WHEN Mike Greenstein began flying, his uncle in New York called to ask why his nephew wanted to become a fly boy.
I dont think he considered it a very intellectual or humanitarian pursuit, says Greenstein, whose aviation career got off the ground around 1964.
Apparently, questions like the one posed by Greensteins uncle continue circulating in the American Jewish community.
Mention the words Jewish pilot and exclamations of disbelief fall from the sky.
There are no Jewish pilots! I would never let my child become a pilot. Why take such chances? Are you crazy?
This cultural refrain does not apply to Jews who prowled the horizons in wartime to defend their country. Jewish veterans those young kids from Brooklyn, Chicago, Des Moines and Denver who answered dutys call are respected, admired and lauded.
And in Israel, pilots have acquired a global reputation for their masterful expertise and daring-do attitudes: heroic models amid political turbulence.
But theres a very different attitude in America, especially when it comes to recreational pilots those free-willed adventure seekers fueled by sheer love, or recklessness, depending on the mindset.
No matter.
Denvers Jewish pilots and there are more than you think will tell you that nothing compares to navigating those expansive skies where skill, diligence and absolute exhilaration merge.
Standard professional choices for Jews bounce from lawyer to doctor to businessperson to academic like a dot above a Mitch Miller sing-along with countless variations in between.
But how about maneuvering a United 747-400 from Hong Kong to San Francisco on 9/11 and being forced to divert to Calgary, Canada?
Howard Cohen did that.
Yes, it was stressful, says Cohen, who retired after nearly 33 years with United Airlines. Stress is normal. But in the back of your mind you always have that sense of responsibility.
Where others hesitate or downright tremble, these Denver luftmenschen soar with steady hands, minds and hearts.
DESPITE assumptions to the contrary, American Jews have flown since the first flying machines sputtered off the dusty airfields.
Arthur Welsh and Charles Levine are just two names that figure prominently in the early 20th century.
Welsh, born Laibel Wellcher, studied flying with the great Orville Wright. Considered the first Jewish aviator, Welsh broke several records for American flight speed and altitude before his Model C crashed in 1912.
Charles Levine, 30, while not a flyer himself, owned the Columbia, which took off from Roosevelt Field on June 4, 1927 two weeks after Charles Lindbergh launched his successful solo mission across the Atlantic.
Levine told his wife, who accompanied him to Roosevelt Field, that he wanted to taxi around with Columbias pilot Clarence Chamberlin. Then he jumped inside.
A few minutes later the engines roared and the plane ascended Levines real intention all along.
Angry and terrified, Levines wife cried out that if she had known what her husband had planned, she would have burned the plane first.
When the Columbia landed in Berlin two days later, both Levine and Chamberlin were hailed as heroes.
Jews immediately championed Levine as one of their own, and cheers erupted throughout the Jewish world.
Joseph Feldman and his orchestra performed this musical tribute to Levine on June 13, 1927:
Oye, fly, fly, fly, Levine; So all should see the difference; How much further flies a Jew; Fly, fly, fly, Levine.
MIKE Greenstein, who has tackled the visible heavens on and off since 1964, had never been in a plane until he left for college.
I was so enthralled that I had to learn, says Greenstein, who moved to Denver in 1972, transferred to Ohio and returned to the Mile High City in 1993.
Shortly after leaving school, he enrolled in a pilot training program. He became a flight instructor, charter pilot and helmed commuter routes in relatively quick succession.
A lot of people are afraid of those small planes, then as now, Greenstein says. I guess they feel theres something comforting about being in a larger plane.
He now flies Cessnas 172s and 182s and wings friends like Barry Samet to lunch in Sydney, Nebraska.
Like their professional counterparts, recreational pilots must be prepared for the unexpected, from mechanical failure to sudden weather changes. No aviator in his or her right mind takes off without rigorous advance planning and detailed emergency reviews.
If you ask any military pilot, they will tell you they spend as much time on the ground planning a mission as flying it, Greenstein emphasizes. The same is true for civilian flying.
The danger in any flight is mitigated by extensive planning: paying attention to the navigation, weather forecasts, the terrain below and any restricted types of airspace or military routes or operating areas on the route.
