American Spirit

by Taya Kyle

  Every day, ten private aircraft—usually single-engine Cessnas, Pipers, Bonanzas, or something similar—ferry someone to medical treatment or a care facility in one of fourteen western states under the auspices of Angel Flight West. The costs of the flight are all borne by the pilot of the aircraft, who besides his or her skill is donating the plane’s use as well.

  That’s not a small thing—the Aircraft Owners and Pilots Association (AOPA) estimates that the private owner of a comparatively modest aircraft spends between $100 and $225 per hour of flight time on the aircraft and related costs. Certainly, there are pluses to flying, and perhaps a few ways of saving here and there, but the bottom line is that these men and women are reaching deep into their own pockets to help others in need.

  Angel Flight West began in a hangar at Santa Monica Municipal Airport in 1983. Santa Monica is a beautiful place, not too far from LA. The airport is small but in many ways typical of the regional airports that are the backbone of private civil aviation across the country.

  There is an exception that sets the place apart—it has a phenomenal static display of old aircraft inside and out, starting with a wonderful DC-3. But I digress.

  Like many community airports, Santa Monica had a small but active “family” of pilots. Dennis Torres and his wife got some friends together one year to form the Los Angeles chapter of the American Medical Support Flight Team (AMSFT). Their first thought was that the service would be primarily for organ transplants, ferrying vital organs or perhaps donors, but after talking to hospitals, they quickly realized that there was an even bigger need for what are called “nonemergency patient travel”—flying patients and their family members to treatments far from their homes and ferrying them back.

  According to the group’s official history, their biggest obstacle when starting out was convincing people that the flights really were free. Even so, some fifteen flights, taking organs for transplant and patients, were logged the first year.

  Business soon boomed. By 1986, the group had grown large enough to split off from AMSFT. Though the idea was beyond praiseworthy, organizing so many volunteers across such a wide amount of space was a daunting task, and AMSFT no longer exists as such. But it gave birth to many similar organizations across the country, not just Angel Flight West.

  Today, Angel Flight West handles more than four thousand missions a year. The bulk of these are nonemergency transport, both of patients and/or their families, for medical care. In many instances, these flights are taking patients for treatment at hospitals far beyond their homes. In many others, Angel Flight West pilots are taking family members to see their children or siblings at a facility where they are staying for weeks or even months.

  Those aren’t their only missions, though—Angel Flight West still carries organs that have been donated for transplants to waiting recipients. Other missions ferry blood to areas where it is in low supply. There are also trips to help relocate victims of domestic violence. And besides its volunteers’ private aircraft, the organization has an arrangement with Alaska Airlines to handle long-distance transports that are beyond small aircraft ranges or are at times when weather is an issue or no volunteer is available. There are other arrangements with Hawaiian Airlines and JetSuite, a private charter company.

  “Command” pilots handle the private aircraft flights. All told, there are about fifteen hundred at Angel Flight West, according to Josh Olson, the organization’s executive director.

  Aside from owning or renting their own aircraft, command pilots must have a minimum of 250 hours of piloting experience; most have far more. They also have to meet requirements to be “current,” which translates into good health and recent time in the air, making sure their skills are fresh and proficient. While most pilots have advanced skills like instrument ratings (in layman’s terms, this means they can fly in conditions other than clear, sunny skies), that’s not necessary for many of the missions.

  A decent number of command pilots are retired or have very flexible jobs, and so can take on multiple missions a year. “We definitely fall into the 80-20 rule,” says Josh, meaning that 80 percent of the work in any volunteer organization ends up being done by 20 percent of the people. But that’s perfectly OK; even pilots who can spare only a single flight a year are making an important contribution.

  “Our average pilot flies 1.5 flights a year,” he notes. “But we have pilots who fly over a hundred flights a year.”

  Among the frequent-fliers is an attorney who often arranges to help while flying to different locations for his job. Others help by arranging missions that coincide with what would otherwise be a prescheduled pleasure trip. Pilots fly everything from a Cessna 152—a small two-seat mainstay of private aviation—to a Learjet. The bulk of this air force, though, are four- to six-seat, single-engine planes.

  One of Angel Flight West’s command pilots happens to be a friend of Jim’s—Dale Brown, whom you may know from his many best-selling techno-thriller novels. (Jim and Dale also collaborate on two series, Dreamland and Puppet Master.) Dale came to Angel Flight West after working with an earlier organization. He doesn’t have a lot of opportunities to fly the missions, but he does manage to make time for the cause a few times a year.

  Dale says that while the feeling that you’re helping someone in need is surely part of the attraction, the enthusiasm of the passengers can light up a pilot’s day.

  “Most times you get kids who want to sit in the front seat,” says Dale. “I give them a set of headphones, maybe let them ‘fly’ a little. They get excited.”

  Don’t worry, he keeps a hand on the controls and a sharp eye on the sky.

