Valiant Air Command TICO Airshow 2011


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I spent Friday at the Valiant Air Command TICO airshow at the Space Coast Regional Airport in Titusville, Florida. I went primarily to meet and hang out with the Starfighters, who operate the Lockheed F-104 Starfighter. My primary objective was to shoot the F-104 and get a couple of interviews to use on Airspeed and for Acro Camp.

That meant being there most of the day with the team there on the ramp, which is actually in the aerobatic box for the show. Oh, no! Please don’t throw me in that briar patch! How ever will I cope!

So, whenever nothing was happening with the blue-and-white Century Series jet, David Allen and I shot the rest of the show in both stills and video. The only downside of shooting from the ramp was the fact that the showline is positioned so that you have to shoot up-sun. I can’t really complain about that, but it did result in most of the usable shots being of those performers with more to-and-fro (as opposed to back-and-forth) elements to their demos.


Take, for instance, this one of the Maj Mike “Cash” Maeder and Capt Steven “Buda” Bofferding tearing it up in the F-15E. Great noise and great three-dimensionality to the demo. And, although I could be mistaken, it looked to me as though there’s a lot more inversion and a lot more high-G maneuvering in this year’s routine.


Because of the aforementioned geometry of the show, the remainder of the shots are heavily weighted in favor of the Heavy Metal Jet Team, which flew its inaugural demos this weekend.


This one probably benefited from the geometry. It’s still pretty up-sun, but I don’t think that one could shoot down the length of the solo’s barrel roll from any other angle.


Among my new favorites is Mark Sorenson, who flies a Yak-55 named Titus that’s painted in tiger livery. Mark embraces the playful presentation of the airplane and he loves to show off the airplane to kids.

Dave and I helped Mark wipe down the aircraft after he returned from flying and I had a chance to talk to him at length. We met initially at ICAS in December, but the proper place to hang out with a pilot is on the ramp or in the hangar while scraping bugs off the leading edges of a pretty airplane. I’ve maintained a loose correspondence with Mark’s brother, who’s an F-15E driver at Nellis AFB. I frequently wish that my family was a little more aviation-intensive like the Sorensons.

Mark operates ground-based smoke-ring generators that put huge black smoke rings up into the box that he then flies through. I didn’t get to see the smoke rings on this occasion, but I’ve seen the video and I’ll bet that it adds a more three-dimensional feeling to his presentation. Mark doesn’t fly many shows to the north, where I am, so I doubt that I’ll get to see him fly at another show. But you never know.

More information about the Valiant Air Command TICO Airshow is available at http://www.vacwarbirds.org/.

Endeavour Rolls Out

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How many times should one try to start a blog post before giving up on erudition and just writing something that poses a grave danger of sounding like a fifth-grade book report? The number is at least three, but it’s greater than the number of tries that I ultimately made before writing this.

I normally head down to Jekyll Island, Georgia each march to visit my folks, who spend two months there each winter. About every other year, I detour to Kennedy Space Center to feed my space monster. I need to touch home there on the Cape to recharge the batteries.

I was thinking about that awhile ago and called up Mike Robinson of the Starfighters to see if he might want to drink such beer as I might buy upon passing through. Mike, ever the considerate guy that he is, suggested sliding my schedule to the left by a week to include the TICO airshow here at the Space Coast Airport. And, being that the Starfighters have a NASA connection, he allowed as how I might be able to see some of their operations there at KSC.

Say no more. I moved the dates and came down this weekend instead of last weekend.

And then, by happy chance, it happened that the roll-out of STS orbiter Endeavour for STS-134 was slated to occur this evening. Long story short, I spend a bit of this evening at the VAB watching Endeavour roll out to Pad 39A.


The launch assembly crawls out of the VAB and then hits the gas and begins to move at a more blistering mile-per-hour pace. Once it’s well and truly out of the VAB, the spotlights illuminate it and it stands out in dazzling white.

