Time to say Goodbye

Airplanes and people either mate for life or they cast about for adventures heretofore unrequited. With the CallAir Cadet mushing toward completion of a long refurbishment, it's time for Woody to poke his nose toward new adventures. 

Click on the pictures to make them bigger

I put the ad in Barnstormers today with a mixture of regret and anticipation. Regret, because Woody is a darned good airplane and a LOT of fun to fly; anticipation, because I'm already looking ahead to a building project after the CallAir is done and sold and no, I won't tip my hand just yet ... There are bridges to cross first.

I like airplanes and because of that I like to leave them to the next owner better than I got them - not that there was anything really wrong when I bought it. 

I'll point out a few things; the old Stromberg carburetor had to go. The engine ran OK, I just wanted to change it out. Fortunately, there is an alternative in that Marvel-Scheblers are available. I bought a factory reconditioned one for less money and aggravation that I'd have spent trying to keep the Stromberg.  

The exhaust was pretty close to the fabric on the left side so Malcolm fashioned new outlets that were canted to blow straight out. 

One aileron control cable was beginning to show signs of wear so we ordered a new one. 

... and that's all it took to make me happy - not bad for an airplane bought sight unseen, not that I recommend it.

Ed Sterba lives not too far away from here and he was really pleased to see one of his props at a local fly-in. He's still in the business of making props. I know I'd buy another one if I needed it.

Pardon my photographic non-skills. We installed 8.50x6 tires to increase the deck angle on the ground. I found I had to accelerate to a higher speed for takeoff than I thought necessary because the angle of attack was so low with the old 6.00x6 tires. The bigger tires did the trick. The fittings for the landing gear in the picture on the right are good sized fittings. Everyone who knows anything about airplanes remarks that it is really well designed and built.

Up front, if you don't see it, you don't need it. This is an airplane for going up and looking down - my favorite pursuit since handing the jet keys to the younger pilots. I carry a makeup mirror in the cockpit to look at the "fuel gauge" behind me. That gets a laugh at fly-ins...

Some new owner is going to have a lot of fun in this airplane just as I have. 

Here's my shameless pitch: I have about $20K in the airplane but I don't expect to get that out of it. If you know someone who is looking for a fun ride that won't nickle and dime them in maintenance, look for my ad in Barnstormers and put them in touch with me. 

P.S. Barbecue is better when you fly to meet up with friends.

P.P.S. For a look back at my earlier posts about Woody, go to:

            Some things, you just have to do

                 Once More, Dear Friends, Into the Breach!!

                 February is for Flying (as long as you're in Florida)

                 In theory ...

                 Getting the hang of it ...

Leave it to Beaver

I once had a girlfriend named Beverly whose nickname was "Beaver" so I have sort of a pre-history with the warm, fuzzy feeling that I got when new friend John taxied his 1957 DeHavilland DHC-2 up to the beach at my house on the lake, there to repose for a week or so while he carted his stuff to Minnesota for the summer.

John is a pretty cool guy - he once had a business in MN and saved up enough to learn to fly, eventually getting into seaplanes and the Beaver. The flash bulb went off - you remember those - and he decided to make a small(er) fortune giving airplane rides. As he described it, the business that once supported the Beaver became the business supported BY the Beaver and so John did what anyone would do: He started flying full time.

Trouble is, when you're flying a seaplane in Minnesota it gets COLD in the winter and the water gets real hard, so John flew toward the warm weather and found a sleepy little burg in Florida called Mount Dora that welcomed him and the Beav with open arms. 

The Grande Dame of central Florida hotels

The Lakeside Inn at Mount Dora has a long and storied history and John bases his operation there.

http://www.lakeside-inn.com

Lakeside Inn photos were unceremoniously ripped from their web site

What could be more delightful, especially considering the alternative of freezing his tail off in Minnesota?

Now, in mid-April, the practice thunderboomers are trying out their muscles here in central Florida in preparation for their summer season and John has a date with his paint shop up north, so he and the Beaver are wending their way to the uppa yew-ess by way of a couple of stops in Alabama and other dockside rendezvous . . .

