It’s not that we can’t fly during the short, colder days. It’s just not worth the bother in the frozen states. Bundling up for the trek to the hangar, arranging for some engine heat, wondering if the battery is up to the start, chipping leftover snowplow detritus from the rollout path—naw, too much trouble, wait for a better day.

• READ MORE: 5 Things to Look Forward to at 2024 Sun ‘n Fun Aerospace Expo

Floridians, meanwhile, fire up in their shirtsleeves and fly right on through winter. It was 50 years ago that folks in some enterprising EAA chapters thought up the idea of inviting their pale, pasty northern friends down to the lake country in Florida for an end-of-winter get-together. Quickly dubbed Sun’n Fun, the fly-in/airshow took off like, well, spring break with airplanes. This year’s event runs Tuesday, April 9, through Sunday, April 14.

The site at Lakeland Linder International Airport (KLAL) couldn’t be a better choice. Nicely situated between the airspaces of the tourist mecca of Orlando and the Gulf Coast’s Tampa-St. Petersburg area, the venerable World War II facility, then called Drane Field, has adequate space and easy highway access from Interstate Highway 4’s corridor. 

Sport and experimental aircraft devotees flock in to mingle with all classes of flight, from balloons to ultralights, antiques to vintage, aerobatic to warbirds, and rotorcraft to seaplanes—you can find it all at Sun ’n Fun.

As with the midsummer extravaganza, EAA AirVenture, in Wisconsin, vendors soon latched on to the Sun ’n Fun explosion, and it became a showplace for products unveiled after winter gestation, with display hangars and booths galore. It’s a great place to shop for the latest innovations, or perhaps a fly-market find.

Daily (and sometimes nightly) airshows, constant flybys, lots of food choices, an on-field museum of flight, and educational seminars keep attendees entertained.

• READ MORE: Sun ‘n Fun 2024: Soar into the Skies with Unforgettable Airshow Spectacles

Getting in requires perusal of the 27-page NOTAM, available on the event website, which outlines the Lake Parker arrival procedure, which has been modified this year with a entry point on I-4 at Kermit Weeks’ Fantasy of Flight Museum complex (or even earlier), where one begins the 100-knot, 1,200-foot msl trek, heading southward to a racetrack turn point and westward to the north shore of the lake. From there, the interstate leads to another turn at two water towers prior to an interchange onto a 90-degree interception path to the downwind leg for either Runway 10L or 28R, depending on surface winds. 

Bear in mind that the 75-foot-wide arrival runway is normally used for a taxiway, and the paralleling main runway is reserved for other activity. As at Oshkosh, colored dots painted on the temporary runway are used as aiming points for separation. There’s also the Paradise City grass runway, well south of normal traffic, and Choppertown for the helicopters.

Walking around the grounds guarantees plenty of exercise, although the semicircular flight-line shape appears deceptively short compared to a straight-line layout. There’s abundant shade under the Spanish-moss-laden live oaks, under which northerners are advised to seek shelter from the unaccustomed sun. I routinely return from Sun ’n Fun with peeling skin, even with ample protection.

Editor’s Note: This article first appeared on Plane & Pilot.

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It was June 9, 1944, only three days after the greatest seaborne invasion in history, and Allied troops clung to a perilously slender strip of French coastline after failing to achieve the bulk of their D-Day objectives. Fighting for their lives against a tenacious and skilled enemy that was beginning to flow into Normandy, the Allied armies were depending on air superiority to slow the stream of German reinforcements. That night, as one of five RAF heavy bombing missions against French rail centers, 108 Lancasters were scheduled to attack the railyard at Étampes, south of Paris. Six aircraft would not return. If their crews didn’t have any particular sense of impending doom, if a milk run to northern France seemed preferable to interminable hellish hours over the heart of Germany, they nevertheless set out across the English Channel with eyes wide open. In five years of war, Bomber Command had absorbed staggering losses of airplanes and men, and Squadron No. 49 had few “old hands” left from the early days.

Seventy-nine years later, I happened upon the grave of Bell and four of his crew on a sunny spring afternoon. Set on the modern edge of an ancient Norman town, Bayeux War Cemetery isn’t as pastoral or as beautifully sited as the other Commonwealth, American, or even German cemeteries, but, shaded by blooming chestnut trees and neatly tended with a variety of plants and flowers, it very much has the atmosphere of an English public garden. White marble gravestones evenly spaced in neat rows contain regimental insignia, crosses, crescents, and Stars of David, as well as personal inscriptions from family members.

Amid the geometric perfection, there are several headstones that stick out for being immediately adjacent, with multiple names inscribed. These are all aircrew, and Lancaster ND533 has the greatest number buried together. Flying Officer Bryan E. Bell is joined in death by air gunner F/O Hilary D. Clark, 28; wireless operator/gunner Sgt. John Holden, 21; navigator F/O Duncan MacFadyen, 28, of the Royal Australian Air Force; and air gunner Sergeant Joseph J. Reed, 23. I wondered what happened to the two others and snapped a photo for research.

I had to come to Normandy to tour the landing beaches and battlefields with my father, three brothers, and history aficionado Uncle Mickey. We had enough time to explore many of the sites of lesser-known actions, such as La Fière Bridge, Le Mesnil-Patry, Villers-Bocage, and Hill 112. A lot of the focus on “Operation Overlord” is centered on the landing beaches—bloody Omaha above all—but even there fewer than 1,000 men lost their lives against some 40,000 Americans, British, and Canadians in the furious 10-week Battle of Normandy that followed. When you visit the area, much of it surprisingly little changed since 1944, you understand why. It is a close terrain of hills, vales, and dense hedgerows that strongly favors defense. The Germans made the most of it, fighting skillfully and bravely—fanatically in the case of the Waffen-SS—despite being greatly outnumbered and underestimated by the Allies as “boys and old men.”

The Germans were also aided by technically superior equipment, particularly the Panther and Tiger tanks that took a fearsome toll on the Allies’ relatively light Shermans, Cromwells, and Churchills. This advantage was greatly blunted by the combination of Allied air superiority and Adolf Hitler’s military ineptitude and insistence on total control. The Allies had successfully duped Hitler into thinking Normandy was a feint—that the main invasion would come across the Pas-de-Calais—and he refused to release many of the Panzer divisions that would have posed a major threat to the operation. When they were shifted southwest, slowly and piecemeal, the Allies’ destruction of the French rail network forced the German reinforcements onto the roads, where they were hounded endlessly by the P-47s and P-38s of the U.S. 9th Tactical Air Command and the Hawker Typhoons of the RAF’s 2nd Tactical Air Force. This strategy—the “Transportation Plan”—was what brought Lancaster ND533 to the rail yard at Étampes on the night of June 9 to 10.

