One Hundred Years

Flight.

Today marks the 100th anniversary of man's first powered flight by a heavier-than-air craft. Take a moment to appreciate what we've done since then.

Since childhood, I've held a fascination with all things aviation. A large part of my childhood was lived near Mirimar Naval Air Station in San Diego, CA. Mirimar was the home of the Top Gun fighter training program, since moved to Fallon, NV. This was back during the Vietnam war, too. Not a day would go by without having dozens or hundreds of views of the hottest planes in the air.

We'd go out with pellet guns into the chaparral, hunting squirrels and rabbits back then. Where we roamed is now the 805 freeway, malls and endless subdivisions. Depending on where we were in relation to Mirimar's flight pattern, we could have Chance-Vought F-8 Crusaders screaming past just barely a wingspan's worth of altitude, at very high sub-mach speeds. Immediately after their pass, we'd be swallowed up in the dust kicked up by their aerodyamic wake and jet wash. That, is up close and personal! And ever so thrilling to me then, just as now.

Even earlier, in the early sixties when I was a 1st grade whelp, sonic booms were common, as supersonic flight over populated areas had not been banned yet.

Skipping ahead a few decades, I now live under the final approach patten of Scholes International Airport (a grand name for a small airpatch). Scholes is the home of the Lone Star Flight Museum. What's special about this is that I get free airshows, almost every weekend. They have one of the few flying B-17s left in the world. F4-U Corsair, P-51 Mustang, Supermarine Spitfire, Mitsubishi Zero, and many more.

Watching those fly over, often in formation, is simply breathtaking. If you've read more than two pages of history, you know that what you're seeing fly over are the last few remaining planes of their types. And, just as we're losing the WWII generation at an ever-increasing pace, we're sadly, losing a few of these historic planes every year. Just two months ago, a rare Grumman F4-F Widlcat was lost, and it's pilot killed, only ten miles away in Dickinson, TX.

Even when flying commercial, my blood warms with every takeoff. There is no such thing for me as a "routine flight". They're all special.

I hope some of you are scheduled to fly this week. As you board the plane, pause at the jetway a moment and touch that aluminum skin as you prepare to embark. Let this last one-hundred years sink in, and raise that first in-flight drink as a toast to Orville and Wilbur Wright.

Let it thrill you, again.

Comments

[Ms Anna]

I love to fly, too. On the way to a funeral in the Missouri Ozarks, my sister and I had a problem with a missed connection in Atlanta, because of a delay for a malfunctioning light on the first plane out of Tampa. The out-of-business now airline out right lied and said we would be able to make the connecting flight out of Atlanta. We were given a full refund, no cost for the Tampa-Atlanta flight. My sister was ready to turn around and head back to Tampa from the Atlanta airport, but I walked down the concourse, saw TWA and knew we could get to Kansas City! Because of the timing of less than one hour before take off, First Class, at no additional charge was available, so I promptly plopped down my credit card for a whopper of a charge. I thoroughly enjoyed my first and only taste of plenty of leg space, comfy leather seats, individual attention, and a barrel of laughs with the only other two traveling occupants in First Class at 11 p.m.

Yes, that was a flight to remember. Especially when the landing was aborted at St. Louis. I remember seeing the rows of blue lights out the left window as I thought we were just about to touch down, then with a sudden whoosh we were suddenly at a 45 degree upward heading, then a sharp right turn in the middle of a very fast climb! The only explanation was a very calm apology from the captain, saying he was sorry that he had to abort the landing, we would be circling back around and be on the ground shortly.

Why bother (scare) us with why? I knew immediately why when we came in for the second time. The pilot had overshot the runway the first time! We were a lot, a whole lot closer to the ground as we passed the same blue lights I had seen below us on the first approach. But what the heck, he'd been able to "correct" the error without crashing at the end of the runway, and we got to see the St. Louis Arch in silhouette against the city lights while circling around for the second approach.

The ultimate poor traveler with instant motion sickness, I came through that experience just fine even with a couple of drinks (scotch and water) sloshing in my empty stomach. But I saw my younger sister become motion sick for the first time in her life. She'd only had one/two glasses of white wine, and she's a real hoot after only a couple of sips!

