More Third Class Blues

I was so excited when I got the word about the AOPA and EAA working together to get rid of the toxic FAA third class medical. It sounded so reasonable. Now I'm a bit worried about the commenters in our ranks. I saw a lot of negative comments about the proposal. And the proposal hasn't even been written yet. The negative commenters all say the same thing. They don't want any limitations put on the new "3rd class medical free" pilots. They don't want the third class to go away in a "light sport" kind of way. They want the new rules to allow the recreational pilot to fly at night, on instruments, in planes up to 6000 lbs. With as many passengers as the plane can hold. Any horsepower etc. This group of commenters are basically in line with the petition that was written a year or so ago, that suggests that the third class is useless and we ought to get rid of it. The petition mentions the 6000 lbs. The problem with this approach is two fold. First, it asks for too much and the FAA will not agree to it. Second, it doesn't take advantage of the "foot in the door" that the light sport rules present. If it weren't for light sport, there would be no flying at all without the medical. (except gliders, ultra light etc). We all know that the 1320 lb. restriction is hopelessly ridiculous. But it at least got rid of the 3rd class on some level. It won general aviation something it needed for a long time. I am gratefull for it. I'll get a classic light sport myself in order to keep flying. I think we full circle pilots and basic general aviation pilots ought to get behind this AOPA/EAA proposal. If it is done with the restrictions, ala light sport, it will likely pass. And a whole bunch of guys will be all set with a whole bunch of nice airplanes. Lets get this done in a way that the FAA can tolerate. The AOPA and EAA lawyers will know just how far to push it and get it passed. After this gets passed, we can always ask for more. I'm surprised we have light sport. And gratefull. Let's let our experts sell this next step to the FAA. It's got a good chance. Let's not blow it just so a very few of us can fly at night and IFR. I'm 62 years old and have 24,000 hours. Now I want to fly for fun. Keeping IFR recency, and charts, and airplane equipment, up for filing IFR is work. Not fun. And single engine at night: On a pretty night, I admit it's fun, but I can live without it. I wouldn't do much of it anyway, for obvious reasons. The same reasons that I don't want to fly single engine IFR. I'd rather have these planned proposal limitations to drop the 3rd class, then no new deal at all. We'll set this deal back, or kill it, if we shoot for the moon. Goodbye 1320 lbs. I sure hope so. GAI :::::+:::::

A Ray of Hope in Third Class Blues

Out of the AOPA Summit in Hartford just today, just now, came a big announcement. An announcement that will hopefully be a lifestyle changer for me. The AOPA in cooperation with the EAA (that in itself is a miracle!), is putting together a proposal to be submited to the FAA after the first of the year. The proposal would eliminate the FAA 3rd class medical. It would allow all licensed pilots to fly with a drivers license for recreational purposes in the way that "light sport" pilots now fly. There will be limitations on this medically self monitored recreational flying. The limitations will be decided in the coming months for the proposal. Examples of the limitations might be: 180hp or less, 4 seats or less, one passenger only, day/VFR. We will hear a whole lot about this in the coming year. The difference for me in having a new, rational, medical situation for recreational flying means I would keep and fly my little Cherokee which I am familiar with. And I would not have to get a light sport aircraft: which I do not want anyway, and which I would not be as safe in, and which I would likely have to hand prop, and which would require some difficulty and expense to set up with radios that I would be comfortable in using in the SFRA and other situations. The EU and the manufaturers of new $120K light sport aircraft are not going to like this no 3rd class idea. Pilots will not be forced to buy their airplanes anymore. I'm sorry if this hurts their business. But I want them to know that I would never buy a little tiny 800 pound airplane for $120K in any circumstance, medical or not. If I see the EU and the light sport manufacturers lobbying against this new proposal, I intend to lobby against them. This new wave of energy to rid recreational flying of the cumbersome medical requirements, which were never needed in the first place, stands to be a huge boon and savior to American General Aviation. We need this. I need this. And I know I speak for many. Anyone who has a "special issuance" knows how absurd the 3rd class really is. Okay my post on this is almost over. I got one more thing to say. I have read remarks made against getting rid of the 3rd class. The remarks may be from people who have something to gain from the light sport manufacturing industry. But some remarks seemed to be from regular general aviation pilots who want their fellow pilots to "able" when they share the sky. These nay sayers need to back up their senseless fears with statistics or shut the hell up. Someone with a medical certificate of any class is just as likely to be incapacitated as someone who is self certifying. And one other thing nay sayer: if you like the third class so much then just go and get a second or first class as much as you want. By the way, you will find all three classes are almost exactly the same! But stay out of our fight to keep flying. We want to fly as long as we are healthy and we want to fly all our wonderful and safe airplanes in the aging fleet such as the Cessna 172. America has the majority of General Aviation aircraft. Our fleet is old and reliable. Our pilots are old and reliable. Let's fly.