The parking lot is full of people. Most, like me, are shooting pictures, babbling like kids, or drooling. It’s going on 9:00 at night, so just about everyone on this side of the fence is here because he or she wants to be here. Everybody’s a fanboy and it shows.


STS-134 is a run to the ISS to deliver the Alpha Magnetic Spectrometer (AMS) and spare parts, including two S-band communications antennas, a high-pressure gas tank, additional spare parts for Dextre and micrometeoroid debris shields.

Also, as matters stand, it’s slated to be the second to the last STS mission. Which makes it bittersweet to see it roll out. Discovery just landed from its final flight yesterday. So everyone is aware of the era ending.


I suppose that I shouldn’t be bothered as much as I am. I’ve always been the first guy to complain that the STS has given us a space pacifier that has kept the public’s mind off the fact that our manned space program hasn’t left low earth orbit since 1972.

But the STS has been the county’s flagship space program for most of the time during which I was growing up so, like it or not, the STS has a place in my heart. It’s weird to see an orbiter recede into the night like that.

There are much more profound things to say about this evening. Probably in some larger context and in more concise form. For the time being, I think it’s probably enough to acklowledge how grateful I am to the Starfighters for the access to the rollout and the chance to see the great lady up close. And to walk among a crowd of people that is just as excited as I am about being there.

Big day tomorrow here on the Space Coast. More soon!

Heavy Metal – First Impressions


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I’m spending a couple of days here on the Space Coast, mostly in and around Titusville, Florida. I arrived Wednesday night to assist David Allen with an unfortunate infestation of Leinenkugel Berry Weiss. I’m pleased to report that the fridge is now nearly Leinie’s-free. And we took care of some pesky ribeyes while we were at it.

I’m writing this at the Starbucks at Target in Titusville which, although possessed of the usual high-quality caffeinated beverages, has no WiFi. Thus, please pretend that this was posted Thursday afternoon instead of late Thursday night or early Friday morning. Not that timing is all that important usually, but I’m heading out to the Cape this evening to see them roll out Endeavour for STS-134 and I’m bound to have pictures and other assorted media to post right after this goes up.

On the way back from getting my NASA badge (let me say that again . . . On the way back from getting my NASA badge), I decided to take a swing by the Space Coast Executive Airport, the site of the Valiant Air Command TICO Airshow, which will be my first of the season. This is the first year that I’ve started the airshow season this early, but an amazingly kind offer by the Starfighters was too good to pass up. Thus, I’ll be spending the day Friday on the ramp with the performers and drooling (respectfully, mind you) on some F-104s.

I found my way to the ramp area just as the Heavy Metal Jet Team took the box for a practice flight. Heavy Metal has captured the imaginations of many, and for good reason. It’s a five-ship demo team that’s both entirely civilian and entirely sponsored. That means that the shows that don’t get a big military jet team (Thunderbirds, Blue Angels, Snowbirds, etc.) can still have a jet team as a headliner without the expense that would normally be associated with a civilian team.


Heavy Metal is a five-ship team. A lead T-33 Shooting Star/Silver Star flown by Dale “Snort” Snodgrass (but an L-39 substituted this weekend) and four L-39s flown by 1/Team Lead Jerry “Jive” Kerby, 2/Right Wing Jared “Rook” Isaacman, 3/Left wing Doug “H-Dog” Demko, and 4/Slot Sean “Stroker” Gustafson.

I shot a lot of pictures and watched the practice pretty closely. It was a rotten day to shoot airplanes. Gray overcast all around with jets pained in arctic camouflage. So these shots aren’t going to grace any posters or magazine covers (not that any of my stuff ever will – my shtick is strapping into the aircraft and emoting for the cameras and on audio).

But I think that I saw enough to make some worthwhile observations.

There’s a lot more interesting geometry to what I saw than you usually see from a civilian jet act. Most civilian jet teams usually just swing back and forth along the 1,500-foot line with formation passes. The most interesting stuff in those cases are the breaks where each of the jets in the formation takes a bit of a solo in its break before landing. Otherwise, it’s echelon passes, finger-four, line-abreast, etc. Not that I don’t love that. (I do!) But it’s kind of flat.

