The First Pullback
Every ramp attendant remembers their first time doing a pushback.
You climb into the tug, connect the tow bar, check the headset, give the thumbs-up, and away you go.
But a pullback?
That was a completely different animal.
A pushback was one thing. The aircraft was in front of you, and you were pushing it away.
A pullback was when you took a paymover, drove it underneath the nose of a 747 Jumbo Jet, connected everything up, and then proceeded to pull the aircraft backward.
A 747.
A flying building.
A machine that looked like it had its own postal code.
And now you were sitting underneath it thinking:
“What could possibly go wrong?”
The answer was simple:
Everything.
It was the rookie’s first pullback.
He had been around the ramp for a while and had already done regular pushbacks. He had driven paymovers, loaded aircraft, moved equipment, and generally looked like he knew what he was doing.
Then one morning, the Lead Station Attendant walked over and said:
“Today, you’re doing your first pullback.”
The rookie smiled.
“Great!”
The Lead looked at him.
“Pullback.”
The rookie’s smile slowly disappeared.
“On what?”
The Lead pointed toward the gate.
The rookie turned around.
There it was.
A 747.
Four engines.
Two decks.
Hundreds of thousands of pounds.
And a nose gear sitting there like it was waiting for somebody to make a very bad decision.
The rookie stared at the aircraft.
Then he looked at the paymover.
Then back at the aircraft.
“That’s the one?”
“No,” said the Lead. “We’re pulling back the Dash 8 over there.”
The rookie looked over.
The Lead smiled.
“I’m kidding. Get in the paymover.”
The rookie climbed into the cab and drove underneath the aircraft.
Now, a regular pushback was easy enough. You had the tug in front of the nose gear, and the aircraft was behind you.
But this was different.
Now the paymover was tucked underneath that massive 747 nose.
The rookie suddenly realized that the aircraft wasn’t just big.
It was above him.
The 747 seemed to be saying:
“Go ahead. Make my day.”
The rookie climbed out and connected the equipment.
His hands were sweating.
His forehead was sweating.
His back was sweating.
At this point, he was sweating in places he didn’t even know could sweat.
The Lead came over.
“You okay?”
“Yeah.”
“You look pale.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re shaking.”
“I’m not shaking.”
The Lead looked down.
The rookie’s leg was vibrating like a washing machine on spin cycle.
“Your leg is shaking.”
The rookie looked down.
Sure enough, his leg was going like it had received a personal invitation to a dance party.
“That’s not my leg,” he said.
The Lead stared at him.
“Whose leg is it?”
The rookie ignored the question.
He climbed back into the paymover.
The headset operator gave him the signal.
Everything was connected.
The brakes were released.
The aircraft was ready.
The rookie looked straight ahead.
And then the thoughts started.
“Okay. Just pull it back slowly.”
Then another thought:
“What if the paymover breaks?”
Another:
“What if the tow equipment snaps?”
Another:
“What if the nose gear doesn’t like me?”
Then the biggest thought of all:
“What if this entire 747 falls on me?”
He looked up.
The aircraft seemed even bigger now.
The nose of the 747 was towering above him.
The rookie suddenly realized that he was sitting in a small paymover, underneath a massive aircraft, with several hundred tons of airplane depending on him not making a stupid mistake.
His palms were now so wet he could have used them to wash the windshield.
The headset crackled.
“Ready to pull.”
The rookie swallowed.
“Ready.”
“Pull back.”
He slowly moved the controls.
The paymover began to move.
The 747 began to move.
The rookie’s heart stopped.
For one brief second, he was convinced the entire aircraft was coming down on top of him.
His foot was shaking.
His hands were shaking.
His head was shaking.
He was sweating bullets.
His mind was racing.
“Why is the plane moving?”
Then he remembered:
“Oh, right. I’m pulling it.”
He continued backward.
Slowly.
Very slowly.
So slowly that a passenger walking through the terminal probably thought the aircraft had been parked there permanently.
The Lead came over the headset.
“Keep going.”
The rookie pulled back a little more.
“Keep going.”
The rookie pulled back again.
“Keep going!”
The rookie shouted:
“I AM GOING!”
The Lead replied:
“Relax! You’re doing fine!”
“I’m not relaxed!”
“You look relaxed!”
“I am sweating through my uniform!”
The Lead looked into the cab.
The rookie was gripping the controls so tightly his knuckles were white.
His left leg was still shaking.
His eyes were wide open.
He looked like a man trying to defuse a bomb while operating heavy machinery.
The 747 continued rolling backward.
Finally, they reached the proper position.
The rookie stopped.
Silence.
He sat there.
Sweating.
Breathing heavily.
The Lead walked over.
“Congratulations.”
The rookie slowly climbed out.
His legs were still shaking.
He looked at the 747.
Then he looked at the paymover.
Then he looked at the Lead.
“Is it supposed to feel like that?”
The Lead smiled.
“Your first time?”
“Yeah.”
“Everybody feels that way.”
“Really?”
“No.”
The rookie stared at him.
The Lead continued:
“Most people don’t sweat quite that much.”
The rookie looked up at the 747.
The aircraft sat there peacefully, completely unaware that it had just psychologically destroyed a young ramp attendant.
The rookie took a deep breath.
“Okay,” he said. “I think I can do that again.”
The Lead nodded.
“Good.”
The rookie smiled.
Then the Lead pointed toward another gate.
“Because there’s another one waiting.”
The rookie looked over.
Another 747.
His left leg immediately started shaking again.
And that’s when he learned the most important rule of doing a pullback:
The airplane doesn’t have to move very fast to scare the hell out of you.
Sometimes all it has to do is sit there above you and make you wonder:
“What if?”
And when you’re underneath a 747, pulling it backward with a paymover, you suddenly realize something very important:
You may be the person moving the airplane…
…but deep down, you know exactly who is really in charge.
The 747.