8th Annual Fly-In at Lloyd's

The fly in was August 6th. I tried to get ready. We were in a major heat wave. So I didn't really need to mow. I patched fallen plaster. I had three tires from three different vehicles repaired or replaced. I cleaned up my stack of engineered lumber, and in the process Eric and I built eight benches. I hired Eric to work with me for about 30 hours over three weeks. We moved and painted 4 picnic tables. We decluttered the hangar and the hangar's loft. I knocked down some brush and woods to try to create what I called an "Infinity View" in the back yard. My wife and I took 4 pickup truck loads full of junk and clutter from the house to the dump over a 7 day period. The attic is still chock full. We scraped, primed and painted the northwest wall of the house. I added a bed to the man cave. My wife got us ready for eight overnight houseguests. I took my wife to dinner at CGE on Friday, a week before the fly-in in the Piper. Then the next night took Eric to dinner at GED in the Piper. We spent a whole day clearing brush. I primed and painted the hay wagon. On Thursday before the fly in my buddy Brian 3 came over and stayed a week. We extended the stage in the hangar by two and a half feet. We cleared all the storage off the stage and set up the bandstand to get it ready for Jon the drummer and light man. I had a port a potty delivered. My buddies flew in from Asheville Friday night and we started working even harder. We mowed and built a few tie downs and drank some beer. My wife's mom and her husband came in also Friday night.. I visited and kept working. I slept about three hours and got up at dawn and it was fly-in day. I mowed a parking area in the field in front. At about 11AM the planes came in. We had Trey and Janice. The quintessential fly-in attendees. They had the Luscombe. But some day they will bring in thier other plane. A classic 310. Then came an Arrow and a beautiful Saratoga. Another 172. A Decatholon. An Alon A-2 from SBY. A beautiful RV-8, and a Classic Stearman. We had wheels with the wings. We had a bike group led by my buddy Brad. There were nine BMW's from the western shore One of the BMW's was a Triumph. Two of the BMW's were Harleys. These guys are so nice and so colorful. They make any get together a phenomonon. I had two secret celebrities too. Of course, by definition, I can't tell you who they were. We wound up with eleven planes, nine motorcycles, one Quad named "night rider", a bright red Saturn Sky Turbo with the top down, which was a big hit on the flight line. Over eighty people. Most of the kids went swimming and the pool seemed perfect, thanks to my wife who overhauled the robot vacuum and tweaked up the chemicals. Rain threatened all day but never came. Folks from far away like Hancock and Philly started heading out and the bikes rolled down the driveway. The airplanes said goodbye with a flair and a fly-by. The Stearman and the Asheville airplane stayed tucked in for the night. As the sun went down I finally got some takers on my hay wagon ride. With my mentor Steve driving the old International we had a nice cool ride with the moon coming up big and deer at the treeline. We had about twenty people on that wagon. When we got back, we turned on the stage. And Jon's Disco Billy neon train wreck lights. There were three real musicians there: Jon, Gary, and Mikey. And some open mike hogs like yours truly. They played some great blues. I got to sing some ballads. I guess about twelve folks stayed over and we were in the pool to the wee hours. They got me up on Sunday morning and I was a zombie. Another three hour night's sleep. We took two planes and two cars over to CGE and we all ate at Kay's. The Stearman and the Cessna fueled up and we watched them head west in the 9AM, humid already, 80 degree air. Wife and Brian 3 and I drove home. "What are you going to do now Lloyd?" "Sleep and then swim." GAI :::::+:::::

Smoketown

We got a late start yesterday on going up to Smoketown. We arrived at 1PM or so. It was winding down. The weather wasn't pretty. There had been 180 airplanes in attendance. That's a lot despite the weather. We didn't see much. We had our $200 hamburger and went home. I saw a beaver. Not a De Havilland. A little critter that scooted along the ramp when we were refueling. We got delayed about an hour waiting out a thunderstorm. Then there was this lovely flight home with the atmosphere washed clean and everything green. We landed at home and for the first time ever I was in the back seat of my CherOHkee for a landing. I was not to see the 180 airplanes. I was not to get my free T shirt I had registered for. I was not to get much in the way of food. I was not to see many of my friends. But after my two buddies and I landed here at home we went into the hangar and had a drink and sat around and talked, I was very happy indeed. We had parked our two little sports cars right next to eachother in the hangar and had ample room when we rolled in the CherOHkee. It never fit like that before. But I had cleaned house in the hangar and made it bigger somehow. Smoketown wasn't a bust at all. Being with my two good pilot friends made it a very good day indeed. I think you make your own good days. A fancy fly in can't make you happy. You make you happy. I still havn't gotten back to normal since our fly-in here. That was eight days ago. That fly-in got me motivated to de clutter a bit around here. And work toward a goal. That enabled me to make myself happy. Be happy my friends. LloydLou.com GA Informal :::::+:::::

