This seemed like too nice a story to not forward. I got it from [EMAIL PROTECTED] a mailing list for people who enjoy grass-roots flying.
Subject:
Wonderful Aviation Story
Date:
Sat, 13 Jun 1998 22:19:30 -0400
From:
"Bruce P. Schuck" <[EMAIL PROTECTED]>
Reply-To:
"\"Aviator Link\" [EMAIL PROTECTED]"
<[EMAIL PROTECTED]>
To:
[EMAIL PROTECTED]
Hello folks,
A friend sent me this and I don't think I saw it here so...
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Hi all,
His car was old; he was older still.
"Not much going on today" he said. I looked up, and then out at the
runway.
"Wouldn't say that. One on final, one turning crosswind, one running up
on
the taxiway," I replied.
"Oh, good. Good. You know if there's any banners?"
"I saw four in the air. They'll likely be here in another 20 minutes" I
told him.
"Oh, good. Good." I looked at him again. He was obviously limping.
One
foot was at an odd angle, and his walk was very unsteady. Must have
lost
his medical, I thought.
"You come out here to watch the banner towers?" I asked him.
"Oh, I just come out to watch the planes. Relive old times. Haven't
flown
in 40 or 50 years..."
I looked at him again. Yeah, he was that old. Would I be that old one
day, hanging around the airport, watching the young guys doing what I
couldn't? Maybe. Maybe...
"You know, I'm going to go up and shoot a few landings anyway. You want
to
go along for the ride?"
"Oh, that would be fine. Just fine."
He followed me to my hangar, and I pulled out the plane. He had a hard
time climbing in, but seemed determined. A lot of the flexibility and
strength was clearly gone. He was amazed at the amount of
instrumentation
in my panel. He recognized the gyros, but was amazed that a civil
aircraft
would have an artificial horizon. He had never even heard of LORAN.
A quick runup and we were rolling down the runway. At about 200 ft I
told
him to go ahead and put his feet on the rudders and take the yoke. I
don't
normally let pax have that much control that low, but I had a good
feeling
about him. Sure enough, his hand was as steady as mine. The touch and
goes could wait - I was going to let him play.
We flew around low and slow for maybe half an hour. He was amazed how
little rudder the TriPacer needed until I explained about the bungees.
He
had a bit of trouble at first holding altitude in turns - he would pull
the
nose up as he rolled in and climb. His experience with heavy,
marginally
powered planes showed. Despite decades of inaction, he was still very
obviously a pilot.
And the stories he had. He had seen those white cliffs of Dover,
nursing
home a twin engine bomber with the control linkages to one engine shot
out,
the hydraulics gone, one engine stuck at 35 inches. He circled over the
field while the crew pumped down the gear, but nothing he did would
change
the power setting. He didn't want to land single engine so on his turn
to
base he pulled back the good engine, stood on the rudders along with his
copilot, and used differential thrust to turn final. Then he simply
killed
both engines and landed dead stick. He had stories of his primary
training
in a Taylorcraft, flying backwards in a stiff wind and landing in
pastures
for practice. He told of a time when he had picked his field and was
coming up short. He was waiting for the instructor to call the
go-around
until finally, at about 50 feet, he called it himself. Instead, the
instructor took the plane, dived into ground effect, flew to the fence,
popped over it, and landed in the field. I wondered what people would
think of that now. All the while, as he told the stories, he was flying
the plane with a smoothness that was coming back.
Eventually we went to a local field so I could shoot my landings. I
don't
generally practice emergency procedures with pax but he was different.
I
idled the throttle and flew my pattern in emergency mode, staying close
and
high and then slipping off the extra altitude. To him it seemed
perfectly
normal. Of course you idle the throttle and control glideslope by
slipping
- how else would you do it?
The look in his eyes... It will always haunt me, I think. Both joyful,
at
being back in the air, and, somehow, wistful. Why did he stop flying,
as
so many did when the war was over and they left the service? I'll
likely
never know; somehow it seemed wrong to ask. He had his reasons, I'm
sure.
Maybe good ones, maybe not. Did he regret his decision? I don't know.
But he was there in the glory days. He saw a kind of flying that most
of
us will never see. In a way I really envy him.
I hear a lot about how important it is to give a kid a ride. And I
guess
that's right - they are the future of aviation. And in a way, I guess
what
I did had no practical purpose, unlike a Young Eagle ride or some such.
He
is likely too old to ever fly again. He is not the future of aviation -
merely a bit of its living past.
I hope never to say goodbye to the sky, but sometimes life doesn't quite
work out as we might wish. And I hope that if I'm ever that old man,
hanging around the airport, watching the planes, some kid will give me a
ride. For old times sake.
Michael Masterov PA-22-150 N3653P "Patches"
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