Yard work on the 4th

My last few posts have been a bit sentimental. Do you think? Too flowery. Today it's pretty mundane. It's 4th of July and wife and I don't really have any plans. Couple of friends are coming over tonight and we're going to cook out and maybe hang around the pool. My big projects for today are getting the flag up and putting in a new window unit air conditioner. It took me 40 minutes to get all the tools and ladder and find the flags and fix the flags and clear off the porch. And 5 minutes to put up the flag. The porch was overgrown with poke weed, poison ivy, and Virginia creeper. I stopped everything and started clearing out that god awful mess. I hope I'm not itchin tonight. While I was doing that, this guy Pat flew over in his Scout and started circling. I knew who it was right away. It looks and sounds like a Citabria on steroids. He didn't land though. Probably has 4th plans and needs to get back to Annapolis. That Scout is on the short list of best planes ever. My neighbor is the guy who tills my place and my farm is one of the many little farms and businesses that he manages. Over the years we've always used a rule of thumb about when the winter wheat gets harvested. "July 4th". Of course it's just a target. Could be rainy (which is in the forecast), or another farm to do, etc. But here's the 4th and he's out there cutting. I've got this silly idea. He's basically mowing the wheat which is essentially the front yard. I'm thinking of taking my bush hog and mowing the wheat stubble in a prominent spot and moving the Cherokee 140 into that spot as a "gate guard" just for the fun of it. And I'll mow the front lawn and I've put up the flags. My friends will probably show up after dark and not even notice my lawn ornament. But it is one of the longest days of the year.

I met her at a little airport, or, Matthew read this post. It tells how Mom and Dad met.

"Little airport" is a relative term. To me, Montgomery County Airport in Gaithersburg, Md. is a very big little airport. It's now trapped in the Washington ADIZ. If you're married, people sooner or later ask you how you met your spouse. I've been married twenty years, and of course my story must relate to General Aviation. It almost always does. BD with the biplane is Brian number 1. His good buddy, the A&P and machinist is my pal Brian A. who is Brian number 2. Number two had this cool friend Howard S. who was a rocket scientist and I flew with Howard a few times at College Park way back when. ( CGS comes up in every story I guess). Years later around 1987 when Howard wanted his nephew to learn to fly, he called me. I wasn't instructing anymore, and no longer knew everything as I once did. Howard insisted I fly with his nephew. I'm very glad he did. I still had a current CFI. My original CFI was from March of 1972 and I have never let it expire, not once in 36 years. One time about five years ago when I was getting my CFI paperwork renewed at BWI, the FAA inspector asked me if I was doing any instructing or planning to do any. I told him no I hadn't and probably wouldn't. He then was curious as to why I would renew. I think I'll answer his question in a nice long Blog post someday. There's a list of very good reasons. If the Fed guy at FSDO had to ask that question, he'll never understand the answer anyway. On a clear cool January day in 1987 while flying with "Rene", Howard's nephew, I for some reason wanted to drop in at Montgomery County Gaithersburg. The two guys who were running the field at the time were good friends of mine. I just felt like going somewhere instead of "teaching in circles". ( I get instructors into my field here in present day who feel the same way) So we drop into GAI. We get parked and I look around for Lowell and Rick who are my buddies. Then I see her. I'm so interested in her I get confused. I forget why I'm there. She's in front of the airport building. We sort of walk past her but I don't remember that part. I tried not to stare at her. I went downstairs and went to the boys room. Came back up and saw Lowell in the hall. "Hey Luther whatchooupto?" "Lowell, I just saw a girl that I think I love and want to marry." I realized I had just successfully said the word "marry" I was one of those bachelors who couldn't get that word out. I would say, "Yea someday I'll get mmmaaa- mmmmaaarrr- maaayybe. " Lowell, I just said the word marry" "Where did you see this girl. Who is she"? "Right here. Just now. I gotta go find her." I couldn't find her. Where did she go? I checked the parking lot before she could get away. I checked the flight line. Then I saw her. Right back at the front door again. She was waiting for somebody, maybe a plane. How could I talk to her? Meet her. Can't just go up to her. Rene was asking me something but I wasn't paying attention. Would Rick or Lowell know her? I could sense she was getting ready to leave so I just went up to her. I was so nervous by now I just wanted to get it over with. I had to meet her. "Hi. Are you going up in a plane today? Would you like a plane ride?" "No. I actually just went up" "Oh". I said lamely. "In one of the school planes?" "No. In that." She pointed to the gorgeous Shrike out front which was the nicest plane visible on the entire field. "Oh". I said lamely. Silence. Can't let there be silence. I heard myself say, "I'm here with a plane and a student from Laurel, I just instruct as a hobby. Would you like to go flying sometime, or perhaps have dinner or anything, I know I'm being forward, but I'm a good guy and Rick and Lowell know me well, and my student Rene is that guy over there...." She smiled just a little. "I live in Dayton Ohio" she says. "so it would be hard for us to get together." To me, that was not a no! "Believe it or not", I say, "I work at Detroit Metro Airport and that's my second home. Maybe I could still contact you. I do a lot of traveling and have been to Dayton many times". We banter back and forth and talk about Ohio. She decides to give me her local DC number, where she won't be but I can leave a message. I put out my hand and say "I'm Lloyd". She takes my hand and says, "Vicki". Rene and I flew back to Suburban. He asked about the girl I was talking to. I said, "Rene, that is the girl. I just met her and she's gonna have my children." Less than a year later Vicki and I were married by the local mayor at Fairborn Meadow where the Wrights flew their Flyer from 1904 after Kitty Hawk till the Military days at College Park in 1909. They made a famous Air Base and museum there called "Wright Patterson". Vicki and I have been married twenty years. I am very lucky because I have something I care about more than anything else in the world. Of course if Vicki finds out it's the M-10, she'll be pissed. GA Informal.

