Life in Pennsylvania – The best years of my life

Everyone I’ve ever met has a passion for something. In my case it’s flying. I became interested in this hobby when I was three years old when my father, who had just purchased an old Stinson Station Wagon, offered me a ride. I remember distinctly that I had initially refused when he said,
“Okay then were leaving without you” to which I replied
“Okay, I’m coming” then I awkwardly climbed aboard the fabric covered airplane. I remember it was a noisy thing filled with the sounds of the engine and unintelligible radio communications. The experience was unlike anything I’ve ever encountered. It certainly was no analog of a Sunday drive in the family station wagon. It began with a slow taxi to the runway, then to the runup area where the engine was runup to a certain RPM to test two independent ignition systems for reliability and a predictable drop in RPM’s. Carburetor heat was tested next which is used to clear any accumulated ice in its’ throat that would starve the engine of fuel. The controls were also checked for freedom of movement, the engine instruments were examined to assure the motor has sufficient oil pressure for lubrication, and others to make certain the electrical and vacuum is sufficient to operate the radios and flight instruments.
Finally, the tower cleared us to use the active runway. My father advanced the throttle until the little airplane gathered enough speed to fly. I recall with amazement how everything suddenly got smaller and that we were moving through the sky at over one hundred miles an hour even though it appeared we were hardly moving at all.
I was hooked. It seems that every Sunday my dad and I would go to the airport's Sky Trails restaurant for a pancake breakfast and a ride in the Stinson for a couple of hours. After landing we would have a hamburger lunch. At that time the Van Nuy’s Air National Guard pilots would taxi their F-86 Jets near the restaurant where the pilots would get off their aircraft, get lunch, and mingle with the civilian pilots. It was an interesting mix of people with varying degrees of flying expertise.
Years went by and my father got three other airplanes in succession. The first was a Cessna 180 which he owned for eight years, then a Beechcraft Debonair for 19 years and then a six passenger Beechcraft Bonanza. When I finally soloed at 16 and achieved my private pilot’s license at 17, I obtained my own two place Cessna 150 which I shared with another family. I flew that airplane everywhere, but the biggest adventure was when my partner got stuck in Toronto, Canada and I had to return the airplane to Los Angeles. It took me 33 flying hours to complete that trip and I calculated I could have driven it faster. I recall there was a time I could see eighteen wheelers below passing me. However, the trip was worth it since I garnered lots of experience in navigation and flying in adverse weather. It also removed the notion that I was a pretty sophisticated pilot since that trip was humbling and made me a safer person as a result.
My father and I flew the Bonanza for a few years and until he lost his medical certificate due to advanced breast cancer. He died five years after he was diagnosed, and the airplane languished until it was sold. It was a hard luck airplane since the original owner and my father died untimely deaths. The first owner was murdered by his wife with a Phillips screwdriver and my father died prematurely from a malignancy. I sold the airplane for many reasons but the principal one was that it was my fathers and I felt odd flying it.
At the time of sale, the country was experiencing “Stagflation” and interest rates on savings were quite high hovering around 10%. I used the interest accrued from the sale of the airplane to build an unusual and sophisticated experimental aircraft called a Long EZ. It was built in the upstairs office space of the Barker Hangar known as the Hole in the Wall among five other EZ’s that were in various stages of completion. I decided I wanted to build one after seeing the dedicated builders having a wonderful time building parts and then assembling them. The shop was open 7 days a week but most of the activities took place in the evening hours after work. There was a great deal of camaraderie among the builders as we commiserate about the difficulty of some aspects of the construction process. The Hole in the Wall had certain rules for visitors called the Five-Minute rule. Anyone was allowed to visit for 5 minutes but if one exceeded that time, they were required to assist other builders, clean the shop or leave. I recall on my first visit I looked around and then the principal builder, Stan, handed me a cup of warm epoxy. “What is it?”, I asked, “Epoxy resin. Mix it”, he commanded. No please or thank you, just a demand in accordance with the Five-Minute rule. There was a good reason for this regulation since there are those who take up a lot of one’s time asking questions that would interfere with the ongoing work. This was especially problematic when a builder is working with epoxy which has a certain “pot or working life” that required builder to complete a task within a certain time frame. Any interference would result in work that was subpar requiring rework or disposal of the assembly.
