Cruising along peacefully at 28,000 feet, and maybe 200 miles north of Los Angeles, I got a call on the interphone from the purser. She told me that some of the passengers on the right side of the first-class cabin were saying out loud that they thought the right engine was not running.
My plan was to maintain the glide slope until nearing the threshold, Iwould then duck under the glide slope and cross the threshold at about 20 feet above the ground instead of then normal 50 feet resulting in a touchdown prior to the 1,000 foot runway markers. Obeying SOP and staying precisely on the glide slope over the threshold would waste precious stopping distance which could put us into a dangerous situation.
Climbing through 1,000 feet on my assigned heading, without warning, the airplane pitched over violently into an uncommanded dive. The pitch over was so abrupt that my heart skipped a beat. Instinctively, I pulled back on the control wheel and wrestled the Beech 18 back into straight and level flight. With adrenalin fueling my heartbeat into a flutter, and my jaw agape, I steadied the pitch attitude and regained control.