Safe flight, John. See you in the fall.

For Ray - in hopes that email has a very long reach

Long ago in a galaxy far, far away, I was a college student who found work at a local radio station in Kentucky that was blessed to have, as its manager, a fellow named Raymond Holbrook.

Raymond Paul Holbrook

photo from the Lexington Herald

Ray was a broadcaster's broadcaster who came up in radio after a degree in journalism from the University of Kentucky and his then-obligatory national service as a Captain in the Air Force. His work in radio took him from several stations in Kentucky to television, to the Radio Advertising Bureau in Washington and, finally, back to his home at WVLK in Lexington. When you fly to Lexington in an airliner, it is Ray's voice that welcomes you to the terminal.

I always considered it my very good fortune to have met and worked for Ray Holbrook. We got back in touch a few years ago and amid a little reminiscing I decided to make a trip back to Kentucky to see him. The Keeneland race track, practically next door, is home to one of the most beautiful horse racing venues in the world so I decided to time my visit in April or October to spend an additional afternoon in reunion with college buddies, bourbon and burgoo while watching the ponies run. As things go sometimes, I put off the trip and learned last week that Ray died in December.

Ray was not only a broadcaster and friend to me, he was a pilot and writer, too. We spent lots of time talking flying before I did my first real training, and talking about writing before I sold a thing. To make myself feel better as much as anything, after a one-sided conversation while walking alone last week, I wrote him an email that I'm posting here word for word. One note: he showed me an early draft of an essay about a flight with a friend of his in a Crosley Moonbeam. It was published years later in one of the aviation magazines. I'm recreating the last lines of that essay as best I can remember them so the words aren't mine - they're his. Another line expresses the frustration of writing - that came from Richard Bach. 

"Well, Ray, my trip to Kentucky - the one I've been postponing for stupid reasons - was postponed one Keeneland meeting too many. 

"It's probably foolish, seeing as how you've flown west ahead of me, but I want you to know how much you meant to me when I was an aspiring radio, and later TV, guy. I should have chosen to stay on the talent side but I wanted to go where the 'big money' was and tried my hand at sales. What a comeuppance that was! You were generous, though, and let me fire myself from Channel 27. Much later, when I called myself the "world's worst TV advertising salesman", you wouldn't accept the description. It worked out well; as a TV ad salesman I made a pretty good pilot.

"The flying thing? That was your doing, too. I had always loved airplanes, spent untold hours at little airports as a young teenager. When you gave me a chance to sell some advertising to Mr. Boehmer at Bluegrass Field, he ended up selling me flying lessons in return. I think I got the best commission of my life that day. It took me 9 years to build the hours to get my first flying job, but that was the next big day in a series of big days that stretched over 40 years. At the end, I was Chief Pilot and Director of Flight Operations at an international flight department out of New York, flying all over the world, the bear who went over the mountain.

"The writing thing? You were a big part of that, too. Air&Space/Smithsonian published three or four of my essays; somebody else printed one as a contest winner. I actually got paid by A&S and they wanted more, but I stopped writing, largely because I didn't feel right, baring myself that way. Your essays for the aviation magazines, on the other hand, were awfully good. We spent time talking about writing, reading Gordon Baxter and others, debating what was good and what wasn't. I suspect it was a personal pursuit for you, too - too personal, almost painful, to spend your days and nights wadding up little balls of paper and throwing them into a corner of the room when the words didn't come out just right. I never did get past that, myself.

"So this note to you, my friend, may never be read, at least on this green earth; it comes a little late. I thought I might put my long overdue trip to Kentucky together for next month. Something made me use the computer to search your name one more time and I saw the writeup in the Herald. You're gone, it said, but you're not and never will be as long as those who love you have breath. 

"Save me a place to tie down. When we've had lunch I'll give you a prop and we'll take the Crosley Moonbeam to the runway, cut the cord that ties us to the earth, and let it slowly drift away.