We also ate together, played together, celebrated together and when the airplanes were completed, we flew together. We went everywhere in these airplanes including Mexico to do airshows for the Planetarium in Guadalajara. We practiced close formation flying and aerobatics without formal training. We raced our airplanes too, competing in cross country races requiring the airplanes to be lightened and made more aerodynamic. We did this by removing unnecessary equipment like radios and position lights and then taping seams where airflow could be disrupted. We would then race over the most desolate places like Jackpot Nevada, Wendover Utah and Kanab Utah. When the races were over an awards ceremony would take place and plaques would be issued to the first, second and third place winners in each class.
My friend Barry once said that “Any time you put something in motion there is an implied risk”, so it follows that we also had a few accidents and fatalities along the way. Usually, it was engine failure resulting in a forced landing. To my knowledge there were no structural failures if the airplanes were built in accordance with the plans. Bad weather and poor judgment were also killers. I can think of two occasions where I nearly got bit. The first was when a group of us were returning from Kanab to Los Angeles. The weather reports are usually reliable in the states, but the consensus of the group was that the only way we’re really going to know what the weather is like was to “put our nose on it”. I felt at the time that there were more experienced pilots than myself, so I allowed my better judgment to be eclipsed by their own. But as the weather briefers advised, ceilings got progressively lower. The “V” formation we initially assumed was transformed into a line of airplanes, nose to tail, when we were forced lower by a diminishing ceiling into a narrow canyon.
Complicating matters was the fact that we didn’t know with precision where we were based on landmarks. Fortunately, the Loran C (a precision low frequency navigation device) in my cockpit was working reliably and indicated Bullhead City airport was only a few miles away on the other side of the Colorado river. As we cleared the canyon the Loran C quit but we were able to see the airport and landed with a sigh of relief since I really thought I was going to die that day.
On another occasion when we were in Guaymas, Mexico we were planning to return to Los Angeles, via Hermosillo. At the time the weather was overcast but weather reports and the forecast called for an improvement. Initially the ceilings were five thousand feet so as a flight of three airplanes we took off with the expectation that we would see improvement as we progressed. Unfortunately, the ceilings lowered, and we could no longer maintain the required separation from the clouds; we were in the overcast. Two of the airplanes did not have working artificial horizons but mine did. I took the lead and the remaining two formed up on me. Now three airplanes were in the zero zero conditions with me in the lead. Instead of pressing on, it was decided to climb further into the clouds and return to Guaymas. We reversed course and encountered heavy rain which overwhelmed the canopy and canard1 seals. Water entered my cockpit and fried my primary radio. Fortunately, I had a backup handheld transceiver that could receive but could only transmit noise. Using hand signals, I was able to indicate my situation to my wingman and then using two clicks of my radio for yes, and one for no, we were able to communicate with each other.
When we successfully returned to Guaymas and I finally tied down the airplane, water poured from the cockpit drain holes. I realized that had we sustained flight longer than we did, the airplane could have experienced flooding to the extent that the balance of the airplane could have been compromised making the airplane uncontrollable. Also, additional water could have shorted out other critical systems causing the engine to quit.
The following year we were back in Mexico with the same weather conditions as before. Everyone except me wanted to go. “Y’all have a nice safe trip. I’m going to wait until things improve. I’ve had enough flying through rain.” The group changed their minds and the following day we departed and arrived in Los Angeles without incident.
I have had many adventures in my airplane but as the years went on, I flew less and less because I had become bored with just “punching holes” in the sky. Also, my depression required treatment that was expensive and time consuming and complicated the acquisition of a medical certificate. Then the day came I would no longer be able to qualify for one. The airplane I flew for 25 years that took me three and a half years to build was sold for mere dollars. No one could possibly compensate me for the emotional investment I made in that airplane.
I have no regrets about my adventures and their conclusion. I had a marvelous time flying with my buddies, going places, meeting new and like-minded people as well as learning about building and flying a fantastic design. I was fortunate to have such an experience and thank G-d that I was given the opportunity to do so. They were the best years of my life.
This is Seventy writing to you from Warminster Pennsylvania. A great place to think about flying.
Y’all don’t forget to write,