Heavy metal gets a lot more three-dimensional in its performances. It’s tough to do that for a number of reasons, probably the biggest of which is the fact that you’re not supposed to direct aerobatic energy at the crowd. If the aircraft goes to flinders at any given point in the show, the momentum has to be in a direction that will cause the the debris to land outside the crowd area. Think about it. Even the big sweeping dedication passes or photo passes are usually from way out behind the crowd’s flank and around in front so that the outside of the turn is toward the safe area out on the field or on the other side of the field.

But it makes a big difference if you can get some elements going toward, or away from, the crowd to beak up the monotony of the back-and forth. I’ve seen Gene Soucy, Greg Koontz, and other piston-drivers do this because they have smaller, slower aircraft. Gene can point the Show Cat right at the crowd for a few seconds and do it safely because he’s going slow enough that he can turn well before any aerobatic energy could reach the crowd if something goes amiss. It makes for dramatic shows.

Maybe it was just a practice and maybe I didn’t see the actual routine that Heavy Metal is going to fly for the crowd. And maybe it’s because I saw it from over at the terminal side of the field, which is in the box. Whatever the case, it seemed that the solo gets a lot of to-and-fro (as opposed to back-and-forth) in the performance. Much more than simple passes. And he’s working pretty hard and putting as much of that as possible into the show.


The four-ship formation element is just plain stinkin’ tight. Oh, holy crap are they tight, especially for one of the very first shows of the season. Lots of overlap. Really close formation. Well-coordinated. On at least one case I got that “hey-it’s-one-big-airplane” sensation, as illustrated in this shot as the team does an excellent imitation of Virgin Galactic’s EVE (fka WhiteKnightTwo). Hard to tell in the picture, but the four-ship hung exactly for the whole turn.

Makes me want to just give up and never look at a Pitts again, much less a Citabria. But you know that I’ll swallow my pride and try again to approximate that kind of precision. Soon.


Lastly, and probably most impressive for the crowds, the four-ship actually does formation acro in the style of the military jet teams. I’m not aware of anyone else who does that.

They’re not the Thunderbirds or the Blues. They really can’t be because they’re flying jets with a 0.37 thrust-to-weight ratio. So at least half of the usual military maneuvers are off the table. But the team does an excellent job of managing the energy that they develop and they keep it pretty close to the crowd for more of the fight time than the other teams do.

Bottom line? The airshow faithful and those who understand aerobatics and energy management are going to love watching this team. I did, even on a crappy-weather day watching a practice.

The rest of the crowd? Really, the only thing lacking is the big noise. These jets are pleasantly noisy and they smell right from just downwind, but they don’t grab you by the scruff of the neck and beat you in the chest with sound pressure.

I think that Heavy Metal has a great back story, a talented group of pilots, and great poster-appeal. They’ve also apparently been training hard and are really tight, especially this early in the season. Hey, nobody can anchor an airshow like the Thunderbirds or the Blues. But, with both of those teams stretched pretty thin over a long season, the airshow industry has long needed an impressive act to anchor those shows that don’t get the big jet teams. I think that Heavy Metal is going to very competently anchor a long list of shows and give good account of itself. I enjoyed the heck out of watching them. They’re three-dimensional, they’re pretty, and they’re tight. They can come to my town any day and I’ll go home from that airshow with the same stab-marks on my shirt from leaning into the snow fence at the crowd line.

The skies are supposed to be a lot more clear tomorrow and I’m looking forward to seeing the team tear it up again.

Going a Little Meta


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Not to go all meta on you people, but I thought it worthwhile to devote a post to the state of the aviation new-media community. And it’s an apt time because we’re expecting the whole thing to step up a level this year.

I’d like to pat myself on the back a little over the T-38 episode, which launched on 24 January. The episode raised the bar for video podcasting to broadcast- or near-broadcast quality. All HD and with more and better cameras than even Discovery Channel usually fields. And a depth of coverage unrivaled by broadcast or cable. I get the aircraft manuals ahead of time and arrive ready to fly the airplane. Not that I usually get to fly the airplane, but I’m ready to do so if given the opportunity. And the coverage benefits from that level of prep.


