more to say to the Pan Am except 'Pan Am cleared to taxi straight ahead to your gate'.

 

"Center, Dusty two two requesting flight level 650."

"Dusty two two, well yeah - you can have it, if you can get up there."

"Roger center, Dusty two two out of seven point four down to 650."

(SR-71)

 

Then submit it to them to share.

 

Here is the full SR-71 story:
The Ultimate Ground Speed Check - Tales from the Blackbird

The Ultimate Ground Speed Check - Tales from the Blackbird

This is an excerpt from Brian Schul's book Sled Driver : Flying the World's Fastest Jet. (which happens to be out of print and ludicrously expensive now, I wish I had bought a copy when I could have afforded it).



There were a lot of things we couldn't do in an SR-71, but we were the fastest guys on the block and loved reminding our fellow aviators of this fact. People often asked us if, because of this fact, it was fun to fly the jet. Fun would not be the first word I would use to describe flying this plane. Intense, maybe. Even cerebral. But there was one day in our Sled experience when we would have to say that it was pure fun to be the fastest guys out there, at least for a moment.

It occurred when Walt and I were flying our final training sortie. We needed 100 hours in the jet to complete our training and attain Mission Ready status. Somewhere over Colorado we had passed the century mark. We had made the turn in Arizona and the jet was performing flawlessly. My gauges were wired in the front seat and we were starting to feel pretty good about ourselves, not only because we would soon be flying real missions but because we had gained a great deal of confidence in the plane in the past ten months. Ripping across the barren deserts 80,000 feet below us, I could already see the coast of California from the Arizona border. I was, finally, after many humbling months of simulators and study, ahead of the jet.

I was beginning to feel a bit sorry for Walter in the back seat. There he was, with no really good view of the incredible sights before us, tasked with monitoring four different radios. This was good practice for him for when we began flying real missions, when a priority transmission from headquarters could be vital. It had been difficult, too, for me to relinquish control of the radios, as during my entire flying career I had controlled my own transmissions. But it was part of the division of duties in this plane and I had adjusted to it. I still insisted on talking on the radio while we were on the ground, however. Walt was so good at many things, but he couldn't match my expertise at sounding smooth on the radios, a skill that had been honed sharply with years in fighter squadrons where the slightest radio miscue was grounds for beheading. He understood that and allowed me that luxury.

Just to get a sense of what Walt had to contend with, I pulled the radio toggle switches and monitored the frequencies along with him. The predominant radio chatter was from Los Angeles Center, far below us, controlling daily traffic in their sector. While they had us on their scope (albeit briefly), we were in uncontrolled airspace and normally would not talk to them unless we needed to descend into their airspace.

We listened as the shaky voice of a lone Cessna pilot asked Center for a readout of his ground speed. Center replied: "November Charlie 175, I'm showing you at ninety knots on the ground."

Now the thing to understand about Center controllers, was that whether they were talking to a rookie pilot in a Cessna, or to Air Force One, they always spoke in the exact same, calm, deep, professional, tone that made one feel important. I referred to it as the " Houston Center voice." I have always felt that after years of seeing documentaries on this country's space program and listening to the calm and distinct voice of the Houston controllers, that all other controllers since then wanted to sound like that, and that they basically did. And it didn't matter what sector of the country we would be flying in, it always seemed like the same guy was talking. Over the years that tone of voice had become somewhat of a comforting sound to pilots everywhere. Conversely, over the years, pilots always wanted to ensure that, when transmitting, they sounded like Chuck Yeager, or at least like John Wayne. Better to die than sound bad on the radios.

Just moments after the Cessna's inquiry, a Twin Beech piped up on frequency, in a rather superior tone, asking for his ground speed. "I have you at one hundred and twenty-five knots of ground speed." Boy, I thought, the Beechcraft really must think he is dazzling his Cessna brethren. Then out of the blue, a navy F-18 pilot out of NAS Lemoore came up on frequency. You knew right away it was a Navy jock because he sounded very cool on the radios. "Center, Dusty 52 ground speed check". Before Center could reply, I'm thinking to myself, hey, Dusty 52 has a ground speed indicator in that million-dollar cockpit, so why is he asking Center for a readout? Then I got it, ol' Dusty here is making sure that every bug smasher from Mount Whitney to the Mojave knows what true speed is. He's the fastest dude in the valley today, and he just wants everyone to know how much fun he is having in his new Hornet. And the reply, always with that same, calm, voice, with more distinct alliteration than emotion: "Dusty 52, Center, we have you at 620 on the ground."