Full Circle Part 1

The term "full circle pilot" has been showing up in the Aviation magazines. I started noticing it about a month ago. It refers to a pilot who has worked in aviation and/or flown lots of airplanes and is now giving up his medical to fly smaller airplanes under the "Light Sport" rules. He is downsizing to 1320 lbs gross weight. 1320 lbs. That's a small airplane. For comparison, the venerable Cessna 150 is 1600 lbs gross weight. The smallest trainer in the industry is now too "heavy" to train light sport pilots. Oh, also, the 150 is too complex! Yes it's too complex. The 150 has flaps. A "Light Sport" can not have flaps. The full circle pilots are a big part of the Light Sport industry. In Light Sport, instead of an FAA Medical Certificate, the airman simply uses his drivers license. So the full circle pilot uses his regular pilots license and needs no FAA medical. There is one "gotcha" here. The full circle pilot must "give up" his FAA Medical by letting it expire. He can not fly under Light Sport if his medical is under denial. OK, you know all this and what is my point. Believe me there are lots and lots of points. I could write ten blog posts about this. For now I'll make my point. Lately there has been talk about a grass roots movement to get rid of the FAA 3rd Class Medical. The FAA has agreed to look into it. I don't hold out any hopes for it. The FAA never "relaxes" any of it's rules. But the FAA is in the process of losing funding and it's budget has been only approved on a month to month basis. Everyone wants the 3rd class to go away. Almost everyone. The makers of new "Light Sport" airplanes do not want the third class to go away. Their customers who buy new "light sport" aircraft are buying little fiberglass European planes that start at $120K. Little planes that weigh 800 lbs empty and can carry only two people. Take away the 3rd class and all the "full circle pilots" and the upstart pilots are going to go back to looking at all the used airplanes in this buyers market. I'm a full circle candidate. I could keep my CherOHkee. Some guy starting out could buy a Cessna 152 and upgrade in a year or two to a 172 and on and on. It's possible that very few folks would buy the little airplanes that weigh 1320 lbs. when we American's have an aging fleet of wonderful airplanes. Here's my point. The "Light Sport" industry is claiming that the FAA Medical has nothing to do with their industry. It's all about fuel efficiency and cheaper flying for student starts and easier requirements. So at the same time they are saying that the FAA 3rd Class has nothing to do with their industry, they are lobbying to see that the FAA doesn't get rid of the 3rd class! Because it has everything to do with their industry! I'm a geezer full circle pilot. I will go Light Sport eventually. But if they get rid of the 3rd class and I get a Tri Pacer, will I remember how to use flaps? . . . . GAI :::::+:::::

Sun n Fun over: the Season Begins at Massey

I got to go over to Massey this last Saturday as was planned. The weather was excellent. I rolled out the Cher OH kee, and alas , it was covered with bird droppings. I have a nest of doves in my lean-to. And I have a variety of birds in the rafters of the hanger. My wife does not want me to harm them. I did a nice job cleaning the windshield, but that was it. I was surprised that there were no birds nests in the airplane. I took off in a pretty good breeze from the north. The skies were cloudy, but trying to clear up. I stopped at Bay Bridge to pick up my buddy and I bought 16 gallons of fuel. We had a lovely ride up to Massey and the parking was really directed nicely, and they had a ground boss on 122.9 in a golf cart. They sorted the airplanes as they came in, and we were put in a line of low wings. There were about 7 or 9 "RV's", all beautiful of course, and they were all in a line. Me and my buddy got the plane secured and headed for the food. This is what we do! They had pots and pots of different chili. I found a pot I liked and systematically ate three bowls. On the last bowl I wandered away from the hangar and the ramp and the planes. I went behind the compound where there are these wrecks and parts piles and junk fuselages and such. I didn't go close to the stuff but I looked it over. I stayed by myself a little while and soaked up the "essence" of the fly-in. Does that sound crazy? The whole place is kind of set up for one to look at. They have a museum which is fairly new and has more each time I see it. They have a DC-3, which is mostly a shell, but has potential. They have some old sailplanes, which they fly. They have a Corsair on a pole as a gate guard which is a big visual statement. They have a working US Gov't, CAA, WW2 or post war, beacon light. With it's own original tower. It was turned on. It looked to me like about 70 or 80 planes came in and out. Maybe more. A great turn out, considering GA is almost dead. My favorite thing was this Curtis Pusher. It was a perfect brand new replica of a circa 1910 biplane that the famous racer and pilot Glen Curtis flew. They flew this plane twice at the end of the day. It was great. It flew low and slow. Like the Magnificent Men in their Flying Machines. My friend the professor flew in in his 152. He's not big on fly-ins, so he's a hard sell. But he was glad he came. He was really interested in the not one, but two, Cessna 195's. They were very pristine. I saw my friends who have a pretty Luscombe and they are experts at going to fly-ins. Large or small. Near or far. Trey, Janice, sorry I hardly got to talk to you guys. But the season is young. Don't you love it? Horn point in two weeks or so. Then a fly-in or event every single weekend through September. I can not afford the gas to go to each one. Brian and I were about the last to leave. It was so nice he decided to overfly Bay Bridge and have a campfire with myself and the professor and Jaker the dog. The winds were calm. The sun was slowly setting. The professor took his airplane back out to just fly a little tour down the river and back. And shoot a few landings. Land one way....roll to the end....turn around and take off the other way. Nice when you can do it! Brian washed down my airplane because the bird do really was bad. I gathered fire wood of dead branches. We had a great fire and a great time. All good things must come to an end. The prof retired to the man cave. I gave Brian the keys to the trusty Boobaru. It felt great to go to bed. I dreamed of airliners and simulators and schedules and sitting at gates in a flight deck. Nightmares almost. (Not that I don't like airliners) But before I fell asleep I daydreamed of my little Cher OH kee. And my friends who never get tired of airplanes. And what the bay looked like in a mare's- tail sky. And that Curtis Pusher with spoked wheels and pennants flying from the struts between the wings. And the guy flying at about 30 mph. My real life was more like a dream than my sleeping dream. Thanks for reading. The season is afoot. I'll see you at Horn Point. Remember, I'm pullin' for ya. Keep your stick on the ice. GA Informal :::::+:::::

