Airport Journals


Noise	Feb '07

By Cliff Robertson

Maybe it's my ears. Maybe it's my years. Maybe it's a new generation. "Whatever," as the young kids say. It's here, and maybe I should get used to it. It doesn't appear to be leaving any time soon.

Where and when did it originate? Is it a product of foreign forces? Al-Qaeda? Hardly. More likely, it has evolved from our present generation. A generation of restless, searching souls, hectically looking for something—something they cannot seem to identify, but something we cannot ignore. Just WHAT is it? This mysterious malaise. This overpowering, unending force that seems to be descending on every one of us, every day. It's hardly a secret. This omnipresent disturbance. Give up? OK. It's noise. Unending, ever-present, continuous noise! We've always had it, in some form—but not so many forms!

It begins at birth. That first squall from the doctor's spank on our bottoms. Maybe it's his fault. Maybe he introduced us to the world of noise. Maybe he should have kept his spanking hands to himself. Maybe a gentle pat on the back would have sufficed. God knows, plenty of larger bottoms were within his reach. Once he introduced us to the bawling squall, it had no end, for some years to come. It became our infant language. Later we learned the adult yell. It seems to be everywhere, particularly at ball games. Later, loud, raucous voices at drinking establishments, called sport bars. More libation, more loud voices.

It seems to follow us everywhere. Certainly at airports and particularly at holiday time. Ironically, we seem to escape a deal of it after we leave the noisy airports—thanks to jets. Of course, as a biplane pilot for 40 years, I seem to have a warm spot for prop planes. Still do, but that's different—naturally.

But getting back (if we must) to the disturbing world of noise. It has occurred to this addled actor-pilot that maybe a resolution should be introduced at the United Nations, that prestigious body dedicated to the service of peace. Hasn't solved many of this sick world's ills of late. Maybe it should resolve to introduce a "quiet hour"—a daylight hour when all nations would reserve an hour of quiet, everywhere. Places and situations of extreme emergency would, of course, be exempt. But everywhere, all human loud activity would cease.

This pure hour, in itself, would promote a certain civility amongst all people. A bond of silence all nations would respect. The respective nations would select the "sacred hour." Children would respond from their earliest years. It would result in worldwide civility and reflection. A diminishing of world tensions. A "slowing up" of this world's crazy pace. It would give all of us an opportunity to take a deep breath and attend to meaningful obligations and duties.

P.S. And it would give this writer time to write his columns.

Academy Award and Emmy Award winning screen star Cliff Robertson has owned and flown a wide array of aircraft, including a Spitfire MK IX, a Messerschmitt ME-108, a French aerobatic Stampe SV4 biplane, a Grob Astir glider (in which he still holds a distance record) and a Beech Baron 58. A holder of single, multi, instrument and commercial licenses, as well as balloon, the pilot of many thousands of hours has accumulated many aviation awards, including EAA's highest Eagle award and the AOPA Sharples award. He was recently inducted into the National Aviation Hall of Fame, and the American Veteran Association has honored him as Veteran of the Year. His columns will appear in his soon-to-be-published book. For more information, visit [http://www.cliffrobertson.info].