This attack was a minor footnote in the annals of Bomber Command, which by this time was regularly mounting night attacks of 500 to 1,000 aircraft deep into Germany. The surviving records indicate the bomber stream formed and crossed into France over Dieppe at 11:15 p.m., and opposition on the inbound leg was light. The preceding de Havilland Mosquito path-finders successfully located and marked the target, and the bombing run commenced. The initial wave of bombers were on target, but then the bomb line started to wander, resulting in the destruction of some 400 civilian homes. Lancasters orbited while the “Master of Ceremonies” sorted things out, and German defenses were fully alerted by the time ND533 turned for home just after midnight. Awaiting in the darkness was the Ju-88R piloted by Hauptmann (Captain) Heinz-Horst Hißbach of Nachtjagdgeschwader 2 (2nd Night Fighter Wing). The night fighters and the flak of the Germans’ formidable FLAK-36 88 mm anti-aircraft cannon were the twin scourges of Bomber Command, and together with a third enemy, the weather, ensured a staggering 44 percent of RAF bomber crews from 1939-1945 lost their lives in the fight. Hißbach was a skilled pilot who would go on to command NJG 2 and amass 30 claimed kills before being killed himself in the final month of the war while strafing an Allied column. His fighter was equipped with a FuG-202 Lichtenstein UHF radar set, so it is likely that the crew of ND533 had no idea he was there until it was too late. At 12:38 a.m., Hißbach attacked the Lancaster with cannon fire, and it was shortly thereafter seen dropping out of the bomber stream in flames. Several villagers in the vicinity of Rosay-sur-Lieure were awake and observed the Lancaster crashing 2 kilometers north of town. They arrived the next morning, sifted through the wreckage, and collected six bodies for burial. Five of these were eventually exhumed and transferred to Bayeux War Cemetery; the sixth, flight engineer Sergeant Sidney C. Holmes, 28, is buried in nearby Marissel French National Cemetery.

The fate of the seventh crew member is interesting and quite sad. Bomb aimer F/O Philip D. Hemmens of Essex, 21, successfully bailed out of ND533 before it crashed. This was much rarer in Lancasters than other types because of the small size and placement of the escape hatch. Hemmens was sheltered by a local member of the French resistance, Huguette Verhague, along with four other airmen but was betrayed by a German collaborator and handed over to the Gestapo in Paris on August 9, only two weeks before liberation. With the collapse of the German front, 168 Allied airmen, including Hemmens, were shipped east to the notorious Buchenwald concentration camp on August 15 through 20. For two months they experienced a small sample of the horrors the Nazi regime was inflicting on Jews, Roma, homosexuals, the disabled, political prisoners, and other “undesirables.” Eventually, the airmen were transferred to a regular POW camp, but it came too late for Hemmens. He died on September 27 owing to medical neglect after seven days of rheumatic fever and sepsis stemming from injuries sustained during the bailout. His remains were never recovered.

• READ MORE: Downed WWII Lancaster Bomber Raised from Sea Floor

Having learned something about the crew of ND533, I decided to find the crash site and was able to do so the morning before I flew back to the States. It rests just inside a small wood surrounded by rolling farmland, a few kilometers west of the picturesque half-timbered village of Lyons-la-Forêt. A short path leads to a granite plaque with a French inscription erected in 2010 to replace the simple wooden cross the villagers had placed on the site in 1944. Two of the Merlin engines were also excavated—their craters are still visible. This is a peaceful, shaded place filled with birdsong. After a week spent visiting places where men fought, suffered, and died in the struggle to free Europe from the grip of fascism—and where even more died in the service of the Nazi regime—this is a place for quiet reflection.

We are nearing 80 years since the end of the cataclysm of World War II, and only a handful of those veterans are still with us. I fear the conflict—and its sources and lasting repercussions—is becoming increasingly abstract, something that happened long ago to grainy people in black-and-white films. As a pilot, pondering the fate of individuals like Bryan Bell and the young airmen of ND533 helps make the cost of WWII relatable. The war in Ukraine shows that propaganda, dictatorship, and aggressive militarism remain a threat even today. Many recent events demonstrate the renewed temptations of political extremism, intolerance, and demonization of “the other.” In such times, it is important to remember the high price paid by so many the last time such feverish currents ran rampant, and for each of us to vow to do whatever we can to prevent their reoccurrence.

This article first appeared in the August 2023/Issue 940 print edition of FLYING.

The post Mission to Étampes appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

Among the most interesting case studies are those that start with a common mission and reimagine the ordinary, eschewing the tried and true in favor of exploring new concepts. The Anderson Greenwood AG-14 is one such example. Aiming to gain a foothold in the personal aircraft market during the postwar years, it incorporated a decidedly unconventional layout that featured a single pusher engine and a twin-boom tail.

The fundamentals of the aircraft were common to existing types, however. Like many Cessna 140s, Luscombes, and Ercoupes, the AG-14 was equipped with a run-of-the-mill Continental C90 engine and a fixed-pitch propeller and weighed less than 1,000 pounds (empty) with a two-person capacity. This commonality of these foundational elements effectively isolated the pros and cons of the unique airframe layout, enabling an interesting side-by-side comparison with conventional types.

The most significant benefit of the unorthodox design was the completely unrestricted visibility from the cockpit. With no wing creating a blind spot either upward or downward, no engine cowling limiting forward visibility, and no propeller arc through which to look, the occupants’ field of vision is not unlike that of some helicopters. Indeed, had the design been given the opportunity to evolve, some panel reconfiguration could have enabled the introduction of a fully glazed forward cockpit like the Partenavia Observer. Such a modification might have appealed to the market as a low-cost helicopter alternative for duties such as pipeline inspection, law enforcement, and aerial survey missions.

A secondary benefit to the design is the configuration of the propeller and tail. Completely nested within the tail booms, the pusher propeller is shielded from wayward pedestrians who might carelessly wander around the airplane. Although the pilot cannot visually confirm the prop is indeed clear before engine start, the safety benefit of its position within the tail booms is legitimate.

Chief among the disadvantages of the AG-14’s layout is weight and balance. When it comes to aircraft design, it’s preferable to position the location with variable weight (such as fuel tanks and the passenger cabin) as close to the center of gravity (CG) as possible. This minimizes the effect varying weights will have on the CG, simplifying the concern of staying within that envelope. 

By positioning the passenger cabin well forward of the wing (and CG), the AG-14’s design introduces some unique characteristics. With little effort, one person can lift the nose wheel up and tip the airplane back onto its tail. Pilots report that the nose wheel can be held off the ground indefinitely while taxiing, even at low speeds. While Anderson Greenwood sufficiently addressed any issues related to this aft CG to achieve type certification, it was undoubtedly a major concern during the design and certification phase. It’s possible the decision to limit pitch authority and make the airplane stall and spin resistant was a decision driven by the negative effects of a particularly aft CG in stalls and spins.