Later this summer, we’re going to get to see Wilco Films’ first feature, A Pilot’s Story. Will and Rico have been shooting footage for that film for something like three years. They finally put together enough funding to shoot the air-to-air sequences late last year and they now have the critical mass to put out the film. I can’t wait for you to see it. I’ve seen several rough-cut sequences and they’re magnificent. I can only imagine how they’re going to look on the big screen at AirVenture.

The frame grabs in this post are from my interview for A Pilot’s Story. We shot it in a hangar at the Watsonville airport (KWVI) in early October after Rico’s Thunderbird ride. I look pretty good for a guy who was still jetlagged and had just climbed out of an RV-8. But I found out that it’s sometimes hard to sit there and just let profound things spew from my lips. I can do that, but I’m much better with a script and lots of time to edit. Just be kind to me if my footage makes it into the film.


Last, but by no means least, I’m going to get Acro Camp done sometime soon and you’re going to get to see that film as well. I plan to release some extended sequences from the film in the Airspeed feed as I go, the better to whip you into a frenzy for the film by the time it comes out.

I leave this week for KMCO to get some hyper-close-up contact at Kennedy Space Center and talk to the Starfighters. Then I head back across the causeway to Space Coast Airport in Titusville for the TICO Airshow. And I’m taking the big bag of media equipment, so you can be reasonably assured that I’ll be capturing the whole experience for you.

Fingers in the Airport Fence Entwined


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In the Fall of 2007, I began writing a ballad to fill out a book that I was in the process of finishing up. I had been inspired in the mid 1990s by a ballad written by folk singer Mike Agranoff called The Ballad of the Sandman. You might have heard Sandman once or twice here on Airspeed. It’s the story of the apocryphal rock and roll radio DJ Paul Sandman in the wee hours of New Year’s Day 1970 when he barricades himself in the studio and puts on the kind of show that would make radio great if it would dare. And how his fellow DJs pick up his signal and relay it across the nation to the overnight hardcore rock and roll radio listeners.

Inspired by Heritage Flights that I had seen at airshows and by fly-bys that friends and co-workers had performed in honor of Will Hawkins’ grandfather, I put pen to paper and tried to come up with a waking dream that just might happen in a world as special as aviation.

The result was Fingers in the Airport Fence Entwined – The Ballad of Jimmy Short.

Fingers has loomed quietly but large in the Airspeed universe. The reverse of the Airspeed challenge coin bears the inscription around the edge, “standing with my fingers in the airport fence entwined.” Harper’s Field, the fictional rural airport that I made up as the centerpiece of the story, has become my own personal Lake Wobegone and has been the setting for stories such as my own treatment of O. Henry’s Gift of the Magi. And I’ve developed a strange attraction to Ray Community Airport (57D) over the past few years because it reminds me so much of the Harper’s Field of my imagination. More about Ray very soon, I hope.

I’ve maintained an irregular correspondence with Mike Agranoff since the late 1990s. A few years ago, Mike offered to trade me a recitation of Sandman for a reading of Fingers. I jumped at the chance. After one of his concerts, he and I sat down in the living room of one of his friends with a crowd of a dozen or so folk musicians and hangers-on and we made the trade. Mike went first (at my suggestion – the better to make it obvious how derivative my piece is of his). He recited Sandman from memory and breathed life into it there before my eyes. Then I did Fingers. I had to read most of it, not having the knack for memorizing epic poetry. But I got through it and I held up my end of the trade with reasonable aplomb. That was an unexpected and amazing opportunity and I’ll never forget it.

It occurred to me shortly after I put Fingers out in the feed that the episode in which it appeared was largely taken up by my lead-in commentary about the book. And that Fingers never really got its own episode.