And I thought to myself, is this a ripe situation, or what? As my hand instinctively reached for the mic button, I had to remind myself that Walt was in control of the radios. Still, I thought, it must be done - in mere seconds we'll be out of the sector and the opportunity will be lost. That Hornet must die, and die now. I thought about all of our Sim training and how important it was that we developed well as a crew and knew that to jump in on the radios now would destroy the integrity of all that we had worked toward becoming. I was torn.

Somewhere, 13 miles above Arizona, there was a pilot screaming inside his space helmet. Then, I heard it. The click of the mic button from the back seat. That was the very moment that I knew Walter and I had become a crew. Very professionally, and with no emotion, Walter spoke: "Los Angeles Center, Aspen 20, can you give us a ground speed check?" There was no hesitation, and the replay came as if was an everyday request. "Aspen 20, I show you at one thousand eight hundred and forty-two knots, across the ground."

I think it was the forty-two knots that I liked the best, so accurate and proud was Center to deliver that information without hesitation, and you just knew he was smiling. But the precise point at which I knew that Walt and I were going to be really good friends for a long time was when he keyed the mic once again to say, in his most fighter-pilot-like voice: "Ah, Center, much thanks, we're showing closer to nineteen hundred on the money."

For a moment Walter was a god. And we finally heard a little crack in the armor of the Houston Center voice, when L.A.came back with, "Roger that Aspen, Your equipment is probably more accurate than ours. You boys have a good one."

It all had lasted for just moments, but in that short, memorable sprint across the southwest, the Navy had been flamed, all mortal airplanes on freq were forced to bow before the King of Speed, and more importantly, Walter and I had crossed the threshold of being a crew. A fine day's work. We never heard another transmission on that frequency all the way to the coast.

For just one day, it truly was fun being the fastest guys out there.

 

a couple of personal encounters...

back in the day flying a 441... when C jets weren't all that fast... center comes on to advise of Citation departing and would be climbing through our airspace and overtaking... a moment later center comes back on to disregard prior transmission, no longer a factor having overtaken traffic and clear ahead...

on another occasion I was flying a warbird at altitude with a big push from the jet stream, things were quiet.. asked for a speed check for grins... got an impressive number... to which center asks what kind of jet I had... I replied single engine recip ... long period of silence... :=) ... before we sorted out what I was flying

 

Mule- Nope, just for my AviatorChat buddies.

 

+1

I love that story.



Mark

 

Fastest I have been was on a functional check flight in an F-111D at mach 2.55 and 1550 KTAS and the total temp gauge said in 300 secs the wings were going to melt off. The SR was nearly a mach number faster than that and could maintain for a couple of hours. Amazing.

 

F-111s could do Mach 2.55???

 

Apparently... no BS from taz...

Wiki says max is 2.5 mach... I guess the extra 0.05 is wing melting territory.

 

I had dinner with Brian Schul a couple of years ago and he told this story. Great guy. I don't think he gets tired of telling it. Incredible life story.

 

Jim- That was an F-111D with 20 Klbst each engine. The F-111Fs with 25 Klbst each easily did mach 2.6 when being accepted from the factory. On the acceptance mach runs, the F-111F would have to roll inverted while still accelerating to prevent going through FL500. Only trouble was all F-111s used a conventional aluminum airframe that could not sustain that kind of velocity for very long. Since the F-111 was initially conceived as a high altitude interceptor, too, especially the F-111B and F-111D, the engineers put in a total temperature gauge. When skin temperature sensors hit a certain reading, a 300 sec clock and a big Total Temp warning went off. If the aircraft was not decelerated within that 300 second window, structural damage would occur.

The F-111 was conceived by the Whiz Kids, including McNamara, as all things to all people and the airframe and intakes were optimized for both mach 2.5 flight at high altitude and low level, high speed on terrain following radar. There were even pressure suit connections in the aircraft for flight above FL 500, never used operationally.

 

I used to fly for Hustler Magazine up till last June. We would go to Vegas almost every Saturday afternoon like clockwork. For those who dont know, the plane is painted all black with a gold stripe......no subtle.

So the tower guys always had a funny to say as we were always there. One day we check in on tower freq and the controller says, "269HM cleared to land and welcome back"

I respond, "Clear to land 19R 269HM....and do you guys want your weekly supply left in the normal spot?"

After a second, the supervisor comes on freq and says, "Guys, there isnt a dry eye in the tower right now....thanks for the chuckle."