Subject being, 'how he came to be known as "Cougar".'

There is a little known universe parallel to ours that greatley affects our daily lives, and it is the world of enroute air traffic control. Towers and airports get all the press, but the Centers are king, and vitally important to the economic health of the US.

It is within this world that real people deal with enormous stress, and survive with wit and focus that is hard to describe. Conceivably you could remove an arm from a controller in the height of battle without much notice.

A few years back the FAA, in its collective wisdom, delivered and installed a new voice communication switching system to replace technology from the 50's. It was a series of touch sensitive screens that allowed quick contact to those peers that were joined in battle. There are about 6 screens per sector, located in strategic locations, the two used primarily by the radar controller being positioned between his computer input keyboard and the radar screen, in a flat mode.

At one enroute facility in the system there toiled a fellow I will refer to as Controller 'A', or CA for short. A pleasant affable fellow, not a true tower of power in the field, but competent and determined nonetheless, afflicted with sandy greying hair and cut in a style that always bordered on the appearance that he was plugged in to 220VAC in some fashion. Too, he had a bit of a bugeyed look about him as well. I worked with him for many hours, and never lost trust in him, yea though we walked through the valley of death and damnation.

This airspace he worked that fateful day is a queer little wart of a high altitude sector, effectively 35 NM wide by 65 NM long. It's routine operation include arrival sequence for a level 5 terminal, military operations, and enroute overflights, and two departure routes for a pair of level 5 terminals. Sector volume exceeds 90 aircraft per hour during busy periods, and Mabel, sometimes it gets a bit worrisome. Men have been known to do all manner of offensive things in their pants there, women mostly just maybe tinkle a little. A few have shed tears of fear and frustration as well. It ain't always pretty.

At this particular moment in history the order of battle included, on CA's right, a fellow we shall refer to as Controller 'B'(CB), a red headed stepchild, once one of Uncle Sam's Misguided Children, a man with no known fear, an unestablished capacity for air traffic, and a quick wit as well. He was CA's assistant and worked directly at his beck and call. To the left, Controller 'C'(CC), a young up and comer, also quite bright, fearless, and possessing a lion's heart in battle. He worked at an adjacent sector, toiling with synergy in the system, "moving the metal" as it were. We never heard of "pushin' tin" until Hollywood enlightened us BTW.

It was just another one of those days where flying public was having its way with CA, volume very high, stakes higher, and the tide coming in. He was focused, as typical used only minor invective, and issued a steady flow of terse directives to this flight or another. He fought on. In other words, he was slowly slipping down the tubes, knowing he was losing control if for no other reason than he could not talk fast enough to deal with the volume. Nothing new or original, but that knowledge does nothing to help you relax. You NEVER get used to it.

At about that time, the cord of his headset fell onto the Com. screen unnoticed. Just as he called a flight. His voice blocked the little beep that signals a Com. interruption, the spiral cord blocked his view of the little red warning flag on the screen. It is as you may recall, a TOUCH sensitive screen. When he called the second time he got no response either. Nor on the third or forth. The intended recipient of his trasmissions was blissfully unaware of how badly CA wanted to talk to him, or of the fellow airman rushing head on at his 12 o'clock with a closure rate of 16 miles per minute. They was a'fixin' to swap paint as we say in the trade. CA did the only thing he knew at the moment, he vapor locked.

A hand on each armrest of his chair, trying to peel them off with white knuckles straining, eyes bugged out, face red, hair in typical wild state. And totally locked up. Speechless and watching his own personal nightmare unfold before disbelieving eyes. Feet braced, leaning forward as if trying to crawl into the display and physically pry the blips apart. It weren't funny at the time. Except to CB and CC, who knew what had happened, had immeasurable courage under fire, and truly twisted senses of humor.

CC: Mav, I don't know what's happened, those Migs really got him screwed up.

CB: Hey Cougar, you seen a boat around here anywhere?

God is my witness, they did the whole dialog!, with CA just sitting there toying with the idea of a stroke. Supervisor didn't have a clue, data tags blinking furiously, signaling impending doom, perhaps he was near meltdown as well, then with the grace of Ms. Manners, CB reached over and lifted the cord off the touch screen, com was restored, and he said, "you can talk now."

Thus was "Cougar" christened that day. It was a term of...endearment(?) which he never fought, and in fact accepts as a knighting by the brotherhood. I don't even remember his real name truth be known, but I'll never forget him or that crystalline moment. Neither will he...

Damn right Dan. Some are always ahead. ned

why are pilots and ATCs (Air Traffic Controllers) the same.

if the pilot screws up, the pilot dies.
if the ATC screws up, the pilot dies.

I dont think I could do that job if I had a gun to my head... it looks like they are playing chess, juggling, and conducting a auction all at once.

Well, I resemble that, and thank you! I like your tag BTW, wish I'd thought of it. Got started when I was young and bold, now I'm wise and slow. It is not a natural talent, and it helps if you are slightly over the edge. Anybody around here will testify as to my case. Converting from gunfighter to life saver was a bit odd.

BTW Unstable, you ever try jugglin' cats and chainsaws?

Be all you can be, or maybe a little less.