How do you thank an airplane

Back in the early eighties I had a different PA-28 140 than the one I have now. It was a bit run out. All original everything. I talk about it in a Blog post called "Hangar Flyin". One night I get back to my condo in Old Greenbelt, MD. after a long tough 4-day trip. I'm beat. It's late spring. I fire up the air conditioner. Hit the head. Gather up a week's mail that has clustered in a mess on the carpet under my door slot. I hit the play button on my answering machine. It starts rewinding and then playing messages. I'm listening and making a drink and taking off my work clothes. The usual messages come in. My best buddy and his schemes. Some family stuff. Then I stop and freeze and listen and rewind and listen again. A message from "Jodie". This is a very, very attractive girl I have been working on for months, with little success. Now her message requests that I call her because she has a proposition for me. I dial her up. Hello and Hi and sorry it's so late and glad you called, I say. "Lloyd, do you still have that plane?" "Of course I do". "Are you free tomorrow?" "Yes, I think so" "Is your plane ready to fly?" "Of course". I lie. A big lie. She starts telling me about being in Atlantic City with her friends who are this couple and they had invited her to the beach, and she's tired of them and their slot machines, and doesn't like the guy they set her up with and doesn't want to ride home tomorrow in their Volvo in Sunday night beach traffic, and could I pick her up and she would like another ride in my plane...... I'm only half listening to all this. My mind is racing. I'm thinking of how absolutely hot this girl is and she's calling me. And the Cher OH kee ain't ready at all!. We talk over some details and I agree to pick her up at little AC airport the next afternoon. She says she will owe me. We hang up. What have I done? I was exhausted, but now I'll never get to sleep. The 140 is in the ratty hangar at Laurel Suburban. It's been down all winter. I can't even remember when it last flew. It was grounded for a few reasons which I don't exactly remember. I toss my drink and make some tea. I gotta think. I can't sleep, so why not get started?. I put on my grubby clothes. I head out to the hangar which is 12 miles away. It's midnight. I get some lights going in the hangar. The airplane, 33J is sitting there covered with a carpet of red clay hangar dust. There are tools on cloths all over each wing. A cooler on one wing from a party we had. The tires are low. I check the struts. These are a problem on lots of Cherokees. They are a tad low, but serviceable. The back seats are out and sitting on the plywood floor of my little 10x10 "club house" in the corner. The rest of the hangar floor is dirt. With lots of old carpet to keep the dust down. I will have no water for washing the plane until they open tomorrow. I pull out the battery which sits under the rear seat bench. I put it on charge. It is dead, and may not take a charge. I fire up my little compressor and air up the tires. I check the gas in the wings. Of course it is low. I get my five gas containers. They are five gallons each. I head up to the all night gas station. This was before all gas stations had card readers and were automatically "all night". I fill up the cans and fill up my car. Head back to the plane. I put in the twenty five gallons. I take the empty cans and go home. I can fill them again tomorrow on the way in. At the condo I turn in. It is 3:00 AM. I'm up at eight. Big pot of coffee. Put on the same grubbies. Take a thermos. Head for the gas station and the airport. Get a breakfast snack. At 9 AM on a Sunday the airport is alive. The weather is nice. It's post Memorial Day but not quite summer. There's already a guy at the wash stand with his vanilla 172. I'm screwed because I need that washstand. The guy is struggling because there is not enough hose and the nozzle is broken. I head to the hangar. Get the full gas cans out of the car. Jump back in the car and head to the "Two Guys" auto store. This is before there was Trac Auto, Advance Auto, Auto Zone. But before I leave the airport property I stop at the office, which is this typical little shed type house that all old airports have. A "flight shack". This one is classic. Those glass jars with the crackers and cookies, a coffee pot with the can for your money. An old glass case with plotters and sunglasses and charts. A single bathroom that doesn't work very well. My friend Debbie is the daughter. "HI Lou, where you been?" "Hey Deb. Been workin". Would you have a plane I could rent at about 3 or 4 o'clock today and keep