Harold Eugene Cameron

Harold “Harry” Cameron, who has died aged 85, is found alongside aviation giants like the Wright Brothers and Charles Lindbergh … only in the askew, dust-covered pictures hanging on the wall of Harry’s empty office. It was there he spent many nights with a favorite novel from Clive Cussler or Jack London as a prop to support his smart phone while he played Mahjong Master Solitaire or Parking Jam 3D. In 1947, when Chuck Yeager was actually the third person to break the sound barrier, behind Hans Guido Mutke and George Welch (seriously … look it up); Harry was a year into his piano studies as a gawky 11-year-old growing up in Pontiac, Michigan. He parlayed these skills into a free two-week program at the Interlochen Music Camp after winning the piano talent contests in 1952 and 1953, both times in front of a rapt audience of nearly a dozen. The young Harold later honed these musical talents on the accordion, which is credited for introducing him to the joys of sex around the tender age of 30.

Harry lettered in track at the aptly-named Clarkston High School in Clarkston, Michigan, where he was President of the Student Council and editor of the yearbook before graduating Salutatorian. In 1957, he started a flying club while receiving an undergraduate degree in Mechanical Engineering from General Motors Institute in Flint. After a short time at GM Truck, he enlisted in the Navy flight training program and entered AOC Class 2-60 in 1960. He flew the T34 and T2J trainers, Grumman F9F Panther and F11F Tiger, then finally the Douglas A4D Skyhawk.

After five years, Harold was known as “Crash Cameron” to his Navy friends who admired him most; a nod to the condition in which he left two of his Skyhawks prior to his “honorable” discharge. Despite that, Continental Airlines hired him as a commercial pilot where he started by operating on the airline’s fleet of Boeing B707s, minus aircraft N70773, which he crewed when it was totaled on July 1, 1965, a month after he was qualified. It was this most-recent crash in Kansas City that lit the flame of jet fuel love for the beautiful Sharon Dunlap; occasioning a marriage that would last 54-years.

Harold retired in 1985 after a lengthy labor dispute at his beloved airline. He earned the respect and admiration of the pilots who replaced him at Continental by serving as the driving force behind the composition of the Master Scab List published by the Air Line Pilots Association. He never dreamed his pet project would lead to the wholesale perdition of countless thousands of jumpseat requests in the years that followed. When asked what he thought of these unexpected consequences, he would answer, “Such a shame.”

After a short, two-year stint as the owner of delivery pizza stores in College Station, Texas, leaving him covered in flour, Harry returned to his life’s work as a Captain at the airline which eventually came to be known as Carnival Airlines. He flew the Boeing B727 and B767, wrote aircraft manuals, taught ground school and even mentored his eldest of two sons who joined the Carnival in 1992. His son, Andrew, fondly remembers learning (without asking) the excruciatingly detailed inner-workings of the first global range radio navigation system deployed by the Navy [emphasis added by the Navy guy] called OMEGA. “Did you know, using hyperbolic geometry and radionavigation principles, a position fix with an accuracy of 3.1 to 6.2 miles was realizable?” said his son, before falling asleep in the middle of this interview. Once conscious again, Andrew also recalled his father teaching him the finer points of international diplomacy as the flag carrier of Hungary, MALÉV, was on the takeoff roll in front of them from JFK International Airport. Harold instructed his young progeny to transmit on the tower frequency “Helló te csúnya majom.” His First Officer dutifully repeated the message, then queried his trusted father as to the meaning. “It means, ‘Hello, you ugly monkey’,” Captain Cameron replied, resulting in an exasperated countenance from the right seat. “What?!? It’s the only Hungarian I know!” Harry said.

 

Harold is survived by his sons Eric and Andrew, his endlessly tolerant wife Sharon and her sisters Carol and Barbara, what’s left of his prostate, his dear friends at ye Anciente and Secret Order of Quiet Birdmen, his duplicate bridge partners, his bag of 60-year-old golf clubs and an iPhone 8.

Captain Harold Cameron’s cremated remains will be disrespectfully flung into a hole without ceremony on Sunday, March 13th at Brooke Cemetery in Huntsville, Texas. The family asks that you respect their decision to pay no heed to Harry’s final wishes for them to “Pitch the ashes into the damn cat litter box. What do I care?!?” In lieu of flowers and in his honor, Harold may have asked that you send as much money as you feel comfortable to his sons, who definitely had nothing to do with this obituary.