Nomad News-Vol.6-No.134

ME AND THE ‘09

A  news item in the Chronicle several years ago, on the Crossville Memorial Airport piqued my interest when I read about Light Sport Airplane category that did not require a medical or pilot license to fly.  As a pilot since 1939 I had not heard about this although I was familiar  with and had owned Ultralight  aircraft.  I decided to go to the airport and learn more.  There I ran into Charles Robbins who, for some time, had offered me an open invitation to fly with him.   It was a beautiful day and I accepted his invitation on the spot.  It took but seconds to know I had been away too long.

  Afterwards I met Mark Burris, one of the fixed base operators at that time, and he told me that they were exploring a Light Sport plane where they would be able to offer flying lessons at a reasonable rate that would attract more young people to this exhilarating sport.  A great idea.  I have never been able to understand why more young people have not become excited about flying.  To be alone in the skies, just you alone is the most relaxing and satisfying  experience you will ever discover.

   I had wanted to fly since the earliest day I can remember.  I made model airplanes.  One was the R.O.G. (rise off ground).  It was propelled by a rubber band and flew a few seconds.  Then I discovered the theory of jet propulsion.  I, like millions of  kids, would blow up a balloon and let it fly in crazy gyrations through the air.  I tried to figure out how I could connect the balloon to my R.O.G. but couldn’t.  While I was doing this, some kid in Germany was doing the same thing but he didn’t give up.  Result was the first operational jet aircraft in WW2.

 After I nearly killed myself with my Buck Rogers flying belt “invention” I stuck with model airplanes.  I always marveled at the ease with which Buck Rogers flew through the skies with the little round  pack on his back. My invention started with the wood bottom of a 5/8 bu. wood chip vegetable basket.  This was strapped to my back with crisscross ropes.  My father’s work took us to Maine every summer.  Here, the lobstermen would discard on the beach their old tarred trap anchor lines.  I gathered enough pieces tied together for my needs.  Behind our house was a hill topped by large pine trees 40 to 50 feet tall.  I climbed to the top of the tallest, cleared away the branches and secured one end of my rope.  The other end was secured to a tree at the bottom of the hill.  I then  mounted a large barn pulley on the rope and hooked the pulley to my “flying belt”.  Beneath my flight line was rocks and shrubs.  When all was set, I let go and had the ride of my life until I was about 5 feet off the ground when the rope broke.  Fortunately, some shrubs broke my fall before I hit the rocks and I ended up with some nasty bruises on my posterior.

 

   I never lost the dream.  My first job after high school was at the Philadelphia Record and my salary was $10.00 a week.  Two years later I was making $20.00 and I started saving for flight instruction.  A year of saving and I had $25.00 in a shyster Savings & Loan Assn. bank.  I had to fight with them to get my money but they finally acceded.

    Ken Roney, a kid I knew who was a couple years older than me, was a flight instructor at the Flying Dutchman’s at Somerton Airport in North Philadelphia, about a two-hour  trip from where  I lived in New Jersey..  The following Saturday I headed off to Somerton with my $25.00 to learn how to fly.  I  soon found that $25.00 wasn’t going to buy me much.  Airplane rental was $2.00 an hour and instructor fee was $2.00.  BUT, Ken said:  “Follow me.”  We went around the hangar and he introduced me to the most beautiful lady I had ever seen.  She was dressed all in yellow and it was love at first sight.  She had a black number 20809 on her rudder and wing and she was known affectionately as the 09.

   She was for sale for $750.00 and they were forming a club consisting of six people, $125.00 each.  I didn’t hesitate.  I asked if I gave them the $25.00 now and came back next week with the $100.00 would it be OK.  Ken said:  “Let’s talk to Ernie.  Ernie was Ernie Buehl, the Flying Dutchman and fixed base operator at the airport.

Ernie Buehl had been a chief mechanic on one of the 6-engine Dornier Flying Boats that flew passengers between Germany and New York and Philadelphia in the 1930s.  On one of the flights to Philadelphia, Ernie “jumped ship” and decided to become an American citizen.  Legend had it that one time Ernie couldn’t find the location of a noise in one of the engines and decided the only way to find it would be to hang on to the engine nacelle and take off to see if he could locate the noise in flight.  Actually what happened was, he did hang on the engine nacelle then had the pilot taxi up the river at full throttle.  Even that was quite a feat.

