History in the Skies
Hugh Neeld is a freelance columnist for TylerPaper.com.
Looking over my calendar of events and holidays last week, I noted that August 19th is National Aviation Day.
There are dates in everyone’s life that evoke special memories. Such a date for me is September 15, 2003. I had just gotten out of my van on the parking lot of the mall in Tyler, when I heard the sound of airplanes — not the distinctive sound of today’s jets, or heavy whop, whop, whop of rotor blades, but the drone of old-fashioned propeller-driven planes. Flying overhead in loose formation and at low altitude were about a dozen vintage aircraft.
I recognized a silver winged 1929 Ford tri-motor and an open cockpit Warner bi-plane right away. The others were familiar, but I couldn’t identify them by name. It was then that I remembered reading in the paper about the Aviation Foundation of America’s replication of a 1932 national air tour, planned but never implemented due to the depression. The 4,000 mile tour began and ended in Dearborn, Michigan. It took 16 days to complete and covered 23 states.
On the Fort-Worth-to-Shreveport leg of the tour, they had promised to do a low pass over Tyler, and that’s what they were doing. With everybody else on the parking lot, I stood in slack-jawed amazement until the planes disappeared from view. Some of us older people congregated in a small group excitedly discussing our experience and trying to identify the planes we’d seen. A minor argument broke out between a couple of the more knowledgeable guys.
“Did you see that old Stearman bi-plane!” one exclaimed.
“That was no Stearman,” the other countered. “That was a Waco. My dad learned to fly in one.”
The rest of the day I thought about my earliest memories of aircraft, and how great it was to have lived long enough to see the evolution of flying from its early years.
I had seen airplanes in the sky as a preschooler, but it was 1936 before I saw my first one on the ground. For a few weeks, a barnstorming pilot tethered his plane, a beat up canvas-covered biplane with two open cockpits, in an open field near our house. He stayed in a nearby tourist court and gave rides for a dollar. Whether from fear of flying or lack of discretionary income, people weren’t standing in line. We kids would wait until late afternoon when the pilot left for dinner, then crawl all over that plane. Once or twice he returned early and ran us off. But for the most part, he accepted the fact that an airplane was bound to attract young boys.
As a second-grade student, I remember standing in the playground with my class and the rest of the student body to watch the U.S. Navy dirigible, Macon, in the skies over Fort Worth. The event had been publicized in advance in the Star-Telegram, and schools citywide suspended classes so that everybody could see it. Most of all, I remember the many hours spent building model airplanes and hanging them from my bedroom ceiling to study and admire. One time I made my younger brother mad and he exacted revenge by crumpling up my handiwork while I pounded on the locked door. Like most of our disagreements, it was soon forgiven, but obviously not forgotten.
Back then, Sunday drives were a favorite form of family entertainment, and one of our frequent destinations was Meachum Field, the municipal airport. We’d wander around the terminal and hangers watching the airplanes take off and land. (Try this today at DFW or LAX.) One time I saw a sign at the door of a hanger: AIRPLANE RIDES $2. After I’d begged and pleaded, my dad said OK. The plane was a bright yellow Piper Cub and could accommodate only one passenger. My brother didn’t want to go, so that was no problem. Most small planes of that era were made of light-weight tubular metal frames covered with treated canvas, similar to kite construction. After takeoff, we circled the city. The side windows were open, and unlike on today’s commercial jets, you really felt like you were flying. It took only 15 minutes, but I remember it as though it were yesterday.
In 1948 I was discharged from the Navy in San Diego. The next day I boarded an American Airlines DC-3 (my first flight on a commercial airliner) and headed home. The seats were small, even by today’s standards, and the trip took eight hours. In later years, I had many occasions to travel by jet, and although enjoyable at first, it became tiring and frustrating as airline problems became increasingly frequent and more severe.
One thing is for sure — whether I ever fly again or not, I’ll always miss the excitement and romance of air travel in an earlier time.