You Can't get There from Here

As Sun n Fun approached I just figured that I would not go. I havn't been since I retired. While I was working for the airline (my former suffering is fading from mind), I would simply jump on a flight to Tampa from Detroit, instead of coming home that week. I planned it every year with vacation days. Another nice option was "jump seat" on Southwest from BWI to Tampa and back. Sometimes it was down out of Detroit and back to BWI on Southwest. My "jump seat" days are over. I've discovered that in getting older, not having jump seat privileges is the least of my problems! I really don't want to go anywhere. Anyway, I am no stranger to Sun n Fun. I had been toying with the idea of going of course. My wife kept suggesting that I go. "You should go" she said. "You really ought to go"....."Just go!". She remembers the years when I worked three trips a month and was gone and she could relax with the animals in her house by herself. She always welcomed me back. But was ready in a day or two for me to go back out. So if wife wants me to go to Sun n Fun......well. There was another factor. My mentors Steve and Malcolm ( the Pep Boys) were driving down to Lakeland from Frederick! 1000 miles. While I was pulling up flight information on Thursday, and making listings of possible city pairs so that I could travel stand by, there came yet another factor. A storm ripped through the LAL airport. A Micro Burst with 85mph winds and a tornado swath 60 feet wide. 70 aircraft damaged or destroyed. The parking lots under water. The jiffy johns tossed over like lawn chairs. So I had finally decided to go and now I wasn't going? Late Thursday night it's back on. The weather for Friday, Saturday and Sunday is to be excellent. The Fly-in will re open on Friday. I pass ride to Memphis. But the flights to Orlando and Tampa are oversold. I sneak on the Jacksonville flight with just about the last seat. I rent a car and head for Orlando. I am 4 hours ahead of the Pep Boys on I95. My mission is to get us a cheap hotel with enough bed space for the three of us. I get settled into the room but I am too tired and excited to sleep. So I kill some time in touristy Orlando. I go to a "Gentleman's" bar. I spend my Airshow budget in the first 30 minutes. My beers are $10. Soon I head back to the hotel with my $120 T shirt smelling of stale tobacco and beer. The Pep boys arrive and we get 4 hours sleep. In the morning we pick up the Pep boys friend, the attractive, acclaimed, world traveled, lady doctor with the CFII and titles. honors, and degrees. I felt honored to ride in the same car with her from Orlando to Lakeland. She would breeze through the fly-in and be on her way back to her dynamic life. The weather was pristine for the show Saturday and Sunday. Twice we saw the Blue Angels. Twice we saw "Heavy Metal" the L-39 team. Twice we saw the amazing F-22 Raptor. And we saw the standards. All the Airshow circuit stars. And Sunday the Fly-in was not crowded. I got to talk to venders in the big buildings for the first time ever. It's usually too crowded. And it's usually too hot. I ate the famous obligatory Strawberry Shortcake. I bought cups of diet Coke at $3 a pop. I wanted to see everything and I wanted to buy everything. Instead of a T shirt (my friend Steve, Pep boy 1, has over 400 T- shirts- each with a real story) I bought a Gizmo. I want to panel mount my portable GPS and this thing is a dock for my little G196. A poor man's glass cockpit! Sunday night the big Carnival was all over. And my chances of pass riding on a Sunday night back to BWI were slim to none. I did what I figured I would have to do. I crawled into the Pep Boys' roller skate 35mpg car for the fourteen hour drive to Frederick. That was OK because these guys are my mentors and just like older brothers. I have known them since I was 13 years old. I never thought I could even do Lakeland again. Let alone a road trip like that. Back at Rosewind on Tuesday, I unpacked my satchel and threw the clothes in the wash. I picked up the nasty T shirt from the sleazy Cabaret and smelled it before I tossed it in the soapy machine. I smiled. Sun n Fun 2011 will be remembered as an eventful fly-in due to the big storm. I'm gonna remember it too. :::::+::::: Gen Av Informal PS............A special thanks to Ken and Donna for putting me up. Or should I say putting up with me. On Saturday night. Love you guys. See you next year? :::::+::::: GAI