While passengers may have a fear of flying, fear has no place in the pilots seat.
Theres a big difference between being a passenger and actually flying and being in control, says Greenstein. A huge difference.
He says that Colorados mountainous terrain often forces recreational pilots to plot alternative routes. A light aircraft cant get very high, Greenstein notes. Flying over mountains is a real challenge.
Luckily, the surrounding region encompasses many long and winding directional opportunities like Sydney, Nebraska.
When Greenstein was flying professionally, he remembers encountering a shelf of violent summer thunderstorms in the Shenandoah Valley.
You have to weave your way through those, he says simply. But thats probably the most uncomfortable Ive ever been in the air.
Although Greenstein made his first solo flight 40 years ago, the memory reverberates with awe and wonder.
That feeling is almost incomprehensible, Greenstein says. Flying is such a challenge to begin with. Every takeoff, every landing, is different.
Its one thing to fly with an instructor. But when youre actually alone, its all up to you. Its a combination of a big high and the realization that youre completely alone. No ones there to help you.
WHILE Jeff Greenstein, 39, would not describe himself as fearless, he says he has never experienced fear in the cockpit.
Jeff, who has been flying in his fathers footsteps for six years, can barely recall his first time on an airplane.
I think I was excited, he offers. All I can remember is running up and down the aisles.
Six years ago, Jeff worked at Sun Microsystems, across the street from the Rocky Mountain Metropolitan Airport in Broomfield.
I accompanied a friend who was in pilot training to the airport, he says. I ended up going back and signing up. When they asked if I wanted an orientation flight a free ride to cement the passions I said no, just sign me up.
His eagerness stemmed from a desire to take his father Mike flying on his 60th birthday that August.
It was early March, right at the start of Colorados unstable weather pattern.
Every time the instructor tried to take me up, the weather was bad, Jeff remembers. Finally I got to go.
Jeff didnt tell his parents he was taking flying lessons.
I wanted to surprise them.
He received his pilots license two weeks before his dads birthday, and they flew to Cheyenne together. Dad thought it was great, Jeff says.
The duo flew back to Denver and went out to breakfast.
And no, Jeff assures, my dad wasnt nervous.
Because the ratio of licensed pilots is very low compared to the general population, Jeff surmises that the ratio of Jewish pilots to the overall Jewish population is about the same.
Like his father, Jeffs approach to flying incorporates every conceivable strategy to minimize potential risk factors.
I know everybody says this, but statistically you have a much greater chance of having an accident in your car than in a plane, he says.
A lot of airplane incidents are caused by factors under your control: running out of gas; weather; disorientation when non-instrument rated pilots run into instrument flying conditions.
Jeff, who is instrument rated, utilizes diligent commonsense techniques such as continually checking on gas and weather forecasts to ensure a safe flight.
I dont feel flying is risky, he says. You do what you can do to be safe. You take precautions, and plan carefully.
ALICE Borodkin was 40 when her late husband Howard came home one day and declared, Were going to learn how to fly.
He said we, so naturally I said yes, laughs the former Colorado State legislator. But he created a monster.
My whole life changed because of it, she says. I was 40 years old and had no idea I had these skills inside me.
Borodkin received her private pilots license in 1970 in New York.
In the beginning, I was terrified, she admits. I had lost some friends in a major plane crash. But right after I took my first free ride to see whether I wanted to continue, I was hooked.
The couple did not tell anyone, including family, about their exploits.
We kept our flying under wraps, she concedes. The cultural mentality was like, You have children! You shouldnt be doing this!
Borodkin says that the instructors couldnt believe a woman really wanted to fly. They thought I was just tagging along, looking for men. They couldnt fathom the concept that women wanted to be pilots.
Eventually flying evolved into an almost romantic preoccupation, she says now. Each time I flew a new plane, it was like, how will it handle? How will it land? How fast will it go?
Borodkin was a member of the International Organization of Women Pilots, also called The 99, founded by Amelia Earhart at Roosevelt Field in Long Island.
Apparently Earhart sent out a couple hundred invitations to the inaugural event, but only 99 women showed up.
Hence the name.
I think I was the only Jew in The 99, Borodkin says.
The group prayer always ended with a reference to Jesus. I brought up the fact that not all female pilots were Christian, so they changed the prayer.
