(photo used by permission)
Dad was born to fly.When he was growing up, his big brother, John used to make free-flight airplanes and they would take them out to an open place and release them. They would follow them visually, maybe on their bicycles, maybe in a car, and retrieve them at the end of their flight. I guess that when Uncle John built them, he set the flight control surfaces (rudder, ailerons, horizontal stabilizers) so the aircraft would fly in a wide climbing spiral. After the engine or rubber band stopped, the plane would glide in a downward spiral to the ground. Dad would talk about times when the wind might catch the plane, and it might head off for “parts unknown”. I wish I could have seen them. Uncle John grew up to be an airline pilot. . .a darn good one (it ran in the family). He retired as a Senior Pilot for United Air Lines. He had flown 747’s from Los Angeles to Hawaii (and back). The airline called him “back into service” to train new pilots (sound familiar?), and he also flew as a flight engineer at times. Of course, Dad had to fly too. About the time he got into the Air Force, jet fighters were being developed and improved at an astounding pace. Dad flew, in a relatively short span of time, the F-84F, F-84G, and the first of the “century fighters” the F-100. I think he flew the F-100 longer than the other two. The early “century fighters” were fast, dangerous, and sometimes nothing more than a ‘test bed’ for new developments in aircraft technology. The F-100 was the plane the Thunderbirds were flying when I first became “interested” in flying. Although, even as a young (4-5 year old) boy, I could identify an aircraft by the sound it made when it was taking off. Since we lived on base, I grew up hearing jets flying all the time. When the Air Force decided to replace the F-100 as a front-line fighter, they went to the F-4 Phantom II. The Air Force “borrowed” some F-4B’s from the Navy, who was already using them. One of the first operational squadrons in the Air Force to use the F-4 was the 4453rd based at MacDill AFB at Tampa, Florida. This occurred in 1963. I remember Dad telling us about the F-4. It was a huge aircraft. Loud. Smoky. Powerful. Fast. And my Dad got to fly them. I remember that President Kennedy made a visit to Tampa in November of 1963. We drove down to the motorcade route, and got to see the President and First Lady drive right in front of us. It was the 18th of November, 1963. Less than a week later, the first operational mission for the 4453rd CCTS was to participate in a flyover for President Kennedy’s funeral. My brother seems to remember Dad being at home during the funeral, so he may not have participated in the flyover. He is probably right, although even if Dad had flown in the funeral, he probably wouldn’t have talked about it much. He wasn’t much on “bragging” about his exploits. After we left MacDill for Davis-Monthan AFB in Arizona in 1964, Dad found a small airstrip on the outskirts of Tucson where he would occasionally rent a light plane and take (depending on the capacity of the plane) one or more of us flying. I remember he used to rent a plane called a “Citabria”, which was “airbatic” spelled backwards. A lightweight, maneuverable, top-winged tandem aircraft. He would take me up in the Citabria, and tell me how to control the airplane. Since my legs weren’t long enough to reach the rudder pedals, he would coordinate the rudder for me in turns. Then he would take the stick, “rattle” it to let me know he had the aircraft, and he would show me something else to try. I remember one time we were in a steep left banking turn, and I looked out the window and saw a house on top of a mountain. I distinctly remember the brilliant blue-green of the water in the swimming pool in the back yard. By this time, I think he was already an instructor in the F-4. He showed me “what” he taught. He told me to make sure my belt was tight, and then all of a sudden we were upside down and spinning toward the earth. I doubt that he was trying to make me sick or anything, I think he just wanted to see if I had the “right stuff”. Even plummeting toward earth (probably much slower than it appeared to me) I had no fear because I trusted in my Dad’s skills implicitly.
I remember about this time period, Dad had a subscription to “FLYING” magazine. I would read them from cover to cover every month. Sometime during 1965 or 1966, they ran an article about a plane called the “Aircoupe”. It was a very simple airplane to fly, and had no rudder pedals, only a brake pedal on the floor. It could take off at 60 mph, and could literally be flown out of a supermarket parking lot (a big one, admittedly). From that point on, that airplane was the plane of my dreams, and I vowed that someday I would own one, or at least fly one.