the rest of the night"? "We're all booked up. Could you take it after dark?" "Maybe" "Coulda let you have the Arrow, but he started on it today" "Overhaul"? "Yep" "See ya Deb" "Hey Lou, is it a fly-in or a girl"? "A girl". I go to Two Guys and I get a bunch of cheap hose on sale. I get some wash soap, some towels and a nice not- fancy nozzle. I get an electric connector kit, and some fuses. I get some easy to use liquid wax. I'm on a very low budget. It's 10:30 AM. Back at the airport, I start making friends with the guy with the Cessna at the wash stand. He works at NASA at Greenbelt. I hook up all this brand new hose and the new nozzle and I help him finish up. Looks like I'm next in line. This other guy was going to wash his Citabria the guy says. I figure I'll get my plane over here and park it as the Cessna moves out. Usually I'm not pushy. I like wasting time at the airport. But not today. Problem is, no battery in my plane. It's not far away so I yank it down by hand and stick it behind the Cessna. I run down to the maintenance shop which is closed, but Denny's car is there. "Hey Denny, can I buy a battery from you? "I'm closed, it's Sunday." "I'd install the battery and charge it and I could give Debbie the money, all you'd have to do is hand it to me." "Yea?" "And when I come back here to fly about 3 o'clock I'd hand you a cold six-pack of Michelob. "Come to think of it I got a Concord that'd fit your plane already charged. Supposed ta go into a Pitts, but the guy never came back." "Denny, my engine oil is black dirty. Would it make any sense to drain it and just put in new oil without bothering with the filter just for now"? "Wouldn't hurt nothin" "Can I get a case of Aeroshell"? "How many six packs you bringin"? Back to the washstand. When a car or airplane is really dirty, you have to be really careful not to spread dirt all over the project. You can do more harm than good. I flushed the whole airplane with water and just my hand before I used a towel or soap. Moved it back up in front of the hangar. Put a coat of liquid wax on the whole thing too and polished the plexi inside and out. Didn't do the bottoms of course. It was 1PM, and I was running out of time. I drained the sumps a bunch before I took a sample. I decided not to top her the rest of the way off with the auto gas I had. I would put in Av gas. I checked over the engine compartment looking for bird nests. I install my brand new battery. I put the back interior in shape and installed only one of the back seats. She fired up nice and we went out to the runway for a nice run up. Mags good after some leaning and warming up. Back to the hangar. I drained the oil. While I let that drain I vacuumed out the interior and cleaned up a bit and armouralled the panel and vinyl. I realize I'm out of time. Pablo walks up. "Got your message Luther what's the big crisis"? "Paul you gotta help me, I need to run back to the condo and shower and change, then get back here and fly to AC New Jersey and be there at five." "So you can fly your little chickie" "How'd you know"? "Because you said so in your message". Pablo agreed to put the oil plug in, add the oil, dink around with my temporary Loran installation with some proper connectors, tell Denny I would soon be there with the beer and could he safety wire my oil plug. And move the plane to the pumps and top it off. I do a quick change at the Condo and pick up a case of beer. Denny and Pablo wait for the beer and put a new landing light bulb in. They do the safety wire and put in the oil filter which did the job right. They tie wrap and connect my loose wires. They top her off with 100LL and reposition her on the hard surface. I show up in white Levi's smelling of after shave. I produce the cold beer. "Thanks, I owe you guys". "Yea, you do". A few hours later, Jodie and I are at 4500 ft. flying west into a beautiful sunset. Down below the beach traffic is snarled on Rt. 404, Rt. 301, and Rt. 50. They are all trying to get across the two spans that cross the Chesapeake. One span is closed for repairs. Jodie loves the spectacle. A snake of red taillights that runs for thirty miles. The air is smooth as glass. I am very slowly letting down as we cross Annapolis. The sky is red and blue and orange. Jodie is smiling. I pop the cork on a little split of Champagne I had on ice from where I bought the beer. She starts laughing. She says, "Lloyd, I am sufficiently impressed. We can do anything you like tonight and I mean anything. I just hope you didn't go to too much trouble". "Oh, no trouble at all." The engine was purring. There was daylight for the landing. Thank you 33Juliet.

