The TRACON was the portion of the air traffic control facility that handled arrivals, departures and over flights by providing radar separation between aircraft. The control tower cab, recognized by its stereotypical glass enclosure at the top of the tower, handled clearances, ground movement of aircraft and other vehicles, and cleared aircraft to taxi, take off and land. The control tower and the TRACON worked in concert to sequence and choreograph arrivals and departures from the Savannah International Airport. The timing had to be precise. The air traffic controller could never make a mistake. Mistakes could cost lives.
Kaplan stepped forward, headset in his hand, and waited at the front line manager’s desk while his eyes adjusted to the darkness of the radar room. “Front line manager” was the coined title the Federal Aviation Administration decided to call supervisors after the agency imposed work rules on the air traffic controller workforce in 2006. An imposition that lasted three years.
In the center of the radar room the manager sat at a gaudy rectangular behemoth the FAA called a desk. It was made up of two three-section consoles, each wrapping around a hundred eighty degrees. A space between the sections allowed the managers to walk through and sit in the seats in the middle. From the center of the radar room, the desk overlooked the four radar scopes.
Four radarscopes and the flight data position, lined up next to each other, occupied the fourth wall. Three walls in the nearly square room were devoid of any air traffic control equipment. No pictures. No tables. No chairs. Nothing — just empty, black walls.
Kaplan’s eyes adjusted to the darkness within a couple of minutes and he saw only two radar positions open. The other two radar scopes were unmanned and their traffic combined on the open scopes, standard procedure when traffic volume decreases or staffing is inadequate.
The West and North Radar sectors were combined on the North Radar scope. The South Radar position provided final approach service to inbound aircraft by providing vectors for the approach, prior to transferring control of the aircraft over to the control tower when the planes got within a few miles of the airport. The air traffic controller up in the control tower cab then cleared the aircraft to land.
The South Radar position appeared very busy, with two controllers and a front line manager plugged into the same position. The flight data controller turned around, and seeing him, raised his hand in acknowledgement. Gregg Kaplan motioned him over.
The controller rolled his chair back without getting up, and Kaplan whispered, “What’s going on over there? Looks like Annie’s down the crapper.”
The controller replied, “It’s been like this all morning, a steady stream of inbounds. I hate St. Patrick’s Day. It’s getting worse than Thanksgiving. Everybody’s comin’ to the party.”
Kaplan walked up to the South Radar position, plugged his headset into the slot next to Annie’s and said, “Tuber!” She grinned at the word, a dig made among controllers when they got extremely busy.
The term supposedly originated from the dropping of flight plan information printed on strips, usually several in rapid succession, down a tube from the control tower cab to the radar room signifying that there would soon be a departure push and the controller would get very busy — otherwise known as “going down the tubes.”
Annie Bulloch, Kaplan’s girlfriend for more than ten years, had tucked her long auburn mane in a bun. She wore khaki capri pants, his favorite, and, as was her style, a blouse that accentuated her shapely five-foot-three figure. A splash of freckles showed across her upper back just above the low neckline of her shirt.
“I can’t do a repeat of last night if I have to open the next morning,” she whispered. “I’m just getting too damn old to make that kind of turn-around on that little sleep.”
“You didn’t seem too old last night. If I recall correctly, you had enough energy for three rounds.”
She shot him a dirty look. “Have I told you lately that I hate you?”
“No, you don’t, you love me.”
“Dream on, lover boy. You know the attraction’s purely sexual.”
“Whatever. I’ll come by after work and maybe we can head down to River Street. I hear there’s a pretty good Celtic band at Barry’s.”
“Okay, it’s a date.”
Their romance started fast, with fire and passion. At first he likened it to something along the lines of what is now called ‘friends with benefits.’ And the benefits were awesome. Later he realized their commitment to each other was at a deeper level. She had mentioned marriage to him more than once. He wasn’t thrilled with the idea, and deep down he didn’t think she was either. His mindset was that their current arrangement had suited them well, so why change it?
He leaned over and looked at the radar scope. “Mac said you are going home early, give me a briefing.”
Annie pulled up the automated position relief-briefing checklist. “You are working South Radar and Arrival, the weather at the field is marginal VFR with strong winds from the west. The ceiling is low enough to require instrument approaches so we’re using the GPS Runway 27 almost exclusively.
“Some aircraft have used other approaches but all have to circle to land on runway two-seven. Equipment is up and operational except for the primary radar. There is no back-up but it hasn’t caused a problem this morning.”
She continued, “Traffic has been steady but seems to have tapered off for now. Flow control, to Atlanta as usual. They just canceled the ground delay program for Atlanta, but there are ground stops for several airports in the New England states due to the winter storm. You’re working these four here,” she pointed to the data block tags for the aircraft. “This is new business, and it looks like you have another inbound. Any questions?”
“No questions, I got it.”
She unplugged from the position, got out of her chair, kissed him on the cheek and left.
Kaplan, in his usual unflappable fashion, worked his sector load…
“Savannah, Challenger three one niner Charlie Bravo descending to one one thousand with Foxtrot.”
“Challenger three one niner Charlie Bravo, Savannah Approach, roger, turn right heading one one zero, descend and maintain five thousand, Savannah altimeter two niner niner eight.” “Challenger three one niner Charlie Bravo roger.”
“Departure, Cheyenne three one four six two off two-seven out one thousand for three thousand.”
“Cheyenne three one four six two, Savannah, radar contact, fly heading two niner zero, climb and maintain one zero thousand.”
“Heading two niner zero and up to ten, Cheyenne four six two.”
Static…unintelligible.
“Aircraft calling Savannah, transmitting carrier only, unreadable.”
“Attention all aircraft, Savannah ATIS information Golf now in use.”
“Challenger three-one-niner Charlie Bravo, the one-five-fiveone METAR wind two eight zero at one-zero, gust to one-five, visibility seven, one thousand six hundred overcast temperature one-one, dew point zero-eight, altimeter twoniner-niner-eight, cleared direct WORIB, expect GPS runway two seven approach.”
He was somewhat relieved that this was his last inbound of the rush to Savannah. He had issued the same weather sequence to every aircraft. The same clearance to the same approach with the same instructions. Boredom took over quickly.
“Challenger three-one-niner Charlie Bravo copy the weather direct WORIB at this time.”
“Cheyenne three-one-four-six-two proceed direct Dublin, contact JAX Center one three two point five.”