Close on the heels of this 4th of July comes the realization that the most heated presidential election we will probably see in our life times is really upon us. The relentless drum-beat from both nominees is that this nation is in serious need of some serious change.

While I’m not quite ready to throw in the towel with those who say the U.S. is busted, there is little doubt that the Congress has forgotten the meaning of the words leadership and compromise. No where does that seemingly worn out notion of leadership - or the lack of it - hit home more than at our own personal bunch of sky-bobbies, the FAA.

You’ve all heard me and many others beat these management folks up in the past year, whether it’s about the failure of the agency to negotiate some sort of settlement with the nation’s air traffic controllers, to the mess the inspectors uncovered with their bosses in Washington over how much self-policing the airlines should be allowed, to why a guy in a lawn chair over Idaho isn’t in jail for endangering the safety of the flying public after launching his balloon-powered seat over Oregon over this weekend. And don’t get me started on user fees and Next-Gen or the JPDO …

The overall responsibility for all this FAA silliness ends up precisely where it should, on the desk of Bobby Sturgell, the man who would be administrator pictured here with his political appointee pal Mary Peters.

But for once, let’s cut Bobby a little slack … not too much though, because while Bobby has proven he’s great at making speeches - thirteen in the past three months in fact - he is not up to the job of evoking change at the agency, much less leading it anywhere. When I went through FAA Management School in Lawton OK 20 years ago, management of everything was the job to be learned, not leadership. It seems that little has changed.

So why show Bobby Sturgell any mercy?

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It’s been awhile since I’ve attended an FAA safety seminar. With good intentions I read all e-mail invitations FAASafety.gov sends, but other weekend responsibilities too often take precedence. A tailwheel clinic, on the other hand, is more important than cutting the grass, especially when it’s held in a place where airplanes are born. 

Located on the Rochester, Wisconsin, airport, the American Champion Aircraft (ACA) factory wasn’t hard to find. In the main assembly hangar several dozen people, many wearing their best aviation T-shirts, milled around the tables where the Rochester Library Association sold coffee Grande and high-octane pastries for $1 each. Based on the safety clinics I’d attended in the past, the crowd seemed average. 

Nearby, a High Country Explorer guarded a sea of 200 empty chairs that faced a large screen standing before a yellow Scout on tall Tundra Tires. Rather optimistic attendance hopes, I thought, given that taildragger pilots are a minority among aviators.

Then an amplified voice echoed through the hangar. “Let’s get started,” said Jeff Taylor of the Wisconsin Bureau of Aeronautics. Those with coffee and donuts got the best seats. Right behind them were the pilots who had been exploring the CNC mills and towering racks of aluminum and steel airplane parts. At 9 a.m., it was hard to find an empty chair.

What’s going on here?

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