Dad rented a Cessna 172 one time and took the whole family up at once. Each of us kids got a chance to “fly” the plane for a little while. I remember feeling kind of smug when, during Bryan’s turn, he gradually lost 300 feet of altitude, while during my chance at the controls I kept my eyes glued to the “artificial horizon”, one of the gauges that indicates whether the aircraft is going up or down I was able to maintain altitude, but realized that flying wasn’t as “laid back” as I had thought. During my turn, I saw little of the scenery, because I was so busy trying to show Dad I could “do it”. Of course, if Dad had engaged the autopilot, we all could have watched the scenery. But I think he wanted us to know that flying can be work. After the divorce, and after Dad had retired from the military, he worked at an aircraft sales company about 30 minutes north of where we kids were living (with Mom). He called one day to ask if we would like to drive up to the airport and help him wash an airplane. After we got that done, he would take all of us kids for a ride. Never one to turn down an opportunity to fly, I jumped on it, and very soon Bryan, Sandy, Kathy, and I were heading for the airport. When we pulled into the GA (general aviation) area of the airport, my eyes took in a glorious sight. Airplanes! Lots of airplanes! And, if you looked real hard, there, on the other side of the runway, was a little red Aircoupe! I hoped that I might get a chance for a closer look at it, maybe while Dad was flying with one of my siblings. We found Dad where he said he would meet us, and exchanged hugs and greetings etc. He then led us over to the plane we were to wash: THE red 1946 Aircoupe. The plane of my dreams, and I was going to get to not only rub my hands all over that thing, but I was going to get to FLY it!! Was it just Chance that the Aircoupe needed washing, or did Dad know of my infatuation with that plane? I don’t know, and I don’t care. I got to fly that plane. As soon as Dad got it off the ground, he told me to take the aircraft. He directed me to climb to a specific altitude, and turn to a certain heading. After probably no more than 10 or 15 glorious minutes of following his instructions, we were once again lined up with the runway for landing. Dad told me to cut the throttle a little, and where I should keep the horizon, but he hadn’t taken the wheel back, and the ground was getting closer by the second. I don’t think I was ever scared, but I was still relieved when (literally) in the last few seconds before touchdown he gently took the wheel and said, “I’ll go ahead and take her in.” We lightly touched down seconds later. People talk now about a “bucket list”, or a list of things they want to do before they die. I had no idea back in fifth or sixth grade what a bucket list was, but flying an Aircoupe was the first thing on mine. I was able to “cross it off” my list that day. Thanks, Dad.
I remember about this time period, Dad had a subscription to “FLYING” magazine. I would read them from cover to cover every month. Sometime during 1965 or 1966, they ran an article about a plane called the “Aircoupe”. It was a very simple airplane to fly, and had no rudder pedals, only a brake pedal on the floor. It could take off at 60 mph, and could literally be flown out of a supermarket parking lot (a big one, admittedly). From that point on, that airplane was the plane of my dreams, and I vowed that someday I would own one, or at least fly one.
Dad rented a Cessna 172 one time and took the whole family up at once. Each of us kids got a chance to “fly” the plane for a little while. I remember feeling kind of smug when, during Bryan’s turn, he gradually lost 300 feet of altitude, while during my chance at the controls I kept my eyes glued to the “artificial horizon”, one of the gauges that indicates whether the aircraft is going up or down I was able to maintain altitude, but realized that flying wasn’t as “laid back” as I had thought. During my turn, I saw little of the scenery, because I was so busy trying to show Dad I could “do it”. Of course, if Dad had engaged the autopilot, we all could have watched the scenery. But I think he wanted us to know that flying can be work. After the divorce, and after Dad had retired from the military, he worked at an aircraft sales company about 30 minutes north of where we kids were living (with Mom). He called one day to ask if we would like to drive up to the airport and help him wash an airplane. After we got that done, he would take all of us kids for a ride. Never one to turn down an opportunity to fly, I jumped on it, and very soon Bryan, Sandy, Kathy, and I were heading for the airport. When we pulled into the GA (general aviation) area of the airport, my eyes took in a glorious sight. Airplanes! Lots of airplanes! And, if you looked real hard, there, on the other side of the runway, was a little red Aircoupe! I hoped that I might get a chance for a closer look at it, maybe while Dad was flying with one of my siblings. We found Dad where he said he would meet us, and exchanged hugs and greetings etc. He then led us over to the plane we were to wash: THE red 1946 Aircoupe. The plane of my dreams, and I was going to get to not only rub my hands all over that thing, but I was going to get to FLY it!! Was it just Chance that the Aircoupe needed washing, or did Dad know of my infatuation with that plane? I don’t know, and I don’t care. I got to fly that plane. As soon as Dad got it off the ground, he told me to take the aircraft. He directed me to climb to a specific altitude, and turn to a certain heading. After probably no more than 10 or 15 glorious minutes of following his instructions, we were once again lined up with the runway for landing. Dad told me to cut the throttle a little, and where I should keep the horizon, but he hadn’t taken the wheel back, and the ground was getting closer by the second. I don’t think I was ever scared, but I was still relieved when (literally) in the last few seconds before touchdown he gently took the wheel and said, “I’ll go ahead and take her in.” We lightly touched down seconds later. People talk now about a “bucket list”, or a list of things they want to do before they die. I had no idea back in fifth or sixth grade what a bucket list was, but flying an Aircoupe was the first thing on mine. I was able to “cross it off” my list that day. Thanks, Dad.
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