"Fly Safe"

 Crosley Moonbeam, s/n 4, at the Kentucky Aviation Museum in Lexington

Photo posted to a "Wiki" site and attributed to a fellow who calls himself "6oclocklow"

Of all the things I've done and not done, the greatest regrets have come from those reunions not kept. 

Valentine's Day Barbecue at Grass Roots

There's this fellow in central Florida named David Gay who lives and breathes airplanes and architecture and who, with his wife, Ann, decided at some point to build an airport. 

Not just any airport, a real, live airport with a runway that's built up from the surrounding swamp land that nobody wanted, out in the middle of nowhere, where other airplane nuts could gather, live, commune with the air and all that stuff. And they succeeded.

Fly-ins at Grass Roots are usually themed, such as "Biplane" or "Cub" or "Antique" gatherings, but occasionally David opens up to invited guests of mixed persuasions and has an event like the "Valentine's Day" fly-in.

A biplane fly-in from the Grass Roots website

So it was that a gaggle of airplanes and pilots flew over from Spruce Creek Airpark just south of Daytona on the east coast of Florida, and among them were the Fallers, friends from Bayport Aerodrome on Long Island who make their home now at the Creek.

Russ Faller (R) and me, enjoying sunshine

There's a story here that starts with a dumb stunt on my part at a fly-in in New York that resulted in a busted prop and overhauled engine, a stuck valve on the overhauled engine, the freeing up of that valve (by Russ) and his loan of a prop as a favor to me, and my good fortune to meet and fly with his son, Paul, at the big company on Long Island. He's still there, doing well, and we still keep in touch.

So while Paul enjoys big, zippy jets and snow, his Dad and I get to frolic in the sunshine among dope and fabric airplanes, taildragger pilots and barbecue. I wouldn't trade places for the world.

You can find out more about Grass Roots Airpark online (lots available) at: http://www.grassrootsairpark.com

If you cook, they will come

Nothing much comes between Woody and food ... especially when you have to fly to get to it!

Woody, westbound for those fluffy scrambled eggs, sausage, GRITS, waffles, pancakes, assorted condiments and good company.

The Flying FOOLZ (Florida Order Of Lightplane Zealots) can put out a great spread, drawing airplanes (and pilots) of all shapes and sizes for the fun, food and fellowship. For more pictures and a schedule of activities, go to:

http://www.flyingfoolz.org/

(click the pics to make 'em bigger)

The count was something over 90 airplanes and 250 people. Not bad for a breezy, last weekend in January. Certainly better than the weekend weather up nawth (snow, ice, etc).

There were two fly-ins featuring good grub this past weekend; I just decided to go to the one that was closer. The other one was at Melrose Landing, sponsored by FSAACA (Florida Sport Aviation Antique and Classic Association). Reports from the field indicate a good turnout there, too.

More to come. My mouth is watering already.

Fall is for Flying!

Maybe it's the transition to cooler weather, maybe it's just that we get a little spring in our step when the airplane seems to leap off the runway and climb performance is quicker to put more air between the ground and the seat of our pants,  but I sure do welcome fall as a season. The barbecue tastes better, the hot eggs and grits and coffee go down better, the jokes are fresh and there's always a new paint job or a new airplane to admire on the field ... wherever the field may be.

Woody and I missed the fly-in on September 27th with a mechanical problem, but here's a picture of Flying W at Bushnell FL on a sunny day in April of this year. The picture came from the Flying FOOLZ website and a link to that and more from this outstanding EAA Chapter appears below.

The field fills up pretty quickly with airplanes of all descriptions

The Florida Order Of Lightplane Zealots (Flying FOOLZ) is also known as EAA Chapter 1489, and their fly-in breakfasts are a magnet for central Florida pilots. Take a look at their web calendar and all the goings-on at:

http://www.flyingfoolz.org

Tinker Toys

When I was a young(er) squirt, one of my favorite gadgets was a box of something called Tinker Toys. Pilagiarizing shamelessly from Wikipedia, the toy was simple, designed in 1914 by a fellow who fashioned circular blocks of wood about two inches across with holes drilled on the outside of the blocks at 45 degree angles and a transverse hole through the middle. I built all sorts of things with mine - one fellow even built a computer that played tic-tac-toe with his.