count real friends on one hand

My friend Geoff has commented on that last post about going home again. He describes a day when tragedy struck at College Park. When his friend was killed in a fiery crash that night, the airplane came to rest one block from the house I grew up in. I could write a thousand posts about Geoff. He went to the Citadel. He and I got kicked out of high school together. He's a Hawk. I'm a Dove. He was in Nam. I was on campus protesting Nam. He's into guns. I'm not. Except I do a little target plinking, and in spite of his US Army sharpshooter status, I'm a better shot than he is. He was in a communist prison in Africa for two years because he was in the way wrong place at the way wrong time. The State Department and the Red Cross and some alphabet outfits that I'm not supposed to know about got him out of there, alive. He's been married five times. All of his ex's still love him. He's my sailplane mentor, and I wouldn't have that lovely sport without his inspiration. He flew General Aviation airplanes across the oceans. Most of the time using dead reckoning. There were at least four times when I was told that he was dead. Not always from ferry flying. He's flown exotic airplanes. Been with exotic women. He's as high up in Corporate Aviation as you can go, and still be a flyer. He just got through fighting the battle of his life with Cancer. After chemo, radiation, scalpel, side effects that would kill, physical therapy that required 2000% pure will and a focus on the end of the tunnel that wasn't even there sometimes. Now he sits with a first class airman medical as a lead Captain in one of the nicest Jets in the industry. Well my Blog is about me. Lloyd Lou Luther. Geoff Tyler can write his own goddamn Blog. He said some nice things in his comment. Thank you Geoff and right back atcha. I can't tell my readers or anyone what a friend you have been to me. Some things can't be described or explained. I could say sorry I got pissed at you the other night, but it's just not necessary. Thanks Geoff. Thanks for forty five years.

The Airmail Five Man

One of my best "Eras" in General Aviation, maybe the best was my Navajo days. A period of about a year in 1974 when I flew the US Mail in the PA-31-310 Piper Navajo. I was my own boss. The mailbags never complained. I was "Cumberland One". I would leave Cumberland in the evening and go to Martinsburg, WV. then Baltimore, then on to Charleston, WV, then Pulaski, Va. Spend the night in Pulaski(what was left of the night, it would be 3AM). Sleep part of the day. Then I was "Cumberland Two and would retrace my steps: PSK-CRW-BWI-MRB-CBE. So I would spend every other night and every other weekend in Pulaski. Pulaski is also called: PSK, Dublin,VA., New River Valley, Nest West, Hoop Town, No Reefer Valley, The No Reef. The first few weekends in New River were pretty boring so I started hanging out with the skydivers who were there also on the weekends. These people are crazy and they just want to be on the edge all the time. I started flying the jump plane for them a little bit because the jump pilot, well, he wanted to jump, not fly. I became friends with these jumpers and even started to have a social life because the college girls would come out for one, and only one, jump. This is before there were tandem jumps. The student had to take the jump training, then go out on a static line. Took all day for the first jump. I flew the jump plane quite a bit and it was fun and there was a huge party at the end of the jump day. I finally started to like New River. One day "John", the guy who ran the drop zone, said, "Hey Luther, you've earned a bunch of jumps and you better take them cause winter's coming and our season is slowing down". Pilots don't usually get into jumping-- all that about a "perfectly good airplane". I was no exception. I was a terrible jumper and terribly scared every time I did it. I made a total of eight leaps and number eight was "The Airmail Five Man". Finally winter and the holidays came and went and I was getting into a sweet job back in Baltimore flying bank work and living in my home town. But for some reason I was filling in on a run and was back at the No Reef. The other mail pilots were there and my best friend Pablo. The weather was to be nice and everyone is telling me I'm going to be in on a reunion jump of the old Airmail pros. An Airmail Five Man. There will be four jumpers and one jump plane pilot--all five guys from the airmail. The jump pilot will be Gary because he can't jump because his arm is messed up from a jumping injury. Ironic. Gary is "Tall Gary" of today's Budapest Blues.com. Pablo and Mark have their own rigs and are real jumpers as well as airmail pilots. Brian and myself are student jumpers. Mark will be our jump master. So it's all decided. But it's not our jump plane. It's not our drop zone. We run our little plan by John, the drop zone guy. "Well, I guess we can get you on the schedule, but Luther can't go. He hasn't jumped since like September and I got too many trainees today." Mark says, "Luther has to go. It's the Airmail Five Man! "You pilots are lucky I'm letting Gary fly it with that busted arm. Luther can't go without training." Mark says, "I'll put Luther out on a static line then OK?" John is thinking. He can just see these five pilots screwing this up somehow. "OK. He goes on a static line. He wears a full student rig. Radio. Sentinel, and I personally brief him and he shows me three PLF's", and I don't have time for this shit." ( a PLF is when you land, you roll and fall down so you don't get hurt, practice is off a platform) "Done. Thanks John. We owe you" "No you don't" Now it's time to go and everybody in the whole drop zone is watching the five of us and checking my equipment and I am very scared. John comes over. We're the next load. I say, "Uh John look Uh heres the deal. If I break my leg I'd rather do it with my buddies on this load than do it jumping off that goddamn six foot platform. If I bust my ass there, then I can't go! "All right but you do everything Mark tells you and you guys are buying beer for the party. Get going." And away we went. The drop zone watched five out of towners in their plane with their equipment. Pilots yet. Pilots usually can't jump. We did great. Mark really did know what he was doing and he kept us straight. At the party that night there were five guys who just couldn't stop smiling.

