Casey at the Bat(Carl Brooks) The following poem is, of course, a parody of the magnificent poem, “Casey at the Bat.” If you have not read that poem, please do yourself a favor and read it. It is an exceptionally charming and lyrical work, the cadence of which will haunt your mind forever.
I wrote this poem in honor of my long-time friend, Merle Casford, whom we affectionately nick-named "Casey." The occasion was his retirement from the FAA, having been an air traffic controller for over 30 years and a WWII C-46 pilot before that. He had not only been my friend, confidant and mentor, but he had my trust and respect. Not many are in that number.

A note of explanation: This was in the late 1970’s at Drake Field in Fayetteville, Arkansas We worked the busiest non-radar approach control facility in the nation, directly controlling more than 13 airports in Northwest Arkansas.
Frontier refers to a fan-jet air carrier airline that operated out of Drake field at that time, as was Skyways, which flew Beechcraft 99’s. The Pennzoil jet is in reference to a Pennzoil’s corporate jet that flew in and out of Drake Field regularly.
Ed Goff, a Flight Service Station employee, was notorious for riding his bicycle to and from work everyday, passing the ground location of the airport instrument approach “outer marker” on his route.
We regularly received our inbound hand-offs from the Memphis Air Route Traffic Control Center via interphone line.
Lester Sampson was our supervisor at the time and had recently joined us from El Paso Approach Control.
The reference to “Climb on top” is terminology we use to authorize an aircraft to fly through a cloud layer to a clear position of “on top” of the cloud layer.
The term “VFR” is in reference to specific flight rules that pilots are required to follow when the visibility and weather are good.
“IFR” refers to Instrument Flight Rules (in effect when the weather is bad.)
The Racquet Club was a dart room and bar in town where many pilots and controllers often swapped stories about their escapades while flying.
The “Mooney” is a single engine aircraft, although an excellent airplane, has a reputation for being flown by people who are not up to the aircraft’s true capabilities. At the time, many were flown by doctors.


Casey at the Boards
By
Carl Brooks

The tower-cab lit the fog that morn,
The ceiling, thick and dense.
As Casey topped the rounded stairs,
The room fell hushed and tense.

He plugged into approach control,
He turned the volume high.
He sat up straight and tossed his head,
You could hear the trainees sigh.
His pencil sharp and poised in hand,
He held in such a grip.
His eyes fixed toward the morning sky,
A sneer formed on his lip.

"Cleared to here - Cleared to there,"
He spat commands with ease.
"Proceed inbound, report outbound,"
He had them begging… "Please!"

Frontier called east, Skyways, west,
Cessnas and Lears alike.
I even heard Ed Goff report,
The marker from his bike.

Sleet and hail fell to the ground,
The snow and ice was thick.
Planes were ordered "Go around,"
....Enough to make you sick.

Casey grabbed the microphone,
He pressed it to his lips.
"Oh, to have a radar scope,
And change them all to blips."

“Descend to five, climb on top,”
As sweat rolled down his cheek.
All were struck with horror-shock,
And found they could not speak.

A Pennzoil jet, a Frontier fan,
A Skyways ninety-nine.
"Everybody's cleared to land."
Things were going fine.

The chief came bounding up the stairs,
He looked at Casey's sneer.
Whose eyes reflected strength and flair.
He saw no hint of fear.

Lester cringed and stared outside,
His face was pale and gray.
"El Paso could not be this bad,
Please transfer me today."

Casey grabbed the coffee-pot,
And gulped the stuff a-runnin'.
Then punched the Memphis center line,
And yelled to… "Keep 'em comin'."

Then...
From through the bleak and darkened skies,
There came...... a tiny "Yelp".
Casey tuned his earlobes in,
And heard her plea for help.

"I'm lost and scared and out of gas,
I cannot see the city.
Casey, Casey, get me down."
Her voice was weak and giddy.

"Help me, Casey. Help me, please.
My gyro does not function.
The airspeed thing is out of whack,
I cannot find a junction."

Casey knew what he must do.
He'd hold the planes out far.
The ones who would not go along,
He'd make them VFR.

Brooksie came and spoke to him.
He said, "Now listen, Bub.
They have you on the bar short-wave,
Down at the Racquet Club."

"You simply have to save the day.
There's really no way 'round it.
The rest of us are still just looking,
But we know you have found it.”

A beam of light shone through the fog,
And spread upon his face.
A smile had formed on Casey's lips.
His calm was rife with grace.


His back was straight, his eyes were damp,
He focused on his task.
He knew just what he had to do,
You should have heard us gasp.

He grabbed the mike and held it close,
The song he sang was grand.
We felt the tension to our toes,
He offered her his hand.

He stretched his arms out through the fog,
The sky was simply sordid.
She felt his presence there beyond,
And steered her Mooney toward it.

Into the fog and clouds she flew,
She had the world's best escort.
He put her on a course so true,
She finally saw the airport.

Her wheels touched down all safe and sound,
It took awhile to thaw her.
She threw a kiss toward the tower,
But Casey never saw her.

When moon and stars are out just right,
You'll see him if you try.
His aura makes a brilliant light,
Against the western sky.

If you think that you can match,
We only say, "Like hell you can."
For no one else could ever scratch,
That somber ancient pelican.

All at Drake is quiet now,
New folks we've gone and hired.
But there is no joy in Fayetteville,
For mighty Casey has retired.

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