The additional structure and complexity of the twin-boom tail inevitably add additional weight compared to conventional tails. This naturally limits useful load, adds drag, and makes inspections and maintenance more complex. Nevertheless, Anderson Greenwood managed to achieve performance comparable to the Cessna 150, with a cruise speed of 110 mph and a climb rate of 630 feet per minute. One minor downside with which the Cessna doesn’t contend is related to the pusher configuration—positioned directly behind the nose wheel, the propeller is susceptible to damage and wear from foreign object debris.

The AG-14’s design was intriguing enough to inspire a derivation in the form of the Cessna XMC research aircraft. First flown in 1971, Cessna studied the nearly identical side and configuration in pursuit of noise reduction and improved visibility for personal flying and training purposes. Ultimately, only one example was built, and Cessna did not pursue the concept any further.

After being introduced in 1950, only five AG-14s were produced. Today, four remain on the U.S. registry, and at least one or two are maintained in flying condition. Occasionally, one of the owners attends fly-ins like EAA AirVenture in Oshkosh, Wisconsin, where one can see and admire the unique little airplane in person. While it is unlikely the design will reemerge in the form of a modernized version, advanced materials such as carbon fiber could enable further evolution of the concept.

The post Anderson Greenwood AG-14 a Rare Breed, Indeed appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

Recently, drones have dominated coverage of the Russia-Ukraine war, epitomized by last week’s media storm around Ukrainian drone attacks on Moscow and the Kremlin. We take those capabilities for granted today—they’re just a feature of war. But plenty of active service members were alive during a time when today’s UAVs were inconceivable.

So, how did we get here? Believe it or not, drones as we know them right now actually originated more than a century ago during World War I and World War II. They certainly weren’t pretty. But for better or worse, war breeds innovation, and those wars laid the groundwork for today’s UAV technology.

Let’s take a look at some of those early drones and how they morphed into the high-flying, supersonic, undetectable UAVs permeating the Russia-Ukraine conflict.

Prewar Foundations

Before diving into the history books, we need to define what a drone is. For our purposes, we’ll be using a simple definition: a drone or UAV is any aircraft that does not have a human crew or pilot on board.

That includes balloons, which were responsible for the earliest unmanned flights. The ancient Chinese used sky balloons, or Kongming lanterns—now a symbol in Chinese culture—for military signaling. A few centuries later, the first hot-air balloon designed to carry people, developed by aviation pioneers the Montgolfier brothers, flew without a crew in 1783.

But it wasn’t until the mid-19th century that the first UAV was deployed in combat. That distinction belongs to the Austrians, who in 1849 bombed Venice, Italy, using explosive-laden balloons. Unsurprisingly, they weren’t very effective—many of them even blew back toward Austria due to wind.

Before long, engineers were looking at a new application for UAVs: aerial photography. 

The first surveillance drones didn’t emerge until the Vietnam War. But in 1858, French photographer Nadar was credited with taking the first photos from a balloon. A few decades later, William Abner Eddy took photos from a flying kite, some of which survived. And around the same time, Alfred Nobel was thought to have taken photos from a “rocket camera,” though the history is disputed.

Yet all of these aircraft had a big problem: They were difficult or impossible to control. Nikola Tesla began laying the foundation for radio-controlled vehicles with his “robot-boat” in 1898. A technological marvel for its time, Tesla reportedly fooled a crowd at New York City’s Madison Square Garden into thinking they could control the vehicle by shouting.

Tesla never built a remote-control system for flight. But leading up to WWI, Britain’s Royal Aircraft Factory recognized the potential for radio-guided combat aircraft—and got to work.

WWI and the 1st UAV

The task of developing a radio-controlled airplane was left up to A.M. Low, an English engineer, physicist, and inventor commissioned by Britain’s Royal Flying Corps in 1914, just more than a decade after the Wright Brothers’ first flight.

Considered by some to be “the father of radio guidance systems,” Low in 1916 developed a design called the Aerial Target (AT) that laid the foundation for drones as we know them today. The following year, a monoplane made by Geoffrey de Havilland—who would go on to found the aircraft manufacturer sharing his last name—became the first AT model to fly under radio control. It was considered the first UAV flight.

While working on AT, Low survived two assassination attempts by the Germans, who saw the danger in his invention. The British military, however, eventually scrapped the program. Low later developed remote-controlled boats to counter submarines, though they were never deployed in war.

The U.S. also took notice of Low. In 1917, at the behest of scientist-inventors Peter Hewitt and Elmer Sperry, the Navy began developing the Hewitt-Sperry Automatic Airplane, or “Flying Bomb,” considered to be the earliest iteration of the modern cruise missile. It was made by attaching automatic control gear to the Curtiss N-9 seaplane and eventually, after failed tests, a custom Curtiss airframe.

Launched from a catapult—and later a car—and controlled through gyro-stabilization technology created by Sperry, the aircraft never saw battle. But the U.S. military now had UAVs on its mind.

Around the time the Flying Bomb was undergoing flight testing, the U.S. Army asked inventor and engineer Charles Kettering to design a “flying machine” that could hit targets from 40 miles away.

His design, the Kettering Aerial Torpedo—better known as the “Kettering Bug”—was groundbreaking despite never seeing combat. It was capable of carrying 180 pounds of explosives over 75 miles at a speed of 50 mph, making it an enigma of its time.

Using a guidance and control system developed by Sperry, the Bug was programmed to turn off its engine after a specified number of revolutions corresponding to the distance it needed to travel, improving its accuracy. That resulted in several successful flight tests in 1918, and the U.S. government would ultimately spend $275,000 (or about $4 million today) developing it.

The Bug and its predecessors ultimately never saw battle. But Kettering’s design and others would later inspire the UAVs deployed during WWII.

The Interwar Period

The Allies didn’t need drones to win World War I. But the early glimpses of UAV technology were too tantalizing to ignore, and the interwar period brought plenty of new innovations that have stuck around.

One is the quadcopter design, a common feature of modern drones. The first practical quadcopter design arrived in 1924, when French engineer Étienne Oehmichen flew his Oehmichen 2. Around the same time, George de Bothezat successfully flew a quadrotor helicopter for the U.S. Army.

But the bulk of UAV innovation at this time came from the British and American militaries. 

Drawing upon Kettering’s Bug and Low’s radio-control technology, the British Royal Aircraft Establishment began building the Larynx autopilot cruise missile in 1925, conducting test flights between 1927 and 1929. Britain also developed the Fairey Queen, a radio-controlled target drone constructed from a Fairey IIIF floatplane, in 1931. Only three were ever flown.

But one British innovation from this period had staying power. In 1933, the country started building the DH.82B Queen Bee, a pilotless variant of de Havilland’s Tiger Moth biplane that revolutionized military target practice. The Queen Bee began flying remotely in 1935 and was in service with the Royal Air Force and Navy until 1947. Remarkably, it could fly as high as 17,000 feet and as fast as 100 mph, and it could be recovered after flight. More than 400 were built over a decade.