You can't go home again

When one talks about College Park Airport, it depends on the Era. Pioneer, Airmail, barnstormer, WWII, post war, ERCO, Brinkerhoff the Elder, quiet years, Brinkerhoff the younger, Park and Planning take-over, Save the Airport, Rebuild the Airport, Restaurant modern stable, 9-11, post 9-11. I experienced a bit of the quiet years. A bit of "Marlin Helicopters". My family would stop on the way home from church. We would just look at a few parked planes. Sometimes we'd stop in Riverdale, not far away, near the ERCO factory, at a place called Dumm's Corner. There was a great old bookstore and sometimes we'd get a soda or ice cream at the Market. Dumm's is still there. The other Era I experienced was obviously the Young Brinkerhoff years. The other Eras I've just heard about or read about. I don't know much about the airport today. Recently I've become interested anew. Since I bought the Ercoupe derivative a year ago, I now feel even more a part of the College Park - Riverdale aviation history. This last winter I visited the parking lot at the old ERCO building. I had photo copies of the building from WWII era. The surroundings were all built up and very different, but the main building is still there. The same day I went to the CP Museum and bought a poster-print of the Ercoupe factory and had it autographed by Betsy Weick, the 80 yr. old daughter of the famous designer/engineer of ERCO and Piper. It hangs in my hangar. Thanks Betsy. Now just a couple of days ago I found myself walking around College Park Airport shown around a bit by my friend Mimo. To fly in you need a special clearance and you have to be "vetted". "Vetted" seems to be a new buzz word in DC. When the Candidates in the Primary were having their backrounds checked and the mud was slinging, they had to be "Vetted". I had never heard of "Vetted". I just sold my beautiful 1986 C-4 Corvette. I am no longer "Vetted". We have horses and dogs and when they get sick I get a bill. Boy, do I get "Vetted"! All the airplanes at College Park have a cable lock around the prop. This is because an airplane thief wouldn't seek out a remote airport with lots of nice twins and late model singles and no watchmen. He would head right for College Park where there aren't many valuable airplanes, there is a huge well maintained fence around the entire perimeter, and it is owned by the government, and it is guarded by the Park Police, and almost any activity is noticed. You gotta lock your plane. College Park is so inviting to a thief. You're a sitting duck. And that cable lock, well it will stop any thief in their tracks. They see that, they just run away and turn themselves in to National Capital Park and Planning. No thief has ever heard of a bolt cutter. It could take as long as 20 seconds to get rid of that cable lock. They might be a terrorist who has decided to bring in a dufflebag full of Dynamite to attack the Capital. He could have a plan, be part of a terrorist cell, sneak into the airport, know how to break into a plane and start the plane and fly the plane, but ain't no way he's gonna get past that cable lock. The airport sat in a swamp really, in the former years. Now millions have been spent and it really is unbelievably nice. All drained. Beautiful turf. Incredible asphalt surfacing everywhere. A paved full length parallel taxiway. The runway actually re-oriented to take advantage of the available acreage and of course lengthened. Regulation lighting. The up- scale restaurant with it's airplane theme. Where one can eat one's steak in air conditioned comfort and hear WWI music and look out the tinted pane glass, and see far and safely away and not smell the one or two actual operations per day. A beautiful museum celebrating the rich heritage. With plans for the museum to be 4 times bigger. It's all fantastic and I'm glad our tax money went to it. In my mind, couldn't be better spent. After all it's the Wright Brothers! Can't you just feel me getting ready to say BUT? There are no kids sitting on the fence with their model plane wishing to go up. There's no hangar full of know-it-alls criticizing everybody's technique. Nobody working on a plane, nobody flying a plane. Nobody allowed to fly a plane. College Park now belongs to the tax payers. Thats you and me. I'm glad it survived and it's heritage is forever known. It's Holy Ground to me, and I'm an owner as a citizen. It's a great park and great memories. Just please, please don't say anybody saved the airport. The "airport" died in the seventies. It died because: The neighbors wanted it shut down because of their valuable real estate. General Aviation itself had mostly died and that's a long story for another Blog. Park and Planning took over. They meant well, but they ran the airport like a zoo or one of their monuments. Another good Blog story there. The airport died in the seventies. It was buried Sept. 11, 2001. G.A.I.