But if there were other Jewish women flying the 1970s, they sure didnt announce it, Borodkin adds.
When Borodkin came to Denver in 1989, she stopped flying. I was too busy reinventing myself, she says.
Founder and publisher of the Womens Business Chronicle, Borodkin served nine years in the Colorado House as the District 9 representative.
They kept giving me all the aviation bills because I was the only one who understood them, she says.
JAN Cooper, a corporate pilot for a private oil company in Denver, puts in 30 hours a month traversing the US and Canada.
The US Air Force Academy graduate earned his pilots license at age 17 in New York and flew for Uncle Sam for 29 years. And Im still flying.
A bit tired after a recent trip to Calgary, Canada, Cooper is both pragmatic and humorous.
I enjoy the freedom of flying and not being stuck in traffic, he says.
Cooper says that the vast majority of accidents involving planes are attributable to pilot error or non-compliance.
Stay diligent, stay current, and you minimize the risk of accidents, he calculates. In my opinion, the benefits of this career far outweigh the risk.
Im way more concerned about driving than flying, he says. Especially with everyone talking on their cell phones.
The portrayal of plane crashes in films and on TV, coupled with rare and awful exceptions like the recent crash of an Air France Airbus that killed all 228 people onboard, only inflate flying phobia.
People have a fear of plunging to their death, Cooper acknowledges. Well, I have a fear of drowning. Im not a big fan of going on boats.
Everyone has different fears, he says. Education might help someone whos afraid to fly resolve their panic or not.
When Cooper would go home on break from the Air Force Academy, he says he constantly heard things like, What kind of profession is this for a nice Jewish boy?
My friends mothers all said the same thing: Jewish kids dont become pilots. And I resented that.
Its a bit disappointing. Think of the kids in Israel. Their families are proud. Here you find resentment.
Lacking verifiable statistics to support his thesis, Cooper feels Jewish pilots in America comprise a definite minority.
I dont meet many, he says. Then again, its hard to tell. Last names may tell you something, but there are no Stars of David on our nametags or wings.
HOWARD Howie Cohen, a native Denverite and 1964 graduate of the Air Force Academy, never planned on becoming an airman.
I wanted to become an engineer, he says. But I caught the flying bug between my sophomore and junior year at the academy.
At the end of his junior year, Cohen attended a two-week pilot training program near Phoenix.
He estimates that out of 10 or 11 Jews in his academy graduating class, eight pursued careers as pilots.
Cohen, who joined United Airlines in 1969 and retired as captain in 2002, says the stereotypical assumption that Jews dont become pilots is untrue. I believe there are more Jewish aviators than people realize.
He never encountered anti-Semitism of any kind during his tenure with United Airlines.
Commercial pilots are respected for their personalities and the way they perform their jobs, he says, rather than their religious or ethnic backgrounds.
Scheduling conflicts often arose around the Jewish holidays because seniority determines the rotation.
I didnt get off for every holiday, he says. If I was flying on Passover, they would serve me a special meal without bread. But we all tried as best we could to be with our families.
As for harrowing moments in the wild blue yonder, Cohen recalls only three: one hydraulic failure, one engine failure, and a shattered window but considering I flew over 27,000 career hours, thats nothing.
Dealing with weather, passenger problems and scheduling is all part of the job. And if you enjoy the work, you get very good at it. You learn to function in these various situations without discomfort.
Cohen particularly liked pointing out geographical highlights such as towns and monuments along his routes, and even threw in little anecdotes about each one.
The view from the cockpit was dramatic. I saw incredible fall foliage and the best Fourth of July fireworks ever.
Friends always ask Cohen, who at the moment does not fly recreationally, whether he misses his job.
I dont miss the actual flying, he says, but I do miss the traveling. I also miss the people. Each crew was different.
Asked whether he felt closer to G-d at 33,000 feet, Cohen inhales softly. In certain circumstances, you cant help but sense a power greater than yourself, he says. I have flown everywhere but Africa: the Far East, Europe, over Russia, India, everywhere.
You recognize that despite our differences, we really are one group of human beings. If we could solve our problems together, we would probably do a much better job of repairing the world.
