Ask the pilot

From Clickair to CrazyJet, a meditation on the troubled state of airline names.

By Patrick Smith

Read more: Technology & Business, Flying, Airlines, Business, P. Smith, Ask the Pilot

Sept. 14, 2007 | Most people know that Lufthansa is the airline of Germany. Fewer people know how to spell or pronounce it. I've seen and heard every conceivable variation, from the crudely phonetic ("Liftunza") to the inexplicable ("Lefthoonza"). It shouldn't be so difficult. Keep your vowels in order -- the "hansa" part has a short "a," and those of you who were watching MTV in 1983 can think of "Ninety-Nine Luft Balloons," and remember that the "t" and the "h" form separate sounds, unlike the diphthong of "other" or "weather." Stress the first syllable slightly, and there it is, "LUFT-hansa." You're practically speaking German.

But of all the endless manglings, perhaps the most atrocious version is one heard dozens of times daily at Boston's Logan International Airport. The offense takes place on Massport's interterminal shuttle bus, and/or aboard the MBTA's Silver Line connection from downtown, both of which share a common audio loop that announces the occupants of each terminal. As the only airline pilot alive who doesn't own an automobile, I take public transportation to and from the airport. And every time the bus nears Terminal E, I clench my teeth and close my eyes as the tape goes through its alphabetical listing. It starts out fine. "This stop serves Air France, Aer Lingus, Alitalia, British Airways, Iberia ..." But then, here it comes: "Loof-THUND-za."

Say what?

"Loof-THUND-za," repeats the woman's voice. Not only does she screw it up, she makes a presentation out of it. Her voice drops an octave and appropriates the accent of a deranged Teutonic demon.

Being touchy about these things, I've thought about protesting to Massport. But imagine its response:

P.S.: Yes, hello, I'm calling to complain.

M.P.: Oh, is this about the toilets in Terminal C? Sorry, we're trying to ...

P.S.: No, it's about the bus. The shuttle bus.

M.P.: The bus? Did the driver swear at you? We have a special number for that, let me ...

P.S.: No, it's the recording -- the tape recording that calls out the airlines at each terminal.

M.P.: I see. No problem. Is the volume set too loud? Is there an airline missing?

P.S.: No, it's not missing. It's just all messed up.

M.P.: Oh. Which one?

P.S.: Lufthansa.

M.P.: Lefthinsa?

P.S.: Yes. Or, well, no. Lufthansa.

M.P.: That's what I said, Lifthoonsa.

P.S.: But ... no, you didn't. This is what I'm talking about! You're not pronouncing it right, and neither is the tape. It's very confusing.

[Note to readers: Actually, it's not confusing, it's just irritating.]

M.P.: All right, I will have our audiotape team look into this and call you back.

P.S.: Great, thank you.

[Four days later, Massport returns my call.]

M.P.: Yes, Patrick, our engineers have reviewed the recording. They could not find any problem. The voice clearly says, "Lifthonzer."

P.S.: [Exasperated] But ... in fact, that's not what it says. It says "Loof-THUND-za."

M.P.: [Sternly] That's what I said, "Lufthownzer."

P.S.: But ... I ... That's not what you said. And either way, it's wrong. Look, it's pronounced LUFT-han-sa. OK? Can't you keep your diphthongs straight? What the hell is wrong with you people?

M.P.: [Sigh] May I ask, sir, why it is that you care so much what the tape is saying?

And so on.

That conversation never really happened, though I suppose it could have. And I'm afraid there is no easy answer to that last question. Those of you who long ago decided that I'm a petulant crank are, once again, amply rewarded. But I am of the belief that every field, every specialty and subspecialty, no matter how esoteric, needs its obsessives, and is richer for their efforts. To the layperson, such intense adherence to detail might seem undue or comical. But without it, standards fall, and the transfer of information becomes corrupt. (From there, it's a slippery slope: The very building blocks of society begin to fissure and crumble. The terrorists have won!)

In any event, we shouldn't push it, lest Lufthansa be tempted to change its name. The only thing worse than a recorded voice announcing "Loof-THUND-za" would be one announcing "Air Germany."

If you haven't noticed, the global expansion of commercial aviation has brought with it some truly awful carrier names. In the past year alone, more than 260 commercial operators have entered the market, the bulk of them with identities ranging from inexplicable to embarrassing. Some, apparently, were thought up by 12-year-old girls (Golden International Airlines, Butterfly Helicopters) or junior high school kids strung out on energy drinks (Maximus Air Cargo, Mega Aircompany). Others show an unsettling disregard for karma. If I told you there was a Portuguese upstart called Air Lusitania, would you believe me?

Now, before proceeding, it's true that I've riffed on airline names before, most recently in 2005 as part of a four-column series on airline identity. The topic is worth revisiting for the benefit of new readers -- and because it's fun.

Next page: U-Land Airlines, anyone? What about Kras Air?