My Worlds Collide

My little CherOHkee has been home ten days. And it's been real nice weather. I finally got around to taking it flying today. The weather is supposed to be rainy for the next 5 days. Wife and I had been talking about going to Georgetown, Del. all week. So when we took off today I started heading for Georgetown. She asked where I was going as I climbed out to the east. I said "oops" and turned around to head for Cambridge. I have an excuse for this kind of thing. I am a geezer. I have two blogs. This blog is just about Gen Av. The other blog is all the rest of my absent minded ravings. The blogs sometimes collide. As when I talked about the Livingston Taylor concert we saw.....and he is a Gen AV. pilot. Or when I was at a fly-in and wound up singing a Karaoke song. My occasional rants about religion have now ironically collided with this blog. And brought my crazy writing life full circle. The Horn Point fly in is one of the big aviation events of the year for me. Just yesterday I was working at Horn Point as a volunteer maintaining the field. The Horn Point- fly in is coming May 21st. Two months from now. The end of the world is scheduled for that day as well! No kidding. There is an official "end of the world" predicted for that day. The believers are "Family Radio", led by bible scholar Harold Camping. Thousands of people believe they will be raised into the heavens to be with Jesus and God. On the day that I plan on flying the CherOHkee the 15 NM over to Horn Point to hang out, look at some antiques, see old friends and have a hamburger. Talk about having different plans for a Saturday! Of course I might get rained out with Horn Point. And the "Rapture" might not come that day. But it's a new ball game for me because now I have an amusing thing to talk about as Horn Point approaches. I like fly-ins and I like religious "ironies". Today wife and I had the $50 hamburger at CGE. The restaurant was crazy crowded. We joined a stranger when we finally got a table. He was a great guy. We both have a son out west. We both have Pipers. I mentioned the $50 hamburger cliche. He said his meal was an $80 hamburger. I told him he must be pretty rich with that beautiful, bodacious, Malibu parked outside. He said "I have a Malibu, I used to be rich".

Bring it Home

My airplane came out of the shop the other day. So I had to go and pick it up. Wife could take me of course. And we could have a nice lunch too. But I wanted to go and make a few stops and take my time checking out the plane and paying the bill. And I didn't want wife to have to wait. She was busy anyway. So I took myself in the Subaru. And parked it to pick up in a day or two. It's kind of fun that way. We can still have that nice lunch maybe tomorrow. The CherOHkee had been there almost all winter. It got an annual. And it needed some engine work, a couple of cylinders pulled down, and it was poked and prodded by the mechanics. A couple repairs, a couple AD's. The cost was about twice that off a "normal" annual. But I never get a "normal" annual. Every year I think I have made the final big repair and she should be good to go for several years. But it's tough when the airplane is 42 years old. So you could say I've bought the airplane all over again. At least. Any light plane owner has more invested than he can get back out by selling the plane. But she sure ran well. I did a ridiculously complete preflight and run-up when I picked her up. It's getting easier and easier for me to forget things. Little things. Big things. So I wanted to keep track of the keys, the logbooks, the ships papers. The chocks, the control lock etc. And it was a fair weather Friday afternoon. A few planes were leaving and a few arriving and one in the pattern doing circuits. General Aviation is dying but at least it's still going on. I took my time and let an Arrow take the runway while I sat in the small run-up block by the highway. We just used hand signals like "go ahead" and thumbs up. Even though we both had radios. When I was warmed up and the pattern got quiet, I took off. I wanted to see the engine run smooth and a good static rpm. I held the brakes with full throttle and saw what I wanted. Took off to the west over the bay shoreline. I left in full throttle. 85 mph is best rate on the little CherOHkee. With flaps up. I kept full throttle to 2500 ft. I pitched it back to 80mph. It was cool outside and the airplane was well below gross. It yeilded me about 1000 fpm By the time I got settled into a nice little "run it hard" cruise. I found myself pointing the airplane at Cambridge instead of my place. I had considered Cambridge before as my strip was a little soft. But now I was going there because I didn't want my time with 009 to end in fifteen minutes. The restaurant was open. I sat where I could look at my plane through the large windows. I ate Chili and drank diet coke. I went back to the airplane and looked it over and checked the engine for leaks. All was fine. It would get dark soon. I took off and scooted over the Choptank and the Suicide Bridge. And the Veterans Cemetery. Landed west at my place and tried to skate pretty light over a couple of soft spots. I got a few splots of mud on my stabilator. Parked in front of the shed. Then I spent the next two hours clearing out an airplane shaped space to park in. It was fun actually. It was my own toys and junk that I was moving around. Except for a few things that belong to Grandaddy. I saw a thousand hangar projects that need doing. I got the plane tucked in and put to bed. I closed the hangar doors. It was nice to have the airplane home. Next mission. Have wife drive me back to where I left my car. We will do that tomorrow and eat on the island. GA Informal. :::::+:::::