As I’m in the process of editing a movie and putting out proposals for some really amazing coverage opportunities for the upcoming season, I though that this might be a good time to give Fingers its very own episode. The reading is the original one from 2007, but it’s at a slightly higher bitrate and, as long as I shut up pretty shortly here, it’s presented without much distracting lead-in.

So here, without further fuss or introduction, is Fingers in the Airport Fence Entwined.

_______________________________________________

Fingers in the Airport Fence Entwined
(The Ballad of Jimmy Short)

by Steve Tupper (http://www.airspeedonline.com/)

Harper’s Field is smallish strip a mile from the edge of town,
Parallel to the section lines with farm fields all around.
An FBO, two dozen Tees ‘mid green alfalfa hay,
And a battered sign on the county road: “Airplane rides this way.”

Sometimes, when I was back from school, I’d drive down to the field,
And park the car in the gravel lot to see what the sky might yield.
I’d stand there by the airport fence with a Coke or a Huber beer,
And while away the afternoon at the sky and ground’s frontier.

It doesn’t happen often, though there’re some who say it should,
That we get a glimpse of a fleeting thing that we thought was gone for good.
When zephyrs of the atmosphere meet dreamers on the ground,
And magic, love, and science merge in a roar of deaf’ning sound.

I’d watch them make their takeoff runs; their Continentals whined,
Standing with my fingers in the airport fence entwined.

* * * * *

Jimmy Short arrived in town in 1952.
He’d served in South Korea, but his fighting days were through.
He got a job and the stamping plant and married a local girl,
And made a home and family and his corner of the world.

Sometime in the spring of ‘56 a friend from his platoon,
Called to say he was passing through and might Jim have a room?
Jim met him down at Harper’s Field when he pulled up to the ramp,
And got his very first airplane ride in his friend’s Aeronca Champ.

Jim kept his friend up half the night and talked ‘bout how to fly,
Got another ride in the morning before they said goodbye,
And when his buddy dropped him off and taxied off to go,
Jim turned around and followed the fenceline down to the FBO.

So Jim began his training with a crusty world war vet.
They’d stay aloft on weekday nights ‘til the sun began to set.
And Saturdays and Sundays he’d be at the field at dawn.
His preflight done and the oil topped off; by seven, they were gone.

When the shift let out and the bars filled up, he was at the field instead,
And mowers moved across the hay as he soloed overhead.
And by the time the leaves had turned from green to fiery gold,
His private chit was in his in his hands and twenty hours old.

Jim bought the Cub that winter, though it wasn’t much to see.
The tires were flat and the fabric slack and it sat there in the Tee.
The engine was in baskets, too, but Jimmy wasn’t fazed.
The A&P who signed it off could only stand amazed,

At the gorgeous Cub that Jim pulled out in the second week of May.
That winter in the hangar, Jimmy working night and day,
Had made a bond ‘tween man and plane, both glowed there in the sun,
As Jimmy swing her ‘round and poised to make his takeoff run.

Harper’s field was younger then and, just like Jim, it changed.
Its spirit kept the beat of time but scenery rearranged.
They paved it back in seventy-six and stretched three thousand feet,
And added in an NDB just past the white concrete.

In ‘85, the airspace changed and, though Harper’s Field was “G,”
They added on a speed ring and an overhead of “C.”
You had to stay three thousand or get on the radio,
But Harper’s pilots didn’t mind. They liked to keep it low.

* * * * *

The first time I met Jimmy Short was twenty years ago,
By the fence at Harper’s Field when he stopped to say hello.
He was in his fifties and I was twenty-three,
But that didn’t seem to matter when he stopped to talk to me.

“I’ve seen you here all summer, son, just standing where you are,
Sipping on your Coke and standing, watching from afar.
There’s more to this than what you see when you stand in the parking lot.
There’s a view, you know, there that gives you more perspective than this spot.”

“And what might that be?” I asked, and stood somewhat beguiled.
He hooked his thumb toward the ramp and turned, and then he smiled.
He said, “My name is Jimmy Short and I fly the yellow Cub.
It’s time to stop just standing here. It’s time to take you up.”