  The fact that the missions can take you all over is another attraction for pilots. Dale still remembers his very first flight with an older but similar organization, since it took him from a tiny airport in Oregon to SFO—San Francisco International Airport, one of the busiest airports on the West Coast.

  He was flying a single-engine Piper Saratoga at the time, and while he had been a navigator on military aircraft like the B-52 and the B-1B, he’d never flown a small plane into Class B airspace before.

  Class B airspace refers to the area around large and busy airports. Put it this way: Dale had to land his plane side by side with a 747.

  The Saratoga is a high-performance aircraft, but it’s not exactly in the same league as a jumbo jet. Just entering the airspace around SFO requires every inch of your attention; setting the plane down in the right spot on the mile-and-a-half-long runway is not trivial.

  That’s the sort of challenge a general aviation pilot, even an accomplished one, doesn’t get to face every day. It’s also one a lot of pilots live for.

  You don’t have to be a pilot to be part of the organization. In fact, there are about 750 volunteers whose “job” it is to meet the plane at the airport and help transport the patient or family members from treatment or lodging. Volunteers also serve as “mission assistants” on some flights, helping aboard the aircraft as needed.

  Categorizing the people who are helped by Angel Flight West is as difficult as categorizing the volunteers. Many are cancer patients. About a third of the flights are for kids and their families.

  Ages can vary—one pilot transported a ninety-two-year-old nun. The main requirement for medical patients is that they be medically stable and ambulatory, as well as have some “financially compelling reason or other need” for the flight.

  There is no cost to the passenger receiving the flight. While the organization spends a few hundred thousand dollars on staff to arrange flights, oversee operations, and the like, the volunteer pilots and airlines are donating seven times that in free services.

  About half the time, patients are referred by hospitals or other health professionals.

  “They got into a clinical trial, and now they have to figure out how to get there,” says Josh. There are also many trips by families to see loved ones undergoing treatment far away—Dad taking the other kids or relieving Mom, and vi
ce versa.

  I’ve often seen that one good turn leads to another and another, and that’s definitely true for Angel Flight West. The group occasionally hands off to similar regional groups, part of a tag-team effort to get people to where they need to go.

  Every year, Angel Flight West pilots fly kids to Alisa Ann Ruch Burn Foundation events near Yosemite in California. The Burn Foundation not only helps young burn victims cope with their injuries and the rigors of recovery, it also works on prevention. Named after an eight-year-old who was fatally injured by a barbecue fire in 1971, the California group is among the best-known organizations devoted to burn injury and recovery for children in the United States.

  “Instead of getting stared at because they look different because of their injuries,” says Josh, who rates the missions as one of the group’s highlights, “they get to play and camp and hike with other kids. We fly them from all points of California, Nevada, and bordering states. They’re always excited and talkative on the way there and exhausted and sleepy on the way home.”

  Flying doctors to remote locations, transporting blood—Angel Flight West volunteers help multiply the effects of different charities, rippling kindness across different communities.

  When travel requests come in, the staff verify the details and then advertise the need to pilots and volunteers. Staffers match together the different components, hopefully ensuring smooth handoffs and an uncomplicated flight.

  “We’re kind of like a logistics company, I guess,” says Josh. “We have all these volunteers and resources and people who want to use them, and we try to match them as best we can.”

  There are people they can’t help, most especially air ambulance trips, where the patient needs more care than a private aircraft without a medical crew can provide. Long-distance flights also can be hard to arrange, even with handoffs. And unfortunately requests for funerals and the like are too plentiful to fill. The organization makes referrals in cases where they can’t help.

  The flights touch each volunteer in different ways. Nine years ago, the youngest child of a Montana contractor was diagnosed with leukemia and was being treated in Washington State. The contractor needed to visit the girl but was having a difficult time doing so. Not yet part of the organization, Josh was filling in as a volunteer for his wife, who’d just given birth to their first child. He happened to take the call.

  The contractor was in tears; by the end of the conversation, so was Josh.

  “He was trying to take care of his daughter and be with her, but he had to keep working and keep his benefits,” remembers Josh, whose own daughter was in a neonatal intensive care unit at the time. He knew firsthand how hard the separation was on the family.

  “He was trying to drive his truck over the snowy passes of the Cascade Mountains,” remembers Josh. “It was a twelve-hour drive each way. He had reached the end of his rope and was reaching out to see if we could help him.”

  Angel Flight West was able to help several times.

  The child ultimately went into remission. In celebration, the family held a “princess party” for the girl and her friends with a special touch—everyone wore wigs, just like the child who’d lost her hair during treatment. The party turned into a fund-raiser, with the proceeds—approximately $10,000—donated to Angel Flight West.

  The girl ultimately succumbed to cancer. But the family and community have continued annual fund-raisers in her memory and still support Angel Flight West. In fact, Josh was able to take his own daughter a few years ago, completing the emotional circle.

  “This family has been so dedicated to her memory,” says Josh. “And the community has been so supportive.”

  “We do get close to a lot of our patients,” notes Josh. Unfortunately, many pass away. Yet the families remain very appreciative of the efforts of the volunteers who helped them.

