A long read revisiting a 1996 article on the work lives of air traffic controllers working at New York Terminal Radar Approach Control, managing some of the busiest airspace in the world.

Tales of outdated equipment, burnt out controllers and the usual high-jinks that near constant high stakes stress levels lead to make you wonder how slapdash things can be under the hood, while appearing perfectly calm to the outside world, i.e: passengers.

Makes you wonder how much else of daily life is like a duck - calm on the surface with furious paddling beneath!

That’s what distinguishes the Men of Steel from the Papier-Mâchés. A weak controller, spotting two jets six miles apart, won’t agonize over the unused airspace. But Zack sees that gap as a chance to push more traffic, looks for a third jet to slide between the two, and then—by using visual separation—packs the jets even closer in the sky. On the final descent toward Newark, planes travel one mile every 11 seconds; Zack can’t hesitate or miss a turn, or the entire chain of jets will collapse. But he doesn’t. Like a shrewd billiards player, Zack calculates the angles that will transform his ten random jets into a 30-mile chain, then commands the pilots with unassailable authority. “Pilots are like dogs,” he says under his breath. “They can smell fear in your voice. But if you sound confident, they’ll do whatever you tell them to do.” He pauses to appreciate his handiwork—ten blips, each three miles apart, heading like geese toward the Newark runway. “Now that’s crisp vectoring!