I followed him down the fenceline and he waved me through the gate.
I helped him pull the Cub out and he asked about my weight.
Some scrib’ling on an envelope, a finger in the wind,
Then he waved me to the front seat and he helped to strap me in.

And so, that day, I saw where I had stood there by the fence.
But I saw it from a thousand feet and I had a different sense,
Of where I stood in other ways and what I really wanted,
I knew that it would challenge me, but I set my teeth undaunted.

And when the Cub came back to earth (and later, so did I),
I turned around, asked Jimmy Short “Where do I learn to fly?”
He chuckled and took off his hat, ran his hand through his thinning hair.
“The next step’s at the FBO and, son, it’s over there.”

It seems I didn’t sleep much through the summer and the fall.
There were groceries to bag and lawns to mow and clippings left to haul.
And every cent I took to the FBO to rent the plane;
A beat-up C-150 but a perfect ship to train.

And, as I flew and talked to folks, before too long, I found,
That the name of the pilot Jimmy Short was known for miles around.
No job to small, he volunteered at every county show,
And went to every fly-in where the Cub would let him go.

You could put him on the flight line or in the parking lot,
And Jim would see that every camper pulled into its slot.
You’d see him folding tables and hauling Porta-Johns,
And many a warbird was marshaled with a wave of Jim’s batons.

You’d see him flipping pancakes and you’d see him cleaning up,
Or smiling as he showed the folks his yellow Piper Cub.
His dues were current in the EAA and when they called the roll,
Jimmy was a captain in the Civil Air Patrol.

And I found that my ride on that summer day wasn’t Jimmy’s first.
Many a pilot had Jim to thank for giving them the thirst,
For the smell of hundred low-lead and the sound of the takeoff run,
Or the landing on two-seven in a setting summer sun.

It doesn’t happen often, though there’re some who say it should,
That we get a glimpse of a fleeting thing that we thought was gone for good.
When zephyrs of the atmosphere meet dreamers on the ground,
And magic, love, and science merge in a love that’s newly found.

I’d sometimes watch as he gave a kid his very first airplane ride.
Standing with my fingers in the airport fence entwined.

* * * * *

Like I said, it’s been twenty years and I’ve flown for all that time.
I’m based right here at Harper’s Field and Six-Five-Six is mine.
I still saw Jim most weekends and we’d talk and hangar-fly,
And jaw about the weather as we watched the summer sky.

Until the day I saw him at his hangar, moving slow.
I gave him a wave, but he turned away and shuffled off to go.
The bounce was gone from Jimmy’s step and I stopped to look at him.
Then walked two down to his hangar door; called, “Hey, what ails you, Jim?”

“My medical’s been touch-and-go for years and now, you see,
I’m creaky and my eyesight just ain’t what it used to be.
The family doc says I could go again and try my luck,
But I’ll never make it by this time. It’s time to hang ‘em up.

“So I put the Cub in Trade-a-Plane and I got a call last week.
And the buyer’s A&P came by and said he’d take a peek.
And now we’ve done the haggling and it’s time to sell the Cub,
They’re coming in tomorrow and they’re going to pick her up.”

He saw the look that stole across my face and said, “It’s fine.
I’ve flown her nearly forty years and, man, I’ve had my time.
I’d give an arm and a leg or two for another summer’s flight
But it’s time for me to pass her on. I think it’s only right.”

I departed on the downwind and I dialed one-two-two-eight,
And listened to the traffic at Big Bear and Applegate.
I cruised around the countryside with nowhere planned to go,
Just listening to the engine and the calls on the radio.

Now and then, I’d hear a voice I knew and key the mic,
And make a little small talk and ask about their flight,
But my heart just wasn’t in it, and soon enough I’d say,
“Jimmy Short has hung ‘em up. He’s going to sell the plane.”

Their thoughts were all the same as mine and somber grew the talk,
As word began to reach the general aviation flock.
I heard it on each CTAF and each rural UNICOM,
The sad refrain from plane to plane that “Jimmy’s moving on.”

