When Lindbergh flew to Paris in 1927, I was age 6. Hearing about it on
the radio & seeing pictures & stories in the newspaper, triggered a
lifetime fascination about aviation.
Determined to have a model to run around the house with & accompany with
motor like noises, I needed building material. I found a wood apple box.
How that box impacted my life is kind of well . . . like magic.
A neighbor had a weather vane. I was intrigued by how its prop rotated.
I figured to first have me a prop. Tools at the house were scissors,
kitchen knives, pliers, hammer, screw driver & a metal file. My dad was
a meat cutter & kept knives sharp with whetstones. He said the only time
he ever cut himself was when forcing a dull knife.
With the screw driver I pried between box parts to loosen nails. With
hammer or pliers, I got them out. I had a stack of wood of different
thicknesses & some nails. With knife & hammer I split off a strip of the
thinner wood & hacked through it for a prop blank. I pounded one of the
nails through to make a hole & got it out with the pliers. I used the
scissors to ream out the hole so the prop could turn.
On the back steps, mom’s paring knife in hand, I whittled my first prop.
I split a stick off a box end, mounted the prop & took off running
around the house. Seeing the prop spin was total delight. I next
discovered that if I filed the stick end round, the prop turned better.
Nailing a wood ruler to the stick & using a bit of imagination, I had my
first airplane. The joy & satisfaction of being inventive & creative was
forever seared into my consciousness.
I made a lot of props. They got better & better.
When the 1929 Depression hit, money became about non-existent. I could
have anything I wanted, as long as it cost nothing. I discovered a scrap
pile behind a cabinet shop. Occasionally there were some “carving pine”
pieces in it. I discovered easy splitting cedar things like shingles,
fence posts & thin cigar boxes, bamboo rakes, tissue, wrapping paper &
string. Flour & water made glue & there were remnants from school.
Along the way I came into a coping saw & discovered sandpaper and razor
blades my dad discarded. Over the next few years I made darts, kites,
whistles, sling shots, bows, arrows & airplanes. Making stuff was an
unending adventure. Never, never did I complain “Mom, there’s nothing to
do!”
From a picture in the paper, at age 11 I carved a Gee Bee racer &
painted it B &
W. A cousin I gave it to still has it. For a nickel, if you ever had
one, you could get a bottle of strong LePages 48 hour Iron Glue. Books
kept things in place while it dried. Making biplanes with cedar cigar
box pieces for wings & matches for struts, taught patience.
In high school, with the Depression raging on, I scratch built rubber
powered stuff & CD’d sanctioned events. After working my way through
college & with a little money, I got into original design, gas-powered
free flight. I learned about thermals. My best birds flew out of sight.
Exhausting chases on foot over wheat stubble with sweat burning the eyes
wasn’t fun. My first wife greatly resented the hobby. I quit . . . for
good, I thought.
20 years later, mid-1960’s, long time modeler friend Al Schatzel stopped
by all excited. He’d read about guys in California flying along slopes
with RC gear & about curious hawks joining them. Envisioning thermal
soaring to great heights & getting safely back by radio got me all
stirred up. I’d figure it out, all by myself. New wife Patricia did not
mind.
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