But perhaps the Queen Bee’s longest-lasting impact comes from its name. Historians believe that when the British demonstrated it for the U.S. military, officials began using the word drone—a term for worker bees—to refer to UAVs as a tip of the hat. But more importantly, Queen Bee is thought to have inspired the first American drone program.

U.S. experiments eventually produced the Curtiss N2C-2 antiaircraft target drone in 1937. Controlled remotely from a TG-2 “mothership,” the N2C-2 entered Navy service in 1938, and the Air Force adopted the concept the following year. The technology was ideal for target practice, but the requirement of a mothership limited its range and applications.

The Queen Bee and N2C-2 were the first UAVs to see extensive military use. And they arrived just in time for World War II, when drones really started to take off.

WWII and the First Mass-Produced UAVs

A couple hundred Queen Bees and a few thousand N2C-2 variants flew as target drones during World War II. But the conflict, the largest the world had ever seen, triggered the proliferation of UAVs.

The first mass-produced drone emerged from an unlikely source: actor Reginald Denny, a successful Hollywood leading man who experimented with radio-controlled aviation in the 1930s. Throughout the decade, Denny’s Radioplane Co. demonstrated several target drones for the U.S. Army.

In 1940, Denny’s persistence won Radioplane an Army contract to mass-produce the Radioplane OQ-2 and its successor, the OQ-3. The company would go on to build an astounding 15,000 target drones for the Army during WWII, marking the beginning of heavy military drone use. And in 1941, a patent filed by engineer Edward M. Sorensen allowed the aircraft to complete the first beyond visual line of sight (BVLOS) flights.

If Britain was the driving force behind UAV innovation during WWI, it was the U.S. in WWII. 

In 1942, the U.S. military developed an early assault drone, the Naval Aircraft Factory TDN-1, which did not see operation but is credited as the first drone to take off from an aircraft carrier. Shortly after, it devised the Interstate TDR-1 assault drone, which saw about a month of deployment in the Pacific Theater before being retired in 1944.

The U.S. also experimented with applying radio control to out-of-service aircraft. In 1944, Operation Aphrodite saw the Army Air Forces repurpose the Boeing B-17 Flying Fortress and Consolidated B-24 Liberator for remote flight. These designs were also the first UAVs equipped with cameras for first-person-view flights.

Despite flying 14 missions, Aphrodite was considered a failure. The drones were essentially torpedoes equipped with explosives, requiring the pilot to jump from the aircraft before impact. One mission led to the death of Joseph P. Kennedy, the older brother of John F. Kennedy.

However, the U.S. did find success with one of the earliest combat drones, the GB-1 glide bomb. Also known as the “grapefruit bomb,” the aircraft’s wings allowed it to glide farther than a torpedo, which allowed bombers to release it from outside enemy lines. More than 1,000 GB-1s flew during WWII in 1944 and 1945.

But ironically, a U.S. invention inspired the Germans to build the most devastating UAV of the time. Remember that old Kettering Bug? Well, the Germans certainly did, adapting the model into what would become the V-1 flying bomb, commonly known as the “doodlebug” or “buzz bomb.”

The V-1 is considered to be the first operational cruise missile, and it was unlike anything the world had ever seen. It was a true monstrosity of its time, capable of traveling more than 150 miles at speeds approaching 400 mph—not far off from modern passenger airliners.

At the height of the V-1’s deployment in 1944, Germany riddled London with bombs, launching more than 100 drones per day, before switching its sights to Belgium. The flying bomb was remarkably effective for its time, so much so that it inspired the British to produce some of the earliest counter-UAV technology.

Near the end of the war, the Germans also introduced the world’s first long-range guided ballistic missile, the V-2 rocket. Amazingly, the V-2 traveled close to the speed of sound, making it stealthier and even more dangerous than the V-1. More than 3,000 were launched between 1943 and 1945.

The vast majority of these aircraft were retired in the years after the war. But the damage was already done—the Germans had just provided the first glimpse into the power of combat drones, and there was no turning back.

Through decades of trial and error and the modern-day equivalent of billions of dollars, WWI and WWII produced most of the foundational concepts of drones as we know them today, from remote-control to BVLOS operations.

In the following decades, research and development of UAV technology didn’t subside—it picked up exponentially. Around the world, militaries began contracting with private manufacturers, conducting extensive testing, and pouring billions of dollars into drone technology, introducing new innovations such as surveillance drones during the Vietnam War or precision drone strikes throughout the war on terror.

Now, they’re being used for just about every armed conflict on Earth. And as drones continue to wreak havoc in Russia and Ukraine, chances are they won’t be going away any time soon—for better or worse.

The post How Were Drones Used During WWI and WWII? appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

The museum has been in development for several years, designed in partnership with Dimensional Innovations, a Kansas-based experience design firm. 

The museum, located at Amelia Earhart Memorial Airport (K59) is being made possible through the support of Boeing, Bombardier, FedEx, Garmin, and Lockheed Martin. According to museum officials, the facility is designed to function as a blending of history and STEM education—with flight technology in the center.

“It’s a tremendous honor to have the support of aviation leaders like Boeing and Bombardier who continue Amelia’s enduring legacy of innovation and share our vision to inspire future generations in the pursuit of flight,” said Karen Seaberg, founder and president of the Atchison Amelia Earhart Foundation.

Grand Opening Celebration

The grand opening ceremony with a ribbon cutting is slated for Friday at noon CST in front of the museum. 

“The museum doors officially open immediately following the ceremony at 12:30 pm CST,” said Vanessa Bonavia, museum spokesperson, adding that they have invited some special guests, including members of Earhart’s extended family.

“We are expecting special guests, including Bram Kleppner, Amelia’s great-great nephew, and his young daughter, Amelia’s great-great niece,” Bonavia said. “We’ve received several RSVPs from members of The Ninety-Nines and Women in Aviation. Amelia Rose Earhart, the young pilot who circumnavigated the globe to honor Amelia’s legacy, will be attending. The colors will be presented by the Kansas Air National Guard. Kansas Senators Jerry Moran and Roger Marshall will also share remarks, along with Atchison Mayor Lisa Moody.”

The festivities will continue through the weekend. On April 15, pilots from Kansas State University Salina Aerospace and Technology Flight Team will invite the public to tour its new Cirrus SR20 and Cessna 172 aircraft, and on April 16, the “RC Fly Jam” featuring radio-controlled planes will be on the museum grounds and tarmac.

Inside the Museum

The Museum is the home of the world’s last remaining Lockheed Electra 10-E, named

Muriel after Earhart’s younger sister, Grace Muriel Earhart Morrissey. Muriel is identical to the plane Earhart flew on her final flight around the world. 

In addition to the aircraft, there are 14 interactive exhibit areas that allow visitors to trace Earhart’s life from growing up in Atchison, to her growing fame as an aviatrix.

Visitors will be able to enter a full-scale replica of Muriel’s cockpit to experience what it was like to be inside the aircraft described as Earhart’s “flying laboratory.”