And in the air that carried Jim in summers long gone by,
There grew a song of the mournful news that rose and filled the sky,
From two-two-eight to two-zero-five and up and down the dial,
Across the fields and lakes and on for mile on airy mile.

* * * * *

The morning dawned on Harper’s Field and the sky was clear and bright.
I was there to see the sunrise; only restless sleep that night.
For I couldn’t help but think of Jimmy Short as there I lay,
And figured I’d be near in case he needed me that day.

By nine o’clock, I’d finished cleaning my Tee for the second time,
And a Cessna 182 pulled to parking on the line.
Three men got out of the Cessna and walked to Jimmy’s Tee,
And the door rolled back and Jim stood there and waved to greet the three.

The all shook hands, then pulled the doors of the hangar open wide,
And then, a moment later, rolled Jimmy’s Cub outside.
One circled the Cub with a practiced eye ‘til his preflight was complete,
And, smiling, gave a nod to Jim; laid the papers on the seat.

Each of them in turn leaned in and signed, then passed the pen,
And stood aside to let the next in line lean in and sign again,
‘Til all was done. Jim shook their hands and handed one the key,
And turned away and walked across the ramp to stand by me.

Jim said hello to me, not with his voice, but with a nod,
His countenance inscrutable. His face was a façade.
I searched words to say to him to lend a friend’s support,
But words had all abandoned, so I just stood by Jimmy Short.

We stared out at the windsock as it dangled on the pole.
Neither spoke for a longish time; each searched within his soul.
Gone the resolve that buoyed Jim when I talked to him yesterday,
And Harper’s field stood solemnly in a veil of deep dismay.

Then slowly in the silence there came a distant song.
It wound along the hangar row and then continued on.
It played there in the parking lot, then scattered in the hay,
And rose to cover all the field as it doubled back our way.

Our eyes were turned of one accord, both us and the buyers there.
A J3 Cub on a low approach was floating through the air.
And by us flew the Cub midfield, he rolling left and right,
Then, straightening out and climbing high, he slowly passed from sight.

And ‘ere the song of the Six-five Continental bid adieu,
Came the drone of the N2Cs of a pair of C-152s.
They passed abeam the midfield line in tight right echelon,
Then powered up and, turning right, they climbed and soon were gone.

I looked at Jim, he looked at me, and all I could do was shrug.
The lineman stared and so did the men with Jimmy’s former Cub.
Now skimming low was an old T-6 with a Pratt & Whitney wail,
And close behind with a glint of blue was an F4U in trail.

I grabbed my handheld from my plane and quickly flipped it on,
Then punched in the frequency for the CTAF and UNICOM.
I could tell right away that something was up. The chatter was fast and thick.
Voices I didn’t recognize and mic click after click.

“Eight-Niner-One is clear to the north. Just don’t tear up the cement!”
I saw the Corsair banking right and wondered what he meant.
Until thirty seconds later, when came roaring o’er the trees,
A monster four-prop Air Force C-130 Hercules.

I walked toward the taxiway to get a better view,
And a conga line of growing dots was on approach in queue.
I keyed approach on the radio to listen overhead,
And voice on voice fell on my ears and this is what they said.

“Turn left to one-six zero. That’s the best I can provide.
Lots of traffic over there, so keep your eyes outside.
Hey, what’s with all this traffic? You guys got some soiree?
I guess there’s something going on at Harper’s Field today.

“Approach, this here is Viper Six. We’re inbound over ROCHE.
We’d like to head for Harper’s field and make a low approach.”
“You’re cleared to the field, please say your type and report when you’re abeam.”
“Viper Six is a two-ship flight and, sir, we’re F-16s.”

I strained my eyes to the eastern sky and there they seemed to crawl
And, sure enough, on the UNICOM, there came the Viper’s call,
“Harper’s Field, this is Viper Six, approaching from the east.
Two-ship flight for a high-alpha pass; and we’re going to drag our feet.”

