Old aviators and old airplanes never die.....

[:FI:Dr_Strangelove]

Classification: UNCLASSIFIED
> Caveats: NONE
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> Old aviators and old airplanes never die.....
>
> This is a good little story about a vivid memory
> of a P-51 and its pilot by a fellow who was 12 years old in Canada in
> 1967. You may know a few others who would appreciate it.
>
> It was noon on a Sunday as I recall, the day a
> Mustang P-51 was to take to the air. They said it had flown in during
> the night from some U.S. airport, the pilot had been tired. I marveled
> at the size of the plane dwarfing the Pipers and Canucks tied down by
> her. It was much larger than in the movies.
>
> She glistened in the sun like a bulwark of
> security from days gone by.
>
> The pilot arrived by cab, paid the driver, and
> then stepped into the flight lounge. He was an older man; his wavy hair
> was gray and tossed. Looked like it might have been combed, say, around
> the turn of the century.
>
> His flight jacket was checked, creased and worn
> - it smelled old and genuine. Old Glory was prominently sewn to its
> shoulders. He projected a quiet air of proficiency and pride devoid of
> arrogance. He filed a quick flight plan to Montreal (Expo-67, Air Show)
> then walked across the tarmac.
>
> After taking several minutes to perform his
> walk-around check the pilot returned to the flight lounge to ask if
> anyone would be available to stand by with fire extinguishers while he
> "flashed the old bird up. Ju st to be safe."
>
> Though only 12 at the time I was allowed to
> stand by with an extinguisher after brief instruction on its use -- "If
> you see a fire, point, then pull this lever!" I later became a
> firefighter, but that's another story.
>
> The air around the exhaust manifolds shimmered
> like a mirror from fuel fumes as the huge prop started to rotate. One
> manifold, then another, and! yet another barked -- I stepped back with
> the others. In moments the Packard-built Merlin engine came to life with
> a thunderous roar, blue flames knifed from her manifolds. I looked at
> the others' faces, there was no concern. I lowered the bell of my
> extinguisher. One of the guys signaled to walk back to the lounge. We
> did.
>
> Several minutes later we could hear the pilot
> doing his pre flight run-up. He'd taxied to the end of runway 19, out of
> sight. Al l went quiet for several seconds; we raced from the lounge to
> the second story deck to see if we could catch a glimpse of the P-51 as
> she started down the runway. We could not.
>
> There we stood, eyes fixed to a spot half way
> down 19. Then a roar ripped across the field, much louder than before,
> like a furious hell spawn set loose---something mighty was coming this
> way. "Listen to that thing!" said the controller. In seconds the Mustang
> burst into our line of sight.
>
> It's tail was already off and it was moving
> faster than anything I'd ever seen by that point on 19. Two-thirds the
> way down 19 the Mustang was airborne with her gear going up The prop
> tips were supersonic; we clasped our ears as the Mustang climbed hellish
> fast into the circuit to be eaten up by the dog-day haze.
>
> We stood for a few moments in stunned silence
> trying to dige st what we'd just seen. The radio controller rushed by me
> to the radio. " Kingston tower calling Mustang?" He looked back to us as
> he waited for an acknowledgment. The radio crackled, "Go ahead Kingston
> ." "Roger Mustang. Kingston tower would like to advise the circuit is
> clear for a low level pass." I stood in shock because the controller
> had, more or less, just asked the pilot to return for an impromptu air
> show!
>
> The controller looked at us. "What?" He asked.
> "I can't let that guy go without asking. I couldn't forgive myself!"
>
> The radio crackled once again, " Kingston, do I
> have permission for a low level pass, east to west, across the field?"
> "Roger Mustang, the circuit is clear for an east to west pass."
> "Roger, Kingston , I'm coming out of 3000 feet, stand by."
>
> We rushed back onto the second-story deck, eyes
> fixed toward the e astern haze. The sound was subtle at first, a
> high-pitched whine, a muffled screech, a distant scream. Moments later
> the P-51 burst through the haze. Her airframe straining against positive
> Gs and gravity, wing tips spilling contrails of condensed air, prop-tips
> again supersonic as the burnished bird blasted across the eastern margin
> of the field shredding and tearing the air.
>
> At about 400 mph and 150 yards from where we
> stood she passed with the old American pilot saluting. Imagine . A
> salute! I felt like laughing, I felt like crying, she glistened, she
> screamed, the building shook, my heart pounded.
> Then the old pilot pulled her up and rolled, and
> rolled, and rolled out of sight into the broken clouds and indelibly
> into my memory.
>
> I've never wanted to be an American more than on
> that day. It was a time when many nations in the world looke d to
America
> as their big brother, a steady and even-handed beacon of security who
> navigated difficult political water with grace and style; not unlike the
> pilot who'd just flown into my memory. He was proud, not arrogant,
> humble, not a braggart, old and honest, projecting an aura of America at
> its best. That America will return one day, I know it will.
>
> Until that time, I'll just send off this story;
> call it a reciprocal salute, to the old American pilot who wove a memory
> for a young Canadian that's lasted a lifetime.
>

[:FI:WillieOFS]

Great story!!

I remember when I was working at Easterwood Airport at College Station, TX in '74. The airport manager was a friggin jerk.

One day a P-47 came rumbling in and needed gas. BOY, my pard Alan, and I were jumping through our butts to get to crawl on that monster and gas it up. The guy flying the bird was cool as all get out. The airport manager ran out to the flight line and started giving us crap and sucking up to the pilot at the same time. The pilot wasn't impressed.

We got that big bird fueled up and he paid the bill and sauntered back out to where we were drooling over his plane. He tipped us $5.00 a piece, thanked us and said "adios."

In the meantime the A-hole had wandered back out and was standing behind the bird when the pilot was strapping in. The pilot lit that thing off and let it catch up to itself. While it was doing that he looked over at us then back over his shoulder, then he looked at us and grinned REAL big. He then throttled way up and blew that airport manager tumbling across the tarmac.

Alan, and I were laughing so hard we nearly cried. The pilot knew he'd accomplished his mission by our response.

He taxied sedately out to the runway, did all his final checks, started his roll and let her gather up till she was flying. He held her on the deck as he got the gear up about even with us. He held her down a bit longer and then pointed that big nose at the sky and climbed out like a homesick angel.

Hell of a guy.

[Skipper]

One of the best stories I've ever heard

[:FI:Igor]

I concur! Great stories!


Igor

[:FI:Heloego]

[AltarBoy]

Yeah, Airport Managers are jerks. I have several to deal with here. Nice story by the way.