One would think that arriving at gate #42, leaving at gate #45, only a short walk between gates would be necessary. That's the way it is at Tampa International! We were just changing from one TWA plane to another, as I bought the tickets, I had thought, no sweat. Oh no, I was so wrong. Because of a delay in getting our luggage off the first airplane in Atlanta, we had had an "OJ" experience of running to the TWA gate in Atlanta and carried EVERY PIECE on the TWA flight out of Atlanta. Remember we are two females who just need certain things to travel.

That TWA gate #45 was almost, it seemed, half-a-mile away from gate #42. My sister's sick, I'm carrying almost all the luggage, but because of the timing, I didn't stop to get her a coke to settle her stomach. We didn't have a hand available to hold it, anyway. I wanted to make sure we made the plane out of St. Louis. I was not going to miss another connection. We passed numerous open snack places, at least a dozen, but no, I would walk back after I deposited my sister and the heavier that ever luggage at gate #45, if we ever found it.

Well I was almost back at gate #42 when I found an eatery still open. I had even begged an employee who was just lowering the cage-like covering to let me buy just a cola, but no, she was closed. I bought a Coca-Cola and a bag of popcorn. The Coke and popcorn fixed my sister right up. She was able to board the plane, after swearing she'd never be able to get to K.C., much less back to Tampa, because she was never getting on another plane.

Yes, a quick trip, which was suppose to start at 1:20 p.m., arrive at K.C. before 6 p.m., turned out to be a 2 a.m. landing at K.C. International.

I'm fortunate that my sister still speaks to me, occasionally.

Jim, thank you for the memories.

[Rivrdog]

Today is the day I'll drink to the little people with the big wristwatches (in the USAF, pilots are restricted to size): So here's to Wilbur & Orville Wright, Eddie Rickenbacker, Chuck Yeager, the Ninety-Nines and all the rest of the pilot-heros of our world. Y'all took a lot of chances, but it was your discipline that brought you back, and brought flying to the height (literally!) that it's achieved.

As an Air Navigator, I only had a secondary role, but I was proud to serve with the best pilots when I was flying. My role has been taken over by ever-smaller black boxes that make fewer mistakes and never sweat, but the role of pilots is here to stay, be they the heros that fight our wars or the monsters that destroyed the World Trade Center.

Here's to you all.

Now, do you REALLY want to know where the hell you've taken our aircraft? Ask me nicely, now.

Rivrdog
AKA Major George Schneider, USAF
Master Navigator, Retired

[Ms Anna]

Rivrdog, I thank you for your years of service protecting this country.

[Raging Dave]

Many years ago, I can remember the day that Mom took me to see a doctor. I was in the second grade. The doctor looked into my eyes with a machine and gave my mom the bad news. I had horrible eyesight.

I can remember that day, because I knew it meant I could never fly those planes that I saw whenever we visited Dad on base. I'm still pissed at life for that.

[Jim]

Maybe I oughta write about my Dad's ride with his older brother? Mid sixties, in an F-104 Starfighter. My late Uncle was a USAF test pilot. The ride was at Edwards AFB.

It's short, but a helluva tale.

Jim
Sloop New Dawn
Galveston, TX

[Valerie]

Jim,
Your wonderful post stirred up long buried memories, having been born and raised on USAF bases around the world. The scream of jet engines was as familiar to me as civilian kids' hearing the ice cream truck.

I dinn't realize how much I missed it until out at the Confderate Air Force's Air-Sho (now the Commemorative Air Force) in 2001. The USAF Thunderbrids made a surprise visit due to flight restricitons keeping them state-side. As those beatufiul birds roared into view a thousand memories came back to me. I just sat there and cried.

Raging Dave, both my parents were USAF, my Mom one of the first WAFs. Yes, the disappointment lingers knowing you will never go up into the wild blue yonder. I got the eyes of a bat, but, alas, not the echo location.

To all who have been fortunate and honored to wear the blue of the USAF, "Thank you!:" Yes, I do sleep well at night knowing my Air Force is on guard.

[Ms Anna]

Jim, please write about your dad's ride with your uncle. Pretty please?

[Acidman]

From Kittyhawk to the moon in 70 years. Not bad.