There is a digitized version of Earhart’s mechanic logbook for review, and through the magic of augmented reality, visitors can try on Earhart’s various careers such as mechanic, nurse, pilot, and even a fashion designer.

Museum officials note each exhibit has been carefully outfitted to meet National Curriculum Standards, Kansas Curriculum Content Standards, and Missouri Standards of Learning. Professionally developed Teacher Guides to support field trips are also available.

There is a heavy aviation component that allows visitors to explore celestial navigation and learn about radio waves and the atmosphere, use 3D holograms to explore technological advances in aviation, pilot a virtual reality flight in a Lockheed Vega 5B across the Atlantic, retracing Earthart’s 1932 flight and finally, speculate and vote on theories about what happened to Earhart on her attempt to fly around the world.

History and STEM

Earhart has always been associated with aviation, setting multiple records as a pilot, including being the first woman to fly solo across the Atlantic Ocean. Many people are surprised to learn that she also had a background in the sciences. According to multiple biographies, she was particularly interested in chemistry, medicine, and mechanics. This makes it a natural fit for aerospace businesses to support the facility.

“Amelia’s courage and spirit of adventure will inspire the next generation of aviators, explorers, and innovators to continue breaking new boundaries in aerospace,” said Cheri Carter, vice president of Boeing Global Engagement.

Tonya Sudduth, head of U.S. strategy at Bombardier, added, “We are thrilled to support the new Amelia Earhart Hangar Museum and believe it will have a great impact on the community through its innovative and educational exhibits—inspiring young people to explore the many exciting possibilities and future career paths available in aviation and aerospace.” 

In addition to the aerospace industry, a number of local and national philanthropic organizations are providing support for the museum, including the Donn Lux Family, the Guy Bromley Trust, the Patterson Family Foundation, the Regnier Family Foundation, the Fly With Amelia Foundation, the Stauffer Jambrosic Foundation, the Sunderland Foundation and the William T. Kemper Foundation, and local employers Amberwell Health, Benedictine College, MGP Ingredients and others.

Following the grand opening, the Amelia Earhart Hangar Museum will apply to become an Affiliate of the Smithsonian Institution. 

The post Amelia Earhart’s Legacy Enshrined at New Kansas Museum appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

History of the B-52G

The Museum’s B-52G Stratofortress was built in Wichita, Kansas, and delivered to the United States Air Force on September 23, 1960, to be part of the Air Force’s Strategic Air Command.

In 1963 the aircraft was transferred to the Air Force’s 397th Bombardment Wing at Dow Air Force Base in Bangor, Maine. According to Christian Gurling, the Curator of the Tillamook Air Museum, in 1964 the city of Bangor was given honorary ownership of the airplane and the bomber was christened The City of Bangor by Sheryllee Kay Jones, who held the title of Miss Bangor, having won a beauty contest that was a precursor to the Miss America pageant. A bottle of champagne was ceremoniously broken on the nose of the airplane.

The former pageant winner, now Sherry Lowe, will be traveling to Oregon to help the museum re-christen the airplane as Osiris, the Egyptian god of the dead.

The airplane has had many names and many missions over the years, both in the U.S. and overseas. Among the most notable, in 1972, the B-52 took part in Operation Bullet Shot and Operation Linebacker II over North Vietnam.

In 1991 the museum’s B-52 was part of the first Gulf War.

“Along the way, the airplane was also given several more names,” says Gurling. “In addition to City of Bangor, the aircraft was called Soiee, Armed & Ready/Make My Day, Heavy Metal, and Boodrow.”

In November 12, 1991, the airplane was retired to the Aircraft Storage & Disposition Center at Davis-Monthan Air Force Base in Tucson, Arizona, colloquially known as “the boneyard.” Per the disarmament treaty between the U.S. and the Soviet Union, the aircraft was cut into five pieces. The cockpit was obtained by the now-defunct Southern Utah Aviation Museum with a plan to restore it. When the museum closed, the cockpit was sold to Doug Scroggins of Scroggins Aviation Mockup & Effects, a company that supplies Hollywood with aviation mockups for movies.

A series of small misfortunes followed. According to Gurling, “After Scroggins Aviation took possession of the piece, the cockpit was vandalized with spray paint. To remove the spray paint, the airplane was power washed, which unfortunately ruined the airplane’s paint job.”

Scroggins Aviation subsequently loaned the B-52 to the Tillamook Air Museum. The cockpit has been under restoration since September 2021. It will be restored to the configuration and colors it wore during the first Gulf War.

Additional Cockpits on Display 

The museum takes great pride in its collection of cockpit trainers which are on loan from the National Naval Aviation Museum in Pensacola, Florida.

“All the instruments are there, everything is complete,” notes Gurling. “Since we have had them at the museum people have been allowed inside them.”

The trainers are located on a runway display and represent a Corsair, A4 Skyhawk, and Sky Warrior.

The post Invitation to a Cockpit Party appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

Those were the first words out of my mouth when I laid eyes on the Hughes Flying Boat, aka the Hercules, colloquially known as the Spruce Goose. Not terribly poetic, I know, but it was from the heart.

The last time I was inside the Evergreen Aviation & Space Museum in McMinnville, Oregon, was 20 years ago, when the facility was under construction. At the time, the Spruce Goose was across the street in pieces, shrink-wrapped and waiting for installation. The museum was in the excavation stage, and I stood in the 7-foot deep pit that had been dug to hold the hull of the behemoth aircraft. 

On Friday, November 4, 2022, I was back, and face to face with one of the most iconic and impressive feats of aeronautical engineering ever achieved. Up until that moment, the largest airplane I had been physically close to was a Lockheed C-5 Galaxy that Dad had taken me to see when I was a kid. For the record, the Spruce Goose wingspan bests the C-5 by approximately 97 feet, and the tail of the wooden behemoth is over 100 feet tall. I submit the exclamation was warranted.

Let’s Take a Tour

The museum campus sports three buildings: a theater, a wing for more modern aircraft, spacecraft and the SR-71 Blackbird, and the structure that houses the Hughes Flying Boat. There are also several aircraft outside on static display, including multiple military jets, a Douglas C-47 that towed gliders on D-Day, a Boeing 747 painted in the livery of Evergreen Flying Service, and a McDonnell-Douglas VC-9C that served as Air Force Two for decades. There is also a waterpark, Wings and Waves, for those who desire a more kinetic experience.

The star of the museum, of course, is the Flying Boat, the largest seaplane in the world, which was apropos for my visit on a really rainy day even by western Oregon standards—ducks were donning rain gear and frogs were wearing flotation devices. 

Barry Greenberg, the secretary/treasurer of the museum, chairman of the collection and acquisitions committee, and founder of the Spruce Goose Advisory Board, escorted me to the center of the main building where the Flying Boat reigns supreme.