For everything you always wanted to know about Tinkertoy:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tinkertoy

Malcolm must have had or admired a Tinkertoy set when he was growing up because he has displayed the CallAir fuselage in his maintenance hanger for all the world to see. It's resting on sawhorses now but will be "on the gear" pretty soon. First things first, there are control cables and tailwheel assemblies and main gear assemblies to - ahem - assemble, a firewall to build, attachments for things to be attached to and so on. This is when people who are restoring airplanes reach a point when they decide to sell their project as "90% done". Experienced restorers take that tongue in cheek and usually remark that "90% done" means there is only 90% to go.

The CallAir fuselage, ready for decoration. Tinkertoy experience helps.

For everything you always wanted to know about this CallAir, go to earlier posts on this blog.

Meanwhile:

Woody is in for his yearly condition inspection and so far has passed with flying colors ... he'll be back in the skies over Central Florida this weekend. 

Time do fly

In the month or so I've been off these pages there has been some progress on the CallAir Cadet restoration and some flying in the Woody's Pusher department. All good, all to be credited to my life enrichment account (except maybe for the CallAir thing - Malcolm sees more of the enrichment than I do at this point).

That was then (L); This is now (R)

The Cadet fuselage is back from being blasted, inspected and primed from stem to stern. The tubing looked great after nearly 50 years under the old covering. Most of the airport denizens remark that this is an airframe that is really overbuilt, and I agree. To survive training and off-airport landings you need a stout structure and this derivation of the Interstate Cadet has stout in spades. 

We've decided on a few tweaks here and there for purposes of safety such as provisions for shoulder harnesses that will bring the airplane up to today's standards.

With the CallAir's wings and tail feathers covered and ready for finishing and the fuselage work underway, what's a fellow to do but enjoy the year-round, open cockpit flying weather here in Florida ...

Woody and I flail the air regularly from the 3000 foot pool table that is Bob White Field, searching for burgers and Barbecue-du-jour amongst those wonderful aviation people who practice that secret art of porcine preparation. One need not go far - there are fly-ins aplenty in our part of paradise and the parking areas always have room for one more.

Come see us.

Bob White Fly-In

It sure is nice when friends drop in for a little lunch and some chit-chat and it's especially nice to share a fly-in weekend with another airport just 35 miles away ... this past weekend was the annual Halloween fly-in breakfast at Flying W, home of the Flying FOOLZ (Florida Order Of Lightplane Zealots) and the Bob White Fly-in lunch at my home field in Zellwood.

The day couldn't have been nicer and the airplanes and people just kept coming. Pete confirmed we had 90 airplanes and about 200 people, but there could have been more (I had to leave a little early due to a nasty cold coming on and didn't want to spread it around). Here's a link to Joe Dunn's video:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iLoenqqGLjc&list=UUN6LUDNTPddBA9x-PrnOV2g 

This was just a small part of the lunch crowd ... Our airport owner, Pete Counsell, had plenty of hamburgers and hotdogs and fixings and belly washers and even desserts to make it a special gathering and, of course, there were the airplanes. 

When all is said and done, there's just no better way to spend a weekend than to be among birds of a feather on a perfect day for flying.

Pete

Pete beside her Civilian Pilot Training Program Taylorcraft, 1941

When I was about four or five, I learned my aunt, Margaret "Pete" Dowsett, had flown airplanes. This was momentous. There was (and still is) a little airport in my home town and at the time it had a rotating beacon that swept the sky outside my bedroom window nightly with green and white beams of light. The runway was flat, green grass and when I stood at the end it seemed a doorway to every place in the world beyond the mountains that surrounded on every side. My Aunt Pete could fly around the world! I stood in awe.