And in they came, with their noses high with the gear and the junk all down,
And the thunder of the engines kept them fifty off the ground,
‘Til at the midfield turnoff point, the gear came up and then,
Their afterburners thundered as they rose to fly again.

When the ground had ceased its shaking and the jets had disappeared,
I keyed the radio, said “Hey, what’s all the traffic here?”
“Four-Mike Fox on final,” came the crackling report.
“I though that everyone had heard. We’re here for Jimmy Short.

“I heard it at the restaurant last night at Stony Creek,
From a guy who was in from UPS and another one from fleet.
And then a guy from Kansas who was on the frequency.
The news sure seems to travel fast and I’m in good company.

“The word is out that Jimmy’s hung ‘em up and sold the plane.
Approach is all abuzz with talk and Center’s just the same.
Therere folks who owe Jim big time and it bothered them, you see,
And the word went out that we shouldn’t let this go so easily.

“It started in the pilot talk on a website board or two,
Then cell phone text and traffic calls and, hour by hour, it grew,
‘Till someone had a brainstorm that solidified from whim,
A low pass over at Harper’s Field and wag your wings for Jim.

“The message passed from field to field and it picked up steam all night,
And it made the Center chatter thanks to a red-eye Northwest flight.
And an F-16 maintainer passed the word to his command.
They remembered Jim from the air shows there when he came to lend a hand.

“So I fired her up this morning and I took off VFR.
I fly a Baron Fifty-Five, so Harper’s field ain’t far.
But I used to be a groundhog, see, when I was just a pup,
‘Til I got my first Young Eagles ride and Jimmy took me up.

“So I’m here to dip a wing for Jim and let him know I’m here
He’s the reason that I started and he’s why I persevere.”
And, sure enough, the Baron came in low and came in hot,
He wagged his wings amidfield; tracking down the line he shot.

Jim was standing next to me and he overheard the call.
A faraway look stole across his face as he listened to it all,
As each new plane passed the midfield line in flashing, proud review,
And the radio told of a first flight ride or a guy in Jim’s old crew.

Then down by the fence they began to arrive; drawn in from the town,
Drawn to the stately dance o’erhead in droves from all around.
They filled the little parking lot, then the access road further away,
And out to the sign on the county road that said: “Airplane rides this way.”

Faces upturned and spellbound, they knew not how or why,
Or whence this grand ballet had come to fill the summer sky.
But came they did and they gathered near and watched each passing plane,
And each was touched by a fleeting dream that none could quite explain.

Jimmy saw the cars pull in and he watched them for a while.
The stricken look of earlier was gone and now a smile,
Crossed Jimmy’s face as the last plane passed and, in the wake of the fading sound,
He grabbed my elbow, cleared his throat, and, grinning, turned me ‘round.

You see them there? They don’t know why, but still they’re drawn to see,
The miracles we daily work, just guys like you and me.
It’s time to pass the torch to you. The telling’s your job now.
The magic is within their reach, you just have to tell them how.

He smiled again, then shook my hand and turned and walked away.
And joined a knot of Harper’s guys who’d gathered down the way.
The buyer and the other guys all turned around to leave.
My eyes were slightly hazy, but I wiped them on my sleeve,

And turned and walked across the ramp toward the fence by the FBO,
Where the crowd still stood in silence, some with faces still aglow,
As they stood and contemplated what had just now filled the air,
And wondered at its meaning all along the fenceline there.

It doesn’t happen often, though there’re some who say it should,
That we get a glimpse of a fleeting thing that we thought was gone for good.
When zephyrs of the atmosphere meet dreamers on the ground,
And magic, love, and science merge in silence most profound.

I reached the fence and smiled at them gathered up and down the line,
Standing with their fingers in the airport fence entwined.

___________________________________

More information about Mike Agranoff is available at http://www.mikeagranoff.com/.

The full text of Sandman is located at http://www.mikeagranoff.com/lyrics/Sandman/htm%20and%20an%20MP3.

Mike’s recitation appears at http://mikeagranoff.com/audio/MFM/10%20-%20Ballad%20Of%20The%20Sandman.MP3.