Passing of valuable Skills and habits to other men. Abbr: PHT. (Q2.4).
Passing Of Valuable Skills And Habits To Other Men
Positive Habit Transfer, the PHT, is the deliberate process by which one man passes valuable Skills and habits to other men.
To illustrate the PHT, let’s start with how my flight instructor taught me the takeoff. I had rolled out to the airport for my first flying lesson at about nine that morning. It was a hot summer day. Twenty minutes later I was sitting in the pilot’s seat at the end of the runway with my sweaty hands on the yoke, looking down the shimmering runway.
On the way over from the hangar, my instructor had taught me how to steer the plane by controlling the rudder with my feet. Once cleared for takeoff, I had haltingly maneuvered the airplane to takeoff position with the nose pointing into the wind. I figured we would sit there for a few minutes while he explained some things. Nope.
“What the hell are you doing?” He asked.
“I don’t know.” I answered. “I’ve never flown before. I thought I told you that.”
“Well look. You can’t just sit here. When the tower clears you, you have to take off. Look,” he said, pointing to a line of airplanes waiting behind us to get on the runway. “You’re holding up traffic son.”
“Yeah, but —-,” and then he pulled out the throttle and we lurched forward. As we began picking up speed I realized that he didn’t have his feet on the rudder, so I had to steer the plane. Which I did, badly.
“Straighten it out,” he advised. “You can’t take off sideways.” He seemed oddly calm for a guy in an airplane piloted by a man who had never flown before. When we got to the right speed, he told me to pull gently back on the yoke and just like that, we were in the air. I had learned to takeoff in about 45 seconds, an aspect of flying for which I had allotted about ten hours in my mind. As we flew over my car in the parking lot, I realized that I had left it there only twenty-five minutes earlier, and here I was flying already. Take out the takeoff time (and walking to the plane), and you were left with the twenty minutes my instructor had used to teach me the preflight inspection. Unlike the casual way he had taught me to takeoff, he had been very deliberate about the preflight. His emphasis seemed backwards to me, but what did I know? I just did what he told me to do, at least at first.
Every time we flew, my instructor made me execute the preflight precisely as he had taught it to me the first day. On a laminated card in the airplane was a checklist that had to be performed in the exact order listed. While I loved to fly, performing the preflight was my least favorite part of every lesson. I just couldn’t wait to get up and punch holes in the sky and each moment I spent on the ground kept me from that.
One morning I decided to save a little time on the preflight by only eye-balling the leading edge of the elevators instead of actually running my hand along them as the checklist prescribed. My instructor watched me do that without comment, so I assumed that he approved of my practical shortcut. With most Skills I had learned up to that point in my life, I had done them by the book to start with and then found more expedient methods with practice and repetition. I assumed that the preflight was no different.