Born Margaret Joanna Seagle on September 11, 1912, she grew up on the family farm. In the 1930s she followed her younger sister, my mother, as a nursing student at St. Luke's Hospital in New York City and as a nanny to the children of their uncle, the parish priest of New York society's gateway to Heaven - Saint Stephen's Episcopal Church on the upper west side. While in New York, she made a number of friends through the church members. One of those friends was a socialite and member of the St. Stephen's elite named Ruth Nichols. 

Ruth Nichols beside the Lockheed Vega owned by Crosley Radio Corporation and used by her to set records for eastbound and westbound transcontinental flight (with stops), altitude records and speed records. She made a transatlantic solo attempt but crash landed at St. Johns, Newfoundland, breaking her back in five places. Several months later with the airplane rebuilt and herself in a steel corset she set a nonstop distance record for women, flying from Burbank CA to Louisville KY. Nichols became a director of the prestigious Long Island Aviation Country Club, a managing director of the Fairchild Aircraft Manufacturing Company and was inducted posthumously into the National Aviation Hall of Fame in 1992.

Ruth Nichols was often branded the "Flying Debutante" by the New York press and she hated it. This was a serious pilot. She was introduced to flying with a high school graduation present from her father, who was prominent in his own right as one of Teddy Roosevelt's Rough Riders and a member of the New York Stock Exchange. The gift was an airplane ride with Eddie Stinson and, though sickened by Stinson's aerobatics, she was immediately bitten by the flying bug. She secretly took flying lessons while a student at Wellesly College and was one of the first two licensed female pilots in the U.S. Her resume is long and varied and readily available with an internet search but the part that intersected with my Aunt Pete was her enthusiasm for the useful employment of airplanes.

In 1939, Ruth organized Relief Wings, a civilian air ambulance service, and by the fall of 1941 had established centers in most states. Relief Wings was absorbed into the Civil Air Patrol when the United States entered World War II in December 1941. Pete was an early recruit and began her own flight training under the Civilian Pilot Training Program ... but first there was "the parade".

Ruth Nichols (L), unnamed nurse, and 29 year old "Pete" Seagle (R) 

Ruth, Pete and a nurse/student pilot took part in the New York Women's Parade down Fifth Avenue. The parade organizers first refused to grant a permit for an airplane on the back of a flatbed truck, but Ruth picked up the phone and called a family friend - the Mayor, Fiorello LaGuardia - and that was that. Speed's Flying Service removed the wings of the J-3 Cub to make the drive from Flushing, Long Island, into Manhattan and bolted them back on again once their place in the parade was reached.

In 1942, Pete was nursing in Massachusetts. Wartime rules prohibited civilian flying within 50 miles of the coast. The commute to the closest training field proved too much and Pete eventually had to give up her plans to fly. It was a reluctant decision but by no means the end of her love affair with flying.

Photo scans thanks to Granddaughter Christena

Kids do the darndest things. Fall of the year is a wonderful time to fly in the mountains of western North Carolina and it so happened that there was a fellow giving hot air balloon rides so for her 80th and 90th birthdays, Pete was once again in the air, enjoying the view.

So it happens that in the natural course of life we eventually come to the end of it. We don't know when; all we can hope for is that at the end we have given more than we received, loved well and been loved in return. I miss her hugs, miss holding her hand and cannot help but to feel a great loss, now that she is gone. On the other hand, I remember her quick smile, her gentle counsel, her loving tolerance of my shenanigans, and how she waved to me from her garden when I flew over her house so many times. 

Once, on a trip to a faraway place, I found myself in an internet cafe with a book beside me by Antoine de St. Exupery, a French pilot and writer par excellence who was also a friend of Charles and Anne Lindbergh; I was looking for more information on their relationship. Upon St. Ex's death during World War II, Anne Lindbergh wrote of her regrets to her husband. I found his handwritten reply: "Do you have so little faith that you would mourn someone who is dead?" I thought that harsh, writing to someone in mourning, but on reflection, and I have done so many times, it speaks to a greater truth and is a most appropriate remark.

With love,
Margaret Joanna Seagle Dowsett
"Pete"

September 11, 1912

October 13, 2014