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Memphis, Tennessee

I was pretty busy working the Blytheville high-altitude sector when an American Airlines pilot asked for direct routing to Fort Wayne, Indiana.

“Unable at this time,” I replied. Without missing a beat, the pilot responded, “Roger. How about now?”

— Dacus Grant: Memphis Center

Westbury, New York

A friend of mine who was a military controller was assigned to help out at the Common IFR Room (New York TRACON) after the strike in 1981. One day, he was chatting with several colleagues about a new computerized navigation system onboard aircraft, which is practically obsolete now but was hot stuff back then.

“Boy, that INS is really great,” the controller said. “It can tell you so much stuff—winds aloft, etc. It can even tell you if the flight attendant in first class gives good head.”

A few moments later, he noticed a light on his frequency panel, indicating that his mike had been keyed during his comments. Embarassed, he lowered his voice (trying to make the pilots think that another controller had taken over the position), and issued his next transmission.

“All right TRACON,” the pilot responded, “we’re out of 13 for 17, direct Robbinsville, New York Center 123.6 and she does.”

— Brenda Paul (retired): Columbus Tower,
Los Angeles Center, Las Vegas TRACON

Chicago, Illinois

A controller was lining up arrivals to runway 32 Left in a classic “string of pearls” strung out three miles apart in a long line from the airport to Chicago Heights. He told each flight to maintain 180 knots until the outer marker. All was going well until he realized American 851 had started to get too close to Delta 55.

“American 851, what’s your airspeed?” he asked.

“We slowed to 160. We’re starting to catch up on the aircraft ahead,” came the reply.

“American 851, you’re three fucking miles behind Delta,” the controller barked. “Pick up your airspeed to 180.” Then he radioed the next plane in line. “United 460, American ahead slowed. What’s your airspeed?”

“One-eighty Approach, and we won’t change it unless you tell us to. Promise!”

— Bill Yocius (retired): O’Hare TRACON

Chicago, Illinois

Heard over the airwaves:

“Midway Tower, this is Nan 36. What’s the direction of landing today?”

“Nan 36, down!”

On another occasion during an evening rush:

“Midway, this is American 35. What’s the temperature down there?”

“American 35, 98-point-6, but rising rapidly.”

— Bill Yocius (retired): Midway Tower

San Jose, California

After landing long to the southeast (due to rare winter winds), a Continental flight radioed the tower to say: “OK, we’re stopped. Which way do we go?”

The response: “Taxi to the ramp via Interstate 880, Coleman exit. If unable, we’ll call one for ’ya.”

— Continental Airlines Captain Mr. Bill

Fort Wayne, Indiana

I heard this one with my own big ears in the Fort Wayne Tower in the late 1960s. The subject phraseology was something I’d heard before as a joke, but this was real.

The local controller was very busy, hardly taking time to breathe between transmissions to aircraft in the VFR traffic pattern, when the pilot of an AC68 transmitted, “There’s a flock of ducks right at pattern altitude on downwind.”

Without a pause, the local controller fired back: “If you can contact the leader, tell him to get the flock out of there.”

— Mac Hayes (retired): Fort Wayne, Indiana, Tower

Fort Worth, Texas

This story has made the rounds for a long time. Pilots have asked me about it and controllers from other facilities have told me about it. The incident supposedly occurred, among other places, at La Guardia Airport in New York and as far away as Amsterdam. I happen to be lucky enough to know that this one-liner actually did occur at Fort Worth Center.

The controller involved was working a high-altitude arrival sector sequencing flights for DFW Airport. It was busy, forcing her to hustle to make sure the planes descended fast enough to make a “crossing restriction” for approach control. During this hectic period, the following dialogue transpired:

Controller: “American 243, descend and maintain flight level two-four-zero.”

Pilot: “Center, can we have that at pilot’s discretion?”

Controller: “American 243, if I wanted you to descend at your discretion I would have told you to. Now, begin your descent to flight level two-four-zero!”

Pilot: “Roger, we’re starting down now to two-four-zero. (Pause.) Center, was I married to you once?”

— Eric Reynolds: Forth Worth Center

Lubbock, Texas

An F-16 using the call sign Big Dog One was flying above Lubbock in airspace that includes several military operations areas, which require precise vectors. During the course of several clearances, it became clear the pilot wasn’t too happy following the controller’s instructions.

Exasperated, the controller unkeyed and said to his colleagues, “They should have called this guy Big Dick One.” This prompted a round of jokes about other potential call signs.

The controller then keyed up again and inadvertently referred to the F-16 as Big Dick One. After a pause, the pilot gladly answered to the new call sign while flying through the rest of the sector.

— Eric Reynolds: Forth Worth Center

Caldwell, New Jersey

During a very busy Saturday, the local controller was talking nonstop while sequencing aircraft, issuing traffic, clearing the runways and so on. Suddenly, a plane entered the downwind leg of the approach pattern in an unusual position—and immediately in front of the second aircraft on final.

“Cessna 123, do you have the Piper that just cut you off in sight?” the controller asked. A blood-curdling “aaaahh” shrieked over the frequency.

Without missing a beat, the controller calmly radioed back: “Roger. Follow that aircraft, number four.”

— Todd Kerekes: Caldwell Tower

Alamogordo, New Mexico

While taxiing to park after landing, an F-15 pilot radioed, “Ground, Racer zero-one has just struck a coyote.”

“Racer zero-one, do you need any assistance,” the Tower controller replied.

“Negative, Ground. He’s dead.”

— Jeff Plendl: Holloman Air Force Base

Amsterdam, The Netherlands

A KLM 747 was inbound to Amsterdam from North America. I was also flying to Amsterdam, coming in over the sea from England, and heard my company check in on the frequency.

“Hello, KLM 604,” the controller replied. “Descend to flight level one-zero-zero, inbound SUGOL (a navigational fix).”

“Roger, descending to flight level one-zero-zero, inbound SUGOL,” the pilot replied. “And, by the way, is Hans on duty?” To which the controller replied: “Negative, he is coming in at 7 p.m. this evening. Do you wanna hold over SUGOL?”

A long silence ensued on the frequency.

— Captain Herbert Kats: KLM Royal Dutch Airlines