  “They appreciate that we gave them that much more time with their loved ones,” says Josh.

  For many of the patients who make it, the only part of the treatment process that they call calming were the flights, where a stranger went out of his or her way to help. The few hours in the plane were like a respite, a calm oasis in a stark desert of pain and fear.

  “There’s a lot more to healing than what happens in a hospital, and we’re part of it,” says Josh.

  Like a lot of nonprofit professionals, the director’s path to the head of the group did not exactly fly in a direct line. He was an ad executive when he was first introduced to Angel Flight West, whom his agency had just picked up as a pro bono client.

  It was a good fit. Josh loved aviation; his dad and grandfather were Air Force aviators. Little did he know then that he would eventually give up the ad agency—and another career as an actor—and end up employed at Angel Flight West. Starting from the ground up as a volunteer, he was eventually tapped to lead the organization; 2018 marked his third year as executive director.

  An early boss “cursed” him with the title of “jack of all trades and master of none.” Whether meant as a compliment or not, it does describe the light-footedness a nonprofit worker and executive has to have these days. Angel Flight West has ten full-time employees, some part-time workers and contractors for specific specialties, and some three thousand total volunteers. The organization is in the middle of a push to expand.

  “We think we’re at five percent of the total needs,” says Josh. “We’d like to double that in five years. A lot of our challenges are awareness—and funds.”

  That means they need to get the word out, to both pilots and to passengers. Outreach and recruitment are priorities.

  They’ve also launched an app for their volunteers and made other software improvements to help make the volunteer process easier and more efficient.

  Angel Flight West is not the only organization of its kind; in fact, there are several covering most of the U.S., including Angel Flight East, which operates east of Ohio and north of Virginia; Angel Flight NE, which operates in nine states; Angel Flight Mid-Atlantic—sensing a theme? Each organization has slightly different procedures, but they have two things in common: they like to fly, and they like to help. At times, they work together to transport people on really long trips.

  Interested in helping? You can go directly to the group’s website at www.angelflightwest.org, where you’ll find a questionnaire to fill out, along with additional information about the group.

  Need a flight? Go to the same place and fill out a different form.

  “I always think the strength of our story is the resiliency of our patients. How strong they are,” says Josh. “And then our volunteers. They walk alongside them.”

  Angel Flight West volunteers spend a lot of time and money to help someone they never met before and may never meet again.

  “That’s part of the magic,” says Josh.

  Magic, yes. And the American Spirit.

  Bound for Glory—and Service

  Brandon Gosselin

  Getting to where you need to go isn’t just a matter of transportation. Sometimes the hand up you need isn’t one that comes on wings or wheels.

  Take Brandon Gosselin.

  Before I tell you about him, I want you to write down his name and tuck it away somewhere that you can find it in ten or twelve years. Because there’s a possibility you’ll be voting for him then.

  On the presidential ballot.

  Brandon was the all-American kid in high school. Gifted both intellectually and athletically, he was a top athlete and scholar at his high school in Burlington, Oklahoma, a small town on the Kansas border. Tall and quick, he was rated among the top basketball players in the region. With his senior year winding down, he looked forward to entering the University of Oklahoma. The Sooners are a power in Big 12 athletics; even more important, the university is a top research facility that each year helps more than twenty thousand undergrads prepare for careers in fields from accounting to supply-chain management.

  Yes, that is a thing. Education has become fa
r more specialized since I went to school.

  “Oklahoma was a ‘dream school,’” says Brandon, who was planning to take business management there. He was valedictorian of his high school class, an all-state hoop star, and one of four kids raised by his hardworking mom and dad in a very small house. The future was bright.

  That future, and Brandon’s dreams, came crashing down barely two weeks after graduation. Camping out with friends, he juiced his four-wheeler as fast as it would go—only to have a deer run out in front of him. Unable to brake in time, he lost control, crashed, flew from the ATV, and landed on his face. His injuries were so severe, his friends thought he had died.

  Brandon lived, thanks to prompt and excellent medical care. But he suffered a severe brain injury—a TBI, or traumatic brain injury, as they are known to the medical profession.

  The general public has become more aware of TBIs of late, due in part to publicity about their long-term effects. More and more attention is being paid to concussions, which can seem deceptively minor when first suffered but in fact may be serious TBIs.

  There was no question about deceptive symptoms or minor problems when Brandon was taken to the hospital. A blood vessel inside his skull had burst; the damage was obvious and excessive. He couldn’t think. Literally.

  As he puts it, “I went from Mr. High School to Mr. Hopeless in a matter of seconds.”

  His memory, his ability to learn, his cognitive abilities—they were all affected. It was estimated that he had the mental capability of a third-grader after he regained consciousness.

  Worse, his sense of balance was so off that he had trouble walking. He literally had to learn how to do it all over again.

  Jump?

  He had to relearn how to do that, too. Where once he had been able to easily dunk a basketball, now he couldn’t even come close to touching the rim.