I had been warned that the aircraft is so large that it’s hard to comprehend as you approach it. This is true. It takes you a moment to realize that the big silver-gray thing that is overhead is a wing. The aircraft sports eight Pratt & Whitney R-4360 Wasp Major 28-cylinder, air-cooled radial piston engines with four-bladed propellers—each blade longer than I am tall. I was told the hull measures 265 feet wide and the mid spar of the wings measures 322 feet.

Although the hull is countersunk into the floor by about 7 feet, a staircase is necessary to reach the main boarding door of the aircraft. There is a platform there with an informational plaque and a cadre of well-informed docents waiting to show you the aircraft.

We were greeted by Wayne Swanson, one of the docents who specializes in tours of the Spruce Goose. The docents at the museum wear green vests covered with military patches. The first thing Swanson showed me was a sample of the material from which the airframe is crafted—Duramold. The sample Swanson pulled from his pocket looked more like the layers from a Kit Kat candy bar rather than a slice of modern plywood. Duramold is a composite material made from birch wood impregnated with phenolic resin, then laminated and put under heat and pressure resulting in something as light and strong as steel.

“The skin is made of nine plies, but don’t call it plywood,” he said, as he tapped gently on the fuselage. The sound is unmistakably wooden. According to Swanson, 8,000 nails were used to hold the wood layers together as the three different types of glue and heat were combined to cure the material that would become the wings. A special nail gun was developed to put the nails in and another tool created to take the nails out when the wood and glue layers had cured.

Inside the Engineering Marvel

You enter on the cargo deck and the ceiling is high above you. It is almost like stepping into a cathedral. The aircraft smells different from the other restorations I have been aboard—it took me a moment to realize I was smelling the wood. Most large aircraft smell of plastic and metal. The first thing you want to do when you enter the flying boat is look towards the aft section. The museum has taken care to light the aft deck so you can see allllllll the way down the tail—a distance of approximately 200 feet down a tunnel of ribs that become progressively narrower. You get the impression of looking into infinity.

• READ MORE: When the ‘Spruce Goose’ Took Flight

Using a flashlight—a necessity as for the most part, the lighting inside the Spruce Goose is subdued—Swanson pointed out the details of the great airplane. For example, the

I-beams are made from laminated wood and are “super strong,” and the corner brackets—also made of wood, some of which are as thin as a playing card or a credit card, depending on the angle.

How can something so thin be so strong? Swanson explained, “In the 1940s they rotated the grain of each ply. The first one was vertical, the second was 45 degrees off, then 90, so everytime they put a ply in, they rotated the grain. Today they call that engineered plywood.”

Swanson proceeded to tap on the aircraft as he described the ribs of the aircraft, which measure 3 by 5.5 inches and larger where the wing joins the fuselage.

“That wing is 322 feet long,” he continued. “That’s end to end, and so big that you can’t build it in one piece. You have to build it in at least two pieces. They had a left half and a right half as you couldn’t even transport a 322-foot I-beam.”

The aircraft has a gross weight of 400,000 pounds. “[It’s] the same as a 747 and could hold 120,000 pounds of cargo,” he said.

Fuel Tanks

A lighted hatch leads to a bilge that holds the fuel tanks. The aircraft burned the 130 octane aviation gasoline available in the period. “Each tank has 900 gallons, and there are 14 tanks, which gives you 12,600 gallons,” Swanson said, adding, “Multiply that by 7 because each gallon weighs 7 pounds and that gives you almost 100,000 pounds of fuel.” (I did the math: it comes out to 88,200 pounds of fuel.)

Fuel hoses run from the bilge to each engine. Electric pumps moved the fuel. Hughes liked redundancy, noted Swanson. “Everything is in parallel. There are two fuel hoses and two pumps on each engine so if one fails, the other one takes over. He did an analysis of everything that could fail on the airplane, everything that could keep the engines from running and made sure it had two sources so there are two fuel sources, two oil sources, two hydraulic sources, two electric sources.”

The wings and the engine compartments are large enough for a man to stand in. The engines are placed at 20-foot intervals on the wings. According to Swanson, the original engines were rated at 3,000 hp, but then they were modified to 3,500 hp.

“A person can go to that engine in flight and adjust the throttle or tighten up hoses and things as all the accessories are on the back of the engine,” he continued. “A series of intercom radios enabled Hughes to communicate with the crew, which on the flight consisted of a pilot, [a] copilot, and [an] engineer for engine instruments, and a second engineer for utilities such as hydraulic pressure.”

A hydraulically actuated control system—developed by Hughes—was a necessity, as the size and therefore the weight of the control surfaces were far beyond anything that had come before. The ailerons, for example, measure 140 feet long. Although they were covered with fabric, it was said it would take the strength of 200 men to move them if the aircraft was rigged with cables and pulleys like the multiengine bombers of the day.

Fire Extinguishers and Beach Balls

Inside the cargo hold just behind a stanchion rope there are 16 red fire extinguishers—two for each engine—and a pile of inflated red, yellow, and blue beach balls. The beach balls are there for buoyancy should the aircraft go down on the water.

The application of the beach balls was a take on Hughes’ 1938 around-the-world flight where concerns about ditching at sea inspired him to load his aircraft with 80 pounds of ping-pong balls in the wings and fuselage to keep the aircraft afloat in the event of a water landing.

“He couldn’t get enough ping-pong balls for this airplane so he went with beach balls,” Swanson said, “although there is some controversy as to if they were on board during the one and only flight.”

Another Hughes engineering marvel was an electrical system of 120 volt DC, which allowed for the use of smaller cables and wires, saving considerable weight despite the miles of wiring required for the system.

The Flight Deck

The flight deck is above the cargo hold, accessed through a circular staircase. One of the first things you will notice when you get there are rows of what look like theater seats behind the raised platform where the pilots sit. This flight deck is spacious in every sense of the word. On the port side, there is a series of plexiglas windows that were installed when the aircraft was on display in Long Beach, California—the other side is solid bulkhead, leading a person to wonder how dark the aircraft was back in the day, when the only source of natural light came from cockpit windows.

The aircraft featured built-in coffee urns. [Courtesy: Meg Godlewski]

Hughes was known for eccentricities but he did like his comforts—there are built-in coffee urns on the flight deck.

The flight engineer’s station is located aft of the pilots’ seats on the starboard side of the fuselage. It is a wall of dials stacked 11 high and eight across next to panels of annunciator lights and switches. The dials measure manifold pressure, tachometer, oil temperature and pressure, fuel pressure, cylinder head temperature, and fuel flow—that’s how you keep track of eight engines. The other panels display the output of the three electrical generators, and monitor the aircraft systems for fire—a bad thing in any aircraft but particularly dangerous in one that is made primarily of wood.

Across from the engineer’s station are monitors for a series of strain gauges installed for the taxi tests. “They ran the engines when the aircraft was under construction but they couldn’t run them under load until the test flight,” Swanson explained, adding that the wing load of the aircraft had an arc of 13 feet “so they needed to structurally test where it was overbuilt or underbuilt.”