first solo at 5500 hours

I am thinking of what to write next. I want to do a nice post about the time I soloed a DC-3! I want to do a post about the time I soloed a twin beech also. There was a turbine twin beech and of course the piston twin beech. It seems I can't tell a story without at least referring to College Park. In 1970 I was flying at College Park renting Cubs for $10 per hour wet. This was when I first learned about the Twin Beech. Brinkerhoff had a very nice G Model Beech which he used for charter and personal transportation. It would barely fit into College Park. Every takeoff and every landing was a spectacle. Everyone would stop what they were doing and watch. Especially the takeoffs. The airport was much tighter in those days. More trees, worse surface, dirt taxiways, patchy runway, shorter runway. He would never carry a load out of College Park. He would only take off west, over the wires and tracks. Trees too tall on the other end. I've seen those trees eat airplanes. That's a story for another post. He would go down to the end of 31 (which was the runway in those days). He would be in the rough overrun of weeds, gravel, dirt, sand, ruts, woodchips. This would add him another 50ft. to the 2150 he had. But there were obstacles and a possible tailwind. You'd see him rev up and roll. You'd see clouds of smoke and dust. You'd hear the wonderful roar and then the blare. Then the tail would come up and it would be so high that you thought he was overraked and would get the props. You'd think he was never going to unstick, and finally he'd pull it off, but just into ground effect. Now you think he's never going to clear those wires. At the last second he hauls it up over the wires and as the wheels pass the wires they are starting to retract as if to tuck themselves away from the wires. The flat pitch high rpm blades blare again at you as he climbs away. You shake your head in mystery and you smile. I was a cub renter. I thought, "I'll never check out in a plane like that!" But in the winter of 1976-1977 I found myself in Pittsburgh flying a BE-18T which is a taildragger turbine Twin Beech on a U.S. Mail run which went to Philly and back. Sometimes, a run to Ohare with Emery Airfreight, which I hated. One day there was a broken plane and some switching around had to be done. The Company was "Great Western Airlines", out of Tulsa, Ok. My plane was being switched for the night's run to Philly. Of course I didn't care. But my roomate BD, was a veteran with the company and he noticed the N number of my new plane. It was a piston Beech. "Hey Luther, they got you set up in a piston Beech tonight. "What?. They can't" "They did, you better call." So a bunch of phone calls later and it turns out all company pilots must be qualified in all three types of planes they had. They're mad at me for not being checked out in the piston. "You will come to Tulsa as soon as possible and fly the piston and the Baron, and you should have notified us earlier that you were not qualified for tonight's run". "Sorry" The weekend comes and it's pretty weather. Akron, Oh. is a maintenance base for us and I meet the check airman and the piston Beech there. We fly around and pull back a few engines and do some airwork. After we come back, the check airman "Walters" (very good man) says, "Well you're done, would you like to fly it around yourself?" The smile I gave him that said yes, was the smile you have as a young man when your date says "why don't we just go up to your place tonight?" In those days, the Beech was standard. Lots of pilots were checked out. I really felt like I had joined the club. He didn't have to solo me. It was a check out called a Part 135 equip. check. He was just being kind. I never did get the Baron check out.