Bartel Part 2

In the summer of '66 I had just turned 17. My senior year was coming in the fall. The most exciting thing in my life was that I had a drivers license. I had no car, and limited access to the family car. I rode a bicycle. I was a paperboy. I mowed lawns in the neighborhood. I hadn't ever been away from home for more than one week. I had never kissed a girl. Strangely, all I could think about was girls. During this mundane innocent summer I was to go from a student pilot with not one logged hour to a pilot with 40 hours and a federal Private Pilot's license. I was in the blazing 90 degree heat of South Carolina. Six teenagers in each hotel room. No girls. A blue surplus Air Force school bus to drive us to and from the hotel. A World War II aerodrome with it's classic triangular shape and obligatory clumps of sod growing up through the tarmac. I ate grits for the first time in my life. The sixty of us were dressed in fatigue uniforms with combat boots and silly hats. We would have looked like prisoners had we not had colorful patches and emblems and ranks and insignia. The civilian instructors took one look at us and changed the uniform: Lose the silly hat and baseball caps are optional. Lose the combat boots. Wear tennis shoes. (they were called sneakers). Lose the fatigue shirt(it was called a blouse). So our new uniform was a clean white T shirt, fatigue pants, and tennis shoes. We were there to fly, not drill. I knew no one there. Except Bartel. Bartel was the first kid launched. He was the first kid to solo. Every instructor took a turn flying with him. He was a legend by the third day. Due to alphabetical order, I could not room with Bartel. My five roomates were animals. Teenagers can be mean children. I was glad I was on a rollaway instead of one of the double beds. These guys were gross. But I learned a lot when they talked about girls. I was afraid I would be the last cadet to solo, but as usual, I was somewhere in the middle. As I have always been. I would see Bartel during the day at school. We would get sessions to study in the air conditioned trailer. This would be when I could talk to Bartel. It was like he was at a different flying encampment than I. I would ask about his five roommates. He would just say what fine gentlemen and pilots they were. That they would study together and write letters home and play chess. Bartel wasn't sweating in the heat. I was dying. Bartel also wasn't sweating the big graduation checkride. I was permanently nervous. And I did fear that my roommates would kill me for the fun of it some night. One day we were leaving the hotel on the Air Force school bus as usual. But Bartel, my seventeen year old classmate was driving the bus. I thought I must be dreaming. This is impossible. Cadets don't drive cadets in any vehicle! Against regulations! Lawsuits! Training requirements! Maybe I was just tired and nervous. I got out of my seat and walked up to the front of the bus. Maybe it was just an adult who looked like Bartel. After all, Bartel looks like and acts like an adult. But it was Bartel and I was saying how the heck do you get to drive the bus? But he told me we should talk about it later because I should be seated while the bus is in motion. Damn it Bartel! When I had my free study sessions in the air conditioned trailer I usually put my head on the desk to sleep. I was going through a growth spurt. I was five eleven going on six foot one. Bartel would study in the trailer. When I would look at what he was studying, it would be aerodynamics, or instrument flying. I was tired of the lunch sandwiches we were eating. White bread and peanut butter. Or white bread, peanut butter, and banana. I had never had that. I complained to Bartel about lunch. He said he'd been eating chicken salad mostly because he had access to the instructors cooler and also the cadets rations had some chicken and tuna which ran out fast, but his roommate was in charge of that. He told me the hotel gave him an apple and/or orange every day too. You just had to ask for it. I just said, "Damn it Bartel". I had learned to cuss. Also, I had started smoking. Actually I had been smoking since I was eight years old. But I just blew the smoke out without inhaling. But now I was inhaling. One cigarette a day with the five roommates. These guys were Neanderthals. Bartel was the first Cadet of the Encampment to take his checkride and be issued an FAA temporary Private Pilot Certificate. He didn't just bask in the glory and now goof off and drive the bus and go to town. He still had a week or more for the rest of us to get checkrides. He helped some cadets with their pre lesson reviews. But he started hanging out at the other end of the field where the gliders were. He was trying to get a ride in the tow plane or possibly a check out. But that wasn't going to fly, even for Bartel. But he got some access to money from home, which must have been tough as he is one of nine children and