The information from each strain gauge was recorded on magnetic tape.

I was offered the chance to try out the left seat—and, of course, I had to put on the Hughes-esque hat that you must wear when you do this. Barry graciously took the right seat for the full effect.

The first thing struck me about the left side of the cockpit was the throttle quadrant—eight levers in all. As a multiengine pilot, I’ve had the experience of having to bring both throttles up simultaneously. I very gingerly stretched my hand out to see if I could get all eight levers at once. I didn’t move them—but hovered over them. The answer is yes, I can reach all eight at once. I share this as one of my siblings, when we were watching the movie, The Aviator, asked if I would be able to fly the Spruce Goose. I said yes, as it was all physics—bring the throttles up to get enough thrust to get airflow over the wings and up she goes.

There is another set of throttle levers on the copilot’s side—Hughes’ redundancy again.

The arrangement of the instrument panel is confusing by today’s standards. Most of the aircraft I have flown are post-1967 designs with the standardized placement of the so-called six pack: airspeed on the top row, far left; the attitude indicator then altimeter; then on the second row, left to right, the turn coordinator/slip skid indicator, heading indicator, and vertical speed indicator.

On the Spruce Goose, I had to spend a few minutes looking for these instruments—trying to do an IFR scan in this airplane would definitely be difficult. Some of the instruments are located below the pilot’s field of view, underneath the yoke.

The airplane has a slip skid indicator—two actually—without the upside-down “doghouse” markings, although there is a yaw indicator next to the one on the pilot’s side at eye level. The attitude indicator is the 1940s-style black ball with tick marks at the top to indicate bank angle and a stylized aircraft for pitch. The vertical speed indicator is located directly beneath the attitude indicator.

On the lower part of the panel there is the other slip-skid indicator, a radio direction finder and another AI.

There are dials to show aircraft trim for aileron, elevator, and rudder, which are managed by a joystick on the left side of the cockpit. There is a centralized gauge to indicate pitch. “DOWN” is in red. In addition, there is a mark on the windscreen, sort of a first-generation “heads up display” to help the pilot determine aircraft attitude.

The avionics, which were likely state-of-the-art at the time, consist of an ADF (automatic direction finder), an RMI (radio magnetic indicator), and a radio direction finder. (Hughes didn’t like getting lost.)

To the right of the pilot’s seat is a console filled with toggle switches and annunciator lights for all the aircraft systems—Hughes was known for always wanting to be in control, and this console is a testament to that. By comparison, the copilot’s panel feels rather sparse in instrumentation.

Directly over the cockpit is a roof hatch, which, if you are tall enough, gives you a great view of the top of the aircraft—and/or the harbor when you’re on the water.

During the one and only flight of the Spruce Goose, it only flew for 1 mile at an altitude of approximately 70 feet above the surface of the water; some say it never got out of ground effect. We will never know what its service ceiling was or how it handled during maneuvers—but that doesn’t take away from the feat(s) of engineering required to build it.

What the Visitors Say

I was not the only visitor that rainy Friday—there were several children, a few accompanied by parents and at least one school group. The children were as impressed as I was—I heard the exclamation “WHOAAAAA!” several times as they walked around the museum. One can only hope the next generation is inspired.

The post Inside the ‘Spruce Goose’ appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

Ever since the Wright brothers first took flight in 1903, airplanes have needed a place to take off and land safely. Hence, the need for a runway was born, though it would take several years for the concept to fully take shape and even longer to take the form we’re used to today.

Speedy Delivery

The Post Office was the driving force behind much of the runway construction in the United States. Airmail routes were coveted and bid for. The Post Office air stations were usually designed with two runways, set at right angles to each other in the shape of a T or L. Another variation was the 2,000 ft by 2,000 ft square that would allow the pilot to take off no matter what direction the wind was coming from.

The surface of the runways were dirt, grass, or clay. Sometimes they had a layer of gravel or cinders to assist with drainage. 

Location, Location

While many airports decided to build a runway, many simply found a flat spot on the edge of town. In the decades that followed, businesses and homes grew up around the facility.  This inevitably led to conflict, which we still have today.

A good example of this is Clover Field, the airport now known as Santa Monica Airport (KSMO).

According to santamonicaairport.com, the airport was officially opened in 1919, and was one of 66 airports in Los Angeles and Orange County. At the time,  the area was still relatively unpopulated and rural. Today, KSMO is one of the airports defending itself from anti-airport groups and individuals who live near the facility and complain about the noise, pollution and safety issues.

Materials Evolved

Many airports began as grass, then were paved over. Ford Field in Dearborn Michigan opened as a grass airfield in 1924. In 1928 the airport sported the first concrete runway in the United States. The airport continued operating during WWII. In 1947, Ford Air Transport relocated to Detroit Metropolitan Airport (KDTW). The passenger terminal and main hangar remained a few more decades, but by 2018 they had been demolished.

Sometimes, if land could not be found for airport construction, the municipalities created their own.

The airport we now know today as King County International Airport/Boeing Field (KBFI) was constructed in the 1920s on fill dirt. The Duwamish River was moved to the west, becoming the Duwamish Waterway. The Boeing factory was established in the area because the preponderance of spruce trees used in aircraft construction, was located on the waterway, as the first Boeing aircraft—the B&W—was on floats. The hard-surfaced runway was added to accommodate aircraft on wheels.

Because the original runway was little more than dirt graded flat and so close to the water table, during high tides puddles created by springs would sometimes appear on the airport surface.

The elevation of Boeing Field is a mere 21 feet. This made the airport more susceptible to ground fog. This was a consideration when the Civil Aviation Authority started looking for a location for a new civilian airport in the region. A plateau south of KBFI known as Bow Lake which stood at an elevation of 433 feet was selected.

Construction began in 1942. According to the Port of Seattle history website, “The facility SEA Airport was dedicated on July 9, 1949. The original building cost $3.2 million and was designed for 900 passengers per hour.”

We Were Here First

Expansion at airports sometimes leads to forced relocation—of homes, businesses, and even graveyards. St. Johannes cemetery, located near Bensenville, Illinois, was established in 1849. In 1944 what is now O’Hare International Airport (KORD) in Chicago was built. The graveyard was literally on the other side of the fence—a common joke was “That’s where we put the bad pilots.”

After the war, the airport became a civilian facility and an airline hub, and this led to runway expansion. A new runway meant the relocation of some 15,000 graves. According to the Chicago Tribune and other Chicago-area media outlets, there have been multiple grave relocations over the years as the airport has grown.

Sometimes the families don’t want to allow the relocation, but that doesn’t stop a runway from being built. During World War II, Uncle Sam wanted the land at what is now Savannah Hilton Head/International Airport (KSAV) in Georgia for use as a bomber base. The airport has two runways: 10/28 and 01/19.

