Simulation Software Keeps Pilots Flying

SimCom International is in the flight-training business, but the six-year-old firm does not teach fledgling pilots how to fly. Nor does the fast-growing company make most of its money by selling high-tech simulators. Rather, the Orlando-based company uses personal computers, proprietary software, high-fidelity graphics and real airplanes to teach emergency flight procedures to affluent aviators and corporate pilots who fly twin-engine turboprop or propeller-driven aircraft.

At best, an emergency, such as an engine fire, could mean a six-figure repair bill. At worst, everyone on board could be lost.

"Had I not been through SimCom's training, I would not be here today," said Guy Williams, President and CEO of Williams Labadie, a $30-million Chicago medical advertising agency.

Williams, an experienced pilot, first attended SimCom in 1992.
Three weeks later, flying 50 miles outside Indianapolis International, he noticed "a little streamer of oil" on the Piper Navajo's left engine cowling. Seconds later, "oil was gushing out so fast, the engine would have disintegrated within 30 or 40 seconds." SimCom training allowed him to land the plane safely.

"The first time it happens to you, for real, it's pretty frightening. But the airplane did every single thing the simulator did."

This kind of endorsement is one reason SimCom is growing. In 1992, sales totaled $1.6 million. This year, sales are expected to grow to $5 million.

While the company is private and won't reveal its bottom line, SimCom made its first profit last year on sales of $3.9 million. The profit came despite $2 million in startup costs from opening a second flight training school in Scottsdale, Ariz. The Arizona location should attract students from heavy pilot concentrations in California and Texas.

More growth is expected. SimCom recently signed an agreement with Northwest Aerospace Training Corp., a wholly owned Northwest Airlines subsidiary, to provide sophisticated aviation simulation software that runs on a desktop personal computer.

"They appear to be a good, reliable and reputable company, so we made a deal with them," said Jake Vermilyea, NATCO's operations director.

Sitting in the pilot's seat of a SimCom machine feels just like sitting in the cockpit of an actual plane. In fact, it is a real plane. SimCom's trainers are actual nose sections that have been retrofitted for teaching. Placed well ahead of the cockpit window are 10-foot-high screens wrapping 172 degrees around the cockpit. This is the full range of the pilot's vision.

A SimCom "flight" is powered by a Pentium-based personal computer, proprietary software, a distributed processing unit, a four-channel image generator and a bunch of I/O cards. The only real difference between a SimCom simulator and a full-motion, airliner simulator is that the SimCom machine doesn't move. And because they lack hydraulics, they are technically not simulators under federal aviation rules.

Visual systems, such as SimCom's, also are a lot cheaper than full-motion simulators, such as those used by commercial airline pilots. The full-motion simulators range from $5 million to $30 million. They require special buildings and break down frequently. Repairs are costly.

New technology, such as SimCom's, makes simulation training affordable for all pilots. "SimCom has elevated propeller twin training to a new, very high level of sophistication," said Flying magazine, in giving the company a "Best of 1995" award.

SimCom, which has 52 employees in Orlando, has six training devices for small aircraft made by Beech, King Air, Piper, Aerostar and Cessna. Two more are on the way. One will be a Pilatus PC-12, an advanced single-engine turboprop. Pilatus chose SimCom as the exclusive, manufacturer-authorized training facility for the new plane. "SimCom is a company we like really well," said Chris Finnoff of Pilatus.

SimCom's President, Walter David, said the Pilatus deal is the first original equipment manufacturer (OEM) contract not won by Flushing, N.Y.-based FlightSafety International, the 45-year industry leader.

"When you're a monopoly, like FlightSafety effectively was, you can get a little sloppy and a little callous toward your customer. That's what we sensed was happening with FlightSafety."

Sixty-five percent of SimCom's business comes through referrals.

Typical "students" are successful, 50-year-old businessmen who own their own planes. Others are corporate pilots.

Robert Lindsay, 46, flies part-time for Jones Flying Service, a Sarasota charter. He has taken classes at SimCom, FlightSafety and Dallas-based SimuFlite, a SimCom competitor that specializes in corporate aircraft. "Unlike some pilots, I have to spend my own money on training. I find SimCom's training just as good, or better, for two-thirds the price."

SimCom was started in 1980 by an inventor who went bankrupt six years later. In 1989, David, a 48-year-old former Paine Webber stock broker, led an investor group that acquired the tiny upstart from the Federal Deposit Insurance Corp., which got it from a failed bank.

By the end of 1990, sales totaled just $150,000. In 1991, David moved to counter lingering impressions that SimCom's lower price was linked to inferior quality, not lower overhead. He instituted a money-back guarantee, an unheard-of maneuver in the flight training industry. The money-back guarantee still stands. So far, one refund has been requested.

By 1993, sales hit $2 million, then stalled. David swallowed hard and reduced his then-staff of 55 by one third. Everyone took salary cuts. David also dispatched managers to meetings with insurance agents to persuade them SimCom "was not a fly-by-night operation working out of a Quonset hut."

To survive the slow summer, David offered a half-price, "second seat" discount to pairs of pilots training together. The promotion, which now runs every summer, has been the company's most successful.

So far, David and his investors have sunk $10 million into SimCom. David would like to take the firm public in a few years. Right now, he wants to grow the business, not the bottom line. Forecasts for 1997 show sales topping $6 million.

"Wally has the uncanny ability not only to see where he wants to go, but everything in between," said Dwain DeVille of The Watermark Corp., a Maitland consultant. "The company is so well-run, there's nothing my program can do for him."