A question to ponder:
How do you get off a “non-stop” flight?
putterhugh@suddenlink.net
Hugh Neeld is a freelance columnist for TylerPaper.com.
There are dates in everyone’s life that evoke special memories. Such a date for me is September 15, 2003. I had just gotten out of my van on the parking lot of the mall in Tyler, when I heard the sound of airplanes — not the distinctive sound of today’s jets, or heavy whop, whop, whop of rotor blades, but the drone of old-fashioned propeller-driven planes. Flying overhead in loose formation and at low altitude were about a dozen vintage aircraft.
I recognized a silver winged 1929 Ford tri-motor and an open cockpit Warner bi-plane right away. The others were familiar, but I couldn’t identify them by name. It was then that I remembered reading in the paper about the Aviation Foundation of America’s replication of a 1932 national air tour, planned but never implemented due to the depression. The 4,000 mile tour began and ended in Dearborn, Michigan. It took 16 days to complete and covered 23 states.
On the Fort-Worth-to-Shreveport leg of the tour, they had promised to do a low pass over Tyler, and that’s what they were doing. With everybody else on the parking lot, I stood in slack-jawed amazement until the planes disappeared from view. Some of us older people congregated in a small group excitedly discussing our experience and trying to identify the planes we’d seen. A minor argument broke out between a couple of the more knowledgeable guys.
“Did you see that old Stearman bi-plane!” one exclaimed.
“That was no Stearman,” the other countered. “That was a Waco. My dad learned to fly in one.”
The rest of the day I thought about my earliest memories of aircraft, and how great it was to have lived long enough to see the evolution of flying from its early years.
I had seen airplanes in the sky as a preschooler, but it was 1936 before I saw my first one on the ground. For a few weeks, a barnstorming pilot tethered his plane, a beat up canvas-covered biplane with two open cockpits, in an open field near our house. He stayed in a nearby tourist court and gave rides for a dollar. Whether from fear of flying or lack of discretionary income, people weren’t standing in line. We kids would wait until late afternoon when the pilot left for dinner, then crawl all over that plane. Once or twice he returned early and ran us off. But for the most part, he accepted the fact that an airplane was bound to attract young boys.
As a second-grade student, I remember standing in the playground with my class and the rest of the student body to watch the U.S. Navy dirigible, Macon, in the skies over Fort Worth. The event had been publicized in advance in the Star-Telegram, and schools citywide suspended classes so that everybody could see it. Most of all, I remember the many hours spent building model airplanes and hanging them from my bedroom ceiling to study and admire. One time I made my younger brother mad and he exacted revenge by crumpling up my handiwork while I pounded on the locked door. Like most of our disagreements, it was soon forgiven, but obviously not forgotten.
Back then, Sunday drives were a favorite form of family entertainment, and one of our frequent destinations was Meachum Field, the municipal airport. We’d wander around the terminal and hangers watching the airplanes take off and land. (Try this today at DFW or LAX.) One time I saw a sign at the door of a hanger: AIRPLANE RIDES $2. After I’d begged and pleaded, my dad said OK. The plane was a bright yellow Piper Cub and could accommodate only one passenger. My brother didn’t want to go, so that was no problem. Most small planes of that era were made of light-weight tubular metal frames covered with treated canvas, similar to kite construction. After takeoff, we circled the city. The side windows were open, and unlike on today’s commercial jets, you really felt like you were flying. It took only 15 minutes, but I remember it as though it were yesterday.
In 1948 I was discharged from the Navy in San Diego. The next day I boarded an American Airlines DC-3 (my first flight on a commercial airliner) and headed home. The seats were small, even by today’s standards, and the trip took eight hours. In later years, I had many occasions to travel by jet, and although enjoyable at first, it became tiring and frustrating as airline problems became increasingly frequent and more severe.
One thing is for sure — whether I ever fly again or not, I’ll always miss the excitement and romance of air travel in an earlier time.
A question to ponder:
How do you get off a “non-stop” flight?
putterhugh@suddenlink.net
Hugh Neeld is a freelance columnist for TylerPaper.com.
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