his parents had already paid his room and board for five weeks in Carolina. He started taking lessons in the two seat Schweitzer glider. There was a Cadet program going on for gliders. You could tell a glider Cadet by his scarf. A Cadet in the glider solo school might have a red scarf. A blue scarf would designate a glider student in the glider private certificate program. Graduate helpers might have a white scarf. We called them scarfs, actually they were bandannas. You couldn't wear a scarf in the heat. The heat that we suffered from was the same heat that was generating these huge invisible columns of air that started at the hot ground and slowly at first rose into the cooler air aloft. Thermals. That was all these glider kids talked about. In their kerchiefs. Thermals can be somewhat predictable and this area in South Carolina was known for its Thermals. Because a huge high pressure system would stabilize the air over the variably heated ground and create a cycling thermal machine until a new weather front would come and chase it all away. It is called the "Bermuda High". After it's source. Some of these glider kids were 15 years old. You only have to be 14 to solo a glider. As I got near my checkride I was only flying once a day. We would "rehearse" the checkride. So I would have time to hang out at the glider tents, and once in a while I would walk a wing, or go fetch a tow rope, or get the tow pilot a coke. Also some Maryland kids had shown up for glider school. And Bartel was there and he had a bandanna on. I had to ask him about that. It was green and white or something. He told me he was a special category. A Cadet graduate renter. A graduate renter? Damn it Bartel. When Bartel had his first solo in the glider I happened to be hanging out in my usual spot in the glider area. So we were watching because he was our powered school ace. So he gets towed up on his first solo. At about 400 feet the tow plane's engine revs, then sputters and quits. The prop stops cold. The tow pilot pulls his release to get rid of the glider and the rope. He turns a bit to stay over the field and gets the super cub down with a bounce and a good job, on another runway. Out of gas. Bartel found himself in the emergency for which he had just been practicing. 400 feet is enough altitude to turn the glider around and come in downwind. We all watched this and it started to look like Bartel was headed for us as he started getting set up and maybe overshooting a bit. So again I was in a dream. Was it in slow motion? Was I delerious from the heat? Cadets were running around pushing sailplanes further back toward the tents yelling things like "it's Bartel, he's downwind comin in" "He's gonna hit us" "he's gonna crash!" Bartel got lined up, dropped the rope like a pro and set the lumbering "222" down like a feather. He was mobbed like Lindburg and when I finally got to talk to him all I could say was "Damn it Bartel". My checkride came and I was so nervous I was afraid I wouldn't remember anything. And Ray Clark was the examiner. He ran the flight school. Everyone revered him. For some reason he liked me. It wasn't because I was any kind of ace like Bartel. But somewhere around day 10 of the school Ray Clark was flying over to Greer which was a big control tower field at Greenville SC. I was admiring his brand new Cherokee Six. This was before there were "Lances" and "Saratogas". Ray Clark asked if I wanted to go with him. I said yes and he stuck me in the left seat. This thing had radios and an autopilot and a controllable propeller. This was way better than eating dust with the glider kids, or sleeping in the trailer. I was Bartel for a day. But now it was time for Ray Clark to give me my checkride. It went well. He spent time giving me touch and goes and short and soft and go arounds. That was the stuff I loved, and I was OK with. Where I was weak was in navigation, chart pilotage, etc. As soon as I would leave the pattern I would be "almost lost". So I got my Temporary Airman Certificate. And I was not the last guy to get it. Now I had a few days free, and could hang out with the glider guys etc. Bartel had made arrangements with the school to rent one of the trainers and he wanted me to go flying with him but he wanted me to share in the rental. I was pretty much broke. He was taking this kid "Johnny Hutchins" who was about 9 years old. The kid was a local. He would hang out every day. Bartel put Johnny Hutchins in the right seat and me in the back. We took off and cruised around. Bartel wanted to show me this quarry and lake that he liked to fly over. We circled it for a while and then he buzzed it right on the deck. I was scared. Scared of crashing and scared of getting in trouble. But Bartel seemed calm enough. We landed and Bartel didn't rent the plane any more. And Johnny went home. And Bartel asked me if I thought he got too low over the quarry, and if I thought anyone would turn us in. I said "Damn it Bartel".