  .  I met Ernie, a sort of gruff stocky man who spoke with a deep guttural German accent.  I was to learn that Ernie had 360 degree vertical and horizontal vision. He was a strict disciplinarian and saw everything.  If you did something wrong he would come up, look you in the eye, and say:  “Vas that you doing (whatever it was)? Then he would give a slight shake of the head with a “Tsk, tsk” in that guttural accent and walk away.  You had just been severely reprimanded.  Ernie was one of the real early aviation pioneers and one of  the few people I regard as having a lasting influence on my life.  Ernie’s Travelaire is hanging in the main lobby of Dulles Airport in Washington DC.  A few years back I had to change  planes at Dulles on the way to Philadelphia.  I went over to the lobby, looked up and there was Ernie in the cockpit.  He waved to me and I waved back.  A man nearby looked on quizzically.  Too bad he couldn’t  see what I saw or he would have seen  a part of history that made it possible for him to fly to Europe in a few hours.

   Ernie agreed to the arrangement so I gave him the $25.00 and then followed Ken back to the 09.  He said:  “Get in the back seat”.  He then showed me how to start the airplane by holding his left hand on the throttle and spinning the propeller with his right hand.  The 09 sputtered into life, a short taxi onto the grass and we were airborne.   After a few basic maneuvers  with  Ken explaining the controls he said:  “I haven’t rolled the 09 for awhile, let’s see how she does.”  He did a slow roll and she didn’t appreciate it.  She threw up (oil) all over the windshield it took so long getting around.  It was quite a thrill and I was soon to learn the 09 had more spin and loop time in her log book than she did level flight.  It was soon to add to that legend.

  Back to reality.  How was I to get the $100.00.  It took me a year to save the $25.00.  .

I tried every source but Wednesday arrived and I didn’t have a nickel.  Desperation time: My only recourse was back to the shysters on Thursday.  They said: “Come back on Monday”.  I replied:  “I need it tomorrow”.  They said:  “Then give us a call at noon”.

Friday noon I called and they approved.  I had no idea what the interest was and didn’t care.  One-sixth the 09 was mine and that’s all that mattered.  On Monday, the pastor of our church, Rev. Bailey called and said he would like to see me.  I had given Rev. Bailey’s name as a reference for the loan.  He told me a couple of rough characters had come by asking about me.  I got the message:  Make timely payments on the loan or look forward to a broken arm.

    I skimped and saved, took odd jobs,  ate 5-cent tongue sandwiches for lunch instead of 15-cent ham & cheese. I cut out the 5-cent Tastykake.  A barnstormer with a Stinson Tri-motor that groaned in every joint and a J-3 Cub came to the airport.  He would take the Stinson to Atlantic City on weekends and haul sightseers.  I helped with the passengers in return for flight time in the J-3.  It took sweat and time but I made the loan payments, completed the ten hours of dual with Ken Roney, then the 35 hours solo and it was time for my flight check with Ernie Dalton, CAA Flight Inspector.

  True to form, the 09 had little level flight during  my first 35 hours.  I had spent every minute practicing steep power turns, spins, power off and power on stalls and the other maneuvers required for the check flight.  We performed the easy part of the flight test, including an emergency landing when Mr. Dalton said:  “Take me back to the airport”.  My heart fell through the bottom of the 09.  We did not do the steep power turns, spins, or stalls.  I tried to figure what I did wrong but couldn’t.  We landed, taxied to the hangar, cut the engine and Mr. Dalton got out.  He said: “ Stay there.  I’ll start the engine for you.  Go to 1500 feet and do a 720 power turn, left and right; a one and a half turn spin right and left; and a couple of power on and power off stalls.”  I reached down and put my heart back in place.  Those maneuvers would be no problem.  I figured he would watch me from the ground but later found out he headed for the restaurant and came out just before I landed.  I found him in the Dutchman’s office where  he shook my hand and signed me off in my logbook.  I was one happy kid. 

  Now my love affair with the 09 blossomed.  She loved to loop and spin and I let her.  One time she performed 25 loops in a row.  The more we frolicked the closer we got.  We soon became like one.  We melded together and I was the lone being in the sky like the Buck Rogers I tried to emulate years before.  The 09 seemed to read my mind and anticipate  my every command.  No matter what our flight attitude she let me know where we were every second and I reacted by instinct.  It’s a beautiful exhilarating feeling .

During the late 1930s into the 40s the weekend skies would be full of little airplanes like the 09.  The Dutchman and others were training pilots under a government program and others like me were scratching for nickels and dimes to enjoy an experience that cannot be duplicated.  This Light Sport Airplane may be able to reenact some of the fun of  bygone years.