Paden and the Old Airport Manager

15 years ago I was doing almost 100% airport work. Big or small, we surveyed them all. I was working for a consultant that had a great package deal for AP operators. They would evaluate the strip, make some suggestions and then help them get the free money that was available.

One of the smaller APs we did was a sleepy little asphalt strip tucked away in eastern Oklahoma. I really like the little ones. With no ATC (and generally no traffic) we could run all over the place and get done relatively quick.

Some of the smaller APs that were usually operated by the local municipality had an "airport manager". Most of these fellas were pilots themselves; and some operated the FBO (gas and oil selling business) at the strip. This one in particular fell in that category. Al was the manager's name and if I ever knew his last name, I can't remember it now. This one AP had a small office tucked up in the corner of one (of three) small hangars. There was a shed roof off the front and a number of chairs there for some serious sittin' in the shade and watching the clouds go by. This was where I met Al.

On the first day I introduced myself and my helper and Al seemed to know why we were there. A older fella with a pencil-thin white moustache, he had a far away gleam in his eyes along with a slight permanent smile. I noticed he wore an older olive drab GI issue fatigue hat, with a small brass E-9 chevron...complete with a star in the middle. He told us it was OK to drive on the grass infield, but keep the truck off the runway and keep an eye out for traffic. We did. Things went well and lunch rolled around.

This was out in the middle of nowhere, just a hop, skip and jump from Arkansas. Restaurants were non-existent and I had the foresight to pick up the best truck-stop fried chicken I could find on the highway...and stash it for lunch. I had noticed a pop machine under the porch there at Al's office and we figgered that was a good place for dining. I was looking forward to jawing with Al and listening to his stories.

To our surprise Al wasn't sitting in his chair when we got there. As we sat down to eat any, I heard the groan of the hangar doors. We both got up and poled our head around the corner and saw Al was pushing the doors open. We ate anyway. About half a piece of chicken and two peppers into my lunch Al came around and asked us to give him a hand. Sure. I wiped the chicken off my fingers as best as one can with one lousy truck-stop napkin.

I followed Al around the corner and inside the hanger was the most beautiful sight a man could see. A pristine cream and metallic red 1946 Cessna 195. It looked like a million bucks, not a bug one on the cowl or prop. Al had a hand rig that hooked to the gear to hand pull the aircraft. He motioned for us to grab the tail and swing it around to aid with getting the bird rolling.

He told me it needed to get out in the sun to keep moisture from condensing on it in the hanger. When I mentioned it had a Jacobs radial, Al's eyes lit up and he replied "300 hp". I was impressed and Al noticed. We got it out on the tarmac and I walked around admiring it.

For those that have never seen this airplane, it's like looking at an early post-war Buick Roadmaster. Nothing Spartan about it. Lots of plush upholstery and little chrome accent strips. The instrument panel had that old world tech look. I was in love. To me it was the top of the heap of post-war civil aviation. Beauty and function rolled into an exquisite piece of machinery. I told Al I bet whoever owned it paid a pretty penny...
He informed me he had paid $4000 for it in 1966 when he got back from "Southeast Asia". Then he asked me if I'd like to "go up" in her.

I felt like a 10 year old kid again. After Al topped the tanks and did a walk around we climbed in. My help hopped in the fairly spacious (for a plane) back seats. I climbed in the right seat and Al handed me a headset. The Jacobs shook and groaned itself to life as it puked smoke out the bottom row of cylinders. The airframe shuddered as Al slowly pushed the throttle. The Jacobs roared and we drifted off down the taxiway. I was in heaven.

Al cleared any traffic on Unicom and announced our departure. His matter-of-fact radio presence did, indeed, have a hint of military discipline.
In a heartbeat the tail was up and I couldn't even tell you when we left the Earth; with the constant-speed prop we climbed out at a healthy 900 vfpm. Al was one with his ship. All he had on the yoke was fingertips. I looked down at the rudder pedals and could hardly detect any movement. This guy had flown this plane before...A LOT. Al stood the plane up on a wing in a tight, probably 45å¡ bank. I watched the slip indicator on the instrument panel and the bubble never left center. This guy was a pilot's pilot.

We danced above the rolling mountains of eastern Oklahoma for about a half hour and Al turned back . We chatted a bit on the headsets, but the view was more important. As we got on the pattern Al crackled in on the headset and said "looks like my friends are waiting". I looked over at the field and there was a State Trooper, a County Sherriff, a City Pickup and two other cars. All the occupants were standing out on the tarmac shielding their eyes with their hands...looking and pointing at us.

Al's landing was every bit as beautiful as the take-off. You couldn't really tell when it happened. The noble bird just kind of floated onto the runway. If the tail and the main gear touched at different times, I couldn't feel it. It was like riding a magic carpet.

After a short hop down the taxiway Al pulled up by the gas pumps. The crowd of folks had backed up a bit to avoid the propwash. Al stood on one brake and shoved the throttle, wheeling the plane around in almost a 360å¡...and blowing the hats off all the folks standing on the tarmac. I looked at Al as it seemed he had done it on purpose. He winked at me.

Things were a lot more serious than I had imagined as we climbed down. There were some angry people. The Deputy decided to snatch me aside and started hitting me with lots of questions. I didn't know what to say except that Al had invited us for a ride and we took him up on it.
The Mayor (who was also the public works director and maybe even the dog catcher) intervened and explained to the officers we were the surveyors for the AP improvements. That seemed to settle the brass down a bit. As the crowd dispersed, with Al being towed by a woman I found out later was his daughter, Al turned to me and thanked me for helping him get the plane out of the hangar. He never quit smiling and that was the last I saw of him.

Al left with his daughter and the law enforcement took off, leaving me at the front of the AP office with the Mayor. I was still a little rattled that so many folks thought it odd that Al was flying his plane, but the Mayor set me straight. Al was the AP Manager in title only. They had actually "stripped" him of the job due to the onset of Alzheimer's, but he still drove a bit and would generally wind up out at the AP sitting on the porch. Where the law, Mayor or his daughter would have to come and coax him back home...

Al had surrendered his pilot's license and the Cessna was actually for sale. Al's daughter was there from California to clean up his estate and take him back West where she had found a nice assisted living condo for him. When they saw the plane in the air they all had rushed out to the AP to see who had "stolen" Al's Cessna. The Mayor told us "we was lucky to be alive because there were times that old man didn't even know his name".

I never felt anything but safe up there with him and that beautiful bird.