Bartel ... Part 1

As a young teen I had collected about five rides in airplanes. I was in Civil Air Patrol. So I was learning from little books called "aircraft in flight" and "Navigation and the Weather". Mentors had given me old Sectional Charts which I poured over as I plotted cross country flights. I read "I'll Take the High Road" and "Anyone Can Fly". I had stacks of outdated flying magazines that folks gave me. In the spring of 1965 when I was fifteen years old, I found out about a flying scholarship that was being offered to Cadets who could qualify. This would be for the following summer. 1966. So I started working toward that. Planning a year ahead. I soon found out that I had three big problems as an applicant. 1. I was too young by a few months. 2. I wouldn't have enough "stripes" in the CAP program. 3. Bartel: The shoe- in candidate for the one and only slot in the state of Maryland. My CAP local leader told me not to be discouraged. Since I would be seventeen before the flight school started, I was only too young for the arbitrary age limit to apply. Perhaps a waver. I could get the necessary stripes if we held meetings twice a week instead of once, to speed up the program. As for Bartel, he was still the likely choice. He was a straight A student. At a highly respected High School in Washington DC. I was a C student in public school. Bartel had soloed an airplane at Freeway. He was the right age. He was beyond the "stripes" stage too. A Cadet officer. So I plodded along and the extra meeting on every Saturday in the the summer of sixty five was a strain. I was delivering papers and mowing lawns and my old boyhood "summers" were gone forever. My Junior year happened and I got my drivers license. I struggled with Algebra I. I joined a folk singing group. And I never got to first base with a girl. I went to a special board of review at State Headquarters in Baltimore as the final step in application to the Flight Scholarship. There were two finalists. Myself and Bartel. And one slot for Maryland. The board had already reviewed our applications. We both had written test results from the FAA Private Pilot Written. You needed 70 to pass. My grade was 74. I had heard that Bartel's was in the nineties. We both had letters of recommendation from a clergyman. I had a nice cordial letter from our minister who knew I hadn't come to church in years. But Bartel was enrolled in a Seminary and had a letter from a Cardinal or something. We both had a letter from a school official. Bartel had a headmaster with a PhD. I was worried about this one. I went into the office of my high school one day and asked if I could get a recommendation letter from the principal. They said simply Mr. Smith does all the letters, we'll set up an appointment for you. I begged them to allow me to get the letter from the principal, Mr Chase. He had been at the Jr. High I had been to and when I went to high school Mr. Chase was moved up to principle. I had known him for five years and he would even remember me from the smaller school. And he was the principle. Not the VP. But no, I had been given an appointment during my gym class to see Mr. Smith. The problem was, I had just been in trouble with Mr. Smith. I was always a good kid too. But I had been in Mr. Smith's office not once, but twice, in the last two months. Once for sliding down the terrazzo hallway on one heel and one toe at running sped. I was quite good at this. I learned it from a classmate named Bob Petty. I had taps on my shoes because I was on a drill team in CAP. I don't know where Petty got his taps. The second offense was for fighting. I argued that we were off school grounds, which we were. But Mr. Smith said that we created a disturbance because instead of boarding the buses after school half of the school went to see the fight down the hill, and the buses left without them. Some of the kids with no ride home got into a few fights of their own. My fight was with my best friend at the time, so we both lost. But I looked a lot worse than he did. When I got the recommendation letter from Mr. Smith, it was sealed in an envelope. But I had to open it because It might have been bad. Somehow I got it open and it was a normal recommendation. We both had letters from a "Civic Leader". I don't know where Bartel got his. I was worried about mine though. Where would it come from? I had on my paper route a nice enclave of upscale houses at the top of our suburban neighborhood. We lived in a much lesser house at the bottom of what my father called "Mortgage Hill". On my paper route in one of those nice houses lived a US Congressman. Carlton Sickles. I even had mowed his lawn. He had a lawn service but he would use me if he needed a touch up for a party or something. He had payed and tipped me so well, I hated to ask for the letter, but I did. It became the jewel of my application package. The board interview went well. I was 16 years old. I knew little about eye contact, and polite conversation. But I had been trained in military courtesy. I got to see Bartel, my rival, for the first time. He was one sharp Cadet. And he smiled at me, but we were kept apart. Sometime after the boards, the results were in. The reason we had to wait a few weeks longer for the official results was because Maryland had lobbied National Headquarters for a second slot due to a tie between two qualified candidates. National came up with another slot for Maryland. So on July 16th, 1966, one week after my seventeenth birthday, Bartel and I boarded an Air Force Transport at Friendship Airport in Baltimore. The airplane hauled us all over the eastern middle of the US. Picking up Cadets. When we landed finally at our destination, the old World War II airport in Chester, South Carolina, we were exhausted. But I was happy because I was going to flight school. And I didn't get seasick/airsick riding in that old transport for seven hours. And I had a brand new best friend. ..... Bartel.

Years Ten thru Fifteen

I'd like to try to construct a list of the people who started me in aviation. A chronological list. It would have to start with my father. Sometimes he would talk about airplanes and flying them. Second would be my older brother who took lessons at Freeway. This was a full introduction to me. He was 16, I was 12. It was very cool that we could go out to Freeway by ourselves in the car. We had recently moved from New Jersey where seventeen was the driving age. My brother driving at sixteen had made our adjustment to our new home in Maryland, and leaving all of our friends and family behind, much more bearable. I promptly forgot all my friends in "The Caldwells" except for the two girls I was in love with. Anyway, we would drive to Freeway in the family 1961 Mercury "Comet". My brother would take his lesson. Sixteen dollars an hour "dual" in the Piper Colt. While he took his lesson I would walk all over the airport and look at every single plane. Every time we went. Also there were airport bums. There was a lean- to shed on the runway side of the hangar where the guys would just sit for hours. They all had jobs and families they weren't attending to. So this hangar crowd really represents collectively my third "mentor" on the chronological list. Bernie, Stan, Tony, Vick, Ed, Bob S., Timmy, et al. Fourth would be Bill Millican from junior high. He was in the CAP Cadets, which I wanted to join. He had had a few rides in the CAP PA-18 Cub. He knew everything. He told me he was going to "solo" soon. But we both knew at thirteen, he wasn't old enough. We would sit at our desks and use rulers for "sticks". And our feet were on imaginary rudders. He taught me a lot that way, I think. Little did I know , "chair flying" would be something I would do a lot of in order to prepare for "check rides" in my airline career. Then there were the pilots of the four or five airplane rides I had before I took my first logged lesson. The first ride was in the PA-18. Then, a Luscombe, then an Air Force C-119 Flying Boxcar, then a Beech T-34, then a Mooney. This is about the end of my pre- lessons mentor list, except for one. The one who inspired me before I ever met him. The one who is the subject of my next blog post. Bartel.