Embedded into the surface of Runway 10 are the graves belonging toCatherine and Richard Dotson. In the 1800s, the Dotsons owned the land the airport is now built on. Catherine died in 1877, with Richard passing in 1884. They were buried in the family cemetery, along with other family members and slaves. 

When Uncle Sam took the land, most of the graves were relocated to Bonaventure Cemetery, some 15 miles to the east of KSAV. However, the  Dotson’s descendants were against the relocation of the family founders, so they asked that their remains stay put. Today there are two gravemarkers embedded in the pavement on the runway’s edge.

History Lost

Some famous airports and their runways are no more. Roosevelt Field, in Long Island New York where Charles Lindbergh launched from to cross the Atlantic in 1927  in Long Island New York, is now a shopping center. The airport was named in honor of Quentin Roosevelt, the son of President Theodore Roosevelt. Quentin was killed in air combat during World War I.

Echoes of a Military Past

One final nod to the historic disposition of runways across the country: those that were built to serve military purposes. Does the airport have a distinctive triangular runway layout? Did it have this design in the past, but now a runway has been turned into a taxiway? If the answer is yes, that airport may have been built for the military during WWII.

The triangular configuration allowed rapid construction, and was done without regard to the direction of the prevailing winds—there was a pretty good chance one of the runways would work 90 percent of the time.

Some of the airports were built as primary bases, others as auxiliary fields. At the end of the war, some of the airports were retained by the military, but most were released to the civilian world— municipalities bought hundreds of acres of airport for a mere $1—and these airports became airline hubs or reliever fields. As the years went on, some runways were decommissioned—what started as a three-runway field became a one runway field in later years because the FAA determined there was not enough use of a particular runway to justify the cost of maintaining it. Some of these defunct runways were torn up, others were turned into taxiways or repurposed all together—the closed runway at Bremerton National Airport (KPWT) in Washington is used as a drag racing strip by Bremerton Motorsports Park.

The post The Interesting and Somewhat Strange History of Runways appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

The airport today is predominantly known as “Thaden Field,” named after the pioneering pilot Louise M. Thaden who was born and raised in Bentonville. 

While it has been many decades since the gone-west aviator has lived in the town, her and others’ spirit for flying is alive and well at the airport. This enthusiasm is perhaps now more apparent than it has ever been previously.

This contagious passion for aviation, and the manner in which it is enjoyed, leads some to call Thaden Field “the coolest airport in the country.” 

Chad Cox, president and executive director of Thaden Fieldhouse, the centerpiece of the airport, provides some insight into why KVBT has gained that distinction among pilots across the country. 

“[Reasons why this is the case are] a mixture of an airport being staffed by young pilots excited to grow general aviation, access to exciting and fun businesses nearby, a bustling restaurant…all this adjacent to two public parks.” 

Uniting Generations

Cox also referred to an often-talked-about feature of Thaden Fieldhouse that bridges the old and the new. 

“A variety of vintage warbirds, aerobatic planes, bush planes, helicopters and more can be seen in the exhibit hangar,” Cox said. “As a working hangar, located immediately off the runway, there is no set schedule for aircraft being displayed. You just need to keep showing up and get surprised.”

As mentioned, even these show-worthy artifacts often get back into the air, unlike those in many other exhibition settings. Highlighting these still-airworthy aerial treasures to the general public is just one of Thaden Field’s stakeholders’ goals. 

Other overarching goals are to support general aviation and allow passionate people the opportunity to use aircraft to best enjoy what Arkansas has to offer. 

Located in the middle of the country, the airport naturally serves as a convenient refueling stop for a myriad of aircraft types and origins, as well as their hungry pilots and passengers. 

“The fieldhouse contains the FBO, flight school, flying club, and Louise restaurant, which can provide indoor and outdoor (patio, lawn, and balcony) dining,” Cox said. 

Some other key features of the fieldhouse and surrounding areas, include:

• Dedicated playground space for kids
• Pedal airplanes in the exhibit hangar
• Pickleball courts, an archery range, an indoor climbing range, and a brewery nearby
• No landing or parking fees assessed for piston aircraft

The recent addition of a 600-ft extension of the paved runway allows larger aircraft easy access to the airport and its services. The lighted asphalt runway is now 5,053 ft long (check directory for declared distances) and is oriented north/south. Additionally, there is a 2,448 ft parallel turf runway, which “is perfect for vintage and tailwheel aircraft.”

Backcountry Access

From KVBT, there are dozens of backcountry strips which allow access to pilots within an 80-nautical-mile radius. These airfields, and others within the state and beyond, can be viewed at the Airfield Guide. 

The prevalence of unpaved landing spots and the beauty of the Arkansas backcountry have collectively inspired the Fly Oz initiative. 

“Fly Oz is about creating memories that will last a lifetime through unique aviation experiences in the Ozarks,” Cox said. “Northwest Arkansas is home to outdoor recreation of all types and there is no better way to explore its beauty than from the skies.” 

For those that need off-airport flying guidance, or assistance scouting nearby places that offer great adventure, enthusiastic help is readily available. 

“Backcountry and tailwheel instructors are available to train pilots on the many grass airstrips of the Fly Oz network,” Cox said.

The city of Bentonville, population of about 50,000, is known for many other reasons other than the home of Walmart. It is home to a number of world-class attractions, well-reviewed restaurants, highly regarded art museums, and one recreational opportunity that is hard to miss. 

“Bentonville is the mountain biking capital of the world, and this might tempt you to stay a little longer,” Cox said. “The area hosts over 400 miles of single track and some of the best gravel biking to be found. 

“Call ahead and the front desk at Thaden Field will make sure you don’t miss any of the local gems.”

Aside from mountain biking tracks and hiking trails, some common area attractions that are worth checking out include: 

• Crystal Bridges Museum of American Art
• The Momentary
• The Walmart Museum

The post ‘The Coolest Airport in the Country’ appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

When Kathy LaSauce graduated college in the early 1970s, she knew her career options were limited. She could be a school teacher, or perhaps a Pan-Am stewardess, a job that required applicants to be college educated and speak at least two languages.

Going a different route, she decided to follow her brother’s lead and walk into a U.S. Air Force recruitment station. It didn’t occur to her at the time that she was taking the first steps in making history—when she and nine other women would become the very first class of women accepted into the service’s undergraduate pilot training program.

It would be one of many “firsts” for LaSauce—who went on to achieve the rank of lieutenant colonel—as well as the women pilots of USAF UPT Class 77-08.

Up until the mid-1970s, opportunities remained very limited for women in the U.S. Air Force, as well as the other services. ROTC and military academies, such as the U.S. Air Force Academy, weren’t options.

The U.S. Navy made its first foray into opening flight training to women with an announcement in October 1972 inviting select women to apply to its experimental program. The first six would be pinned with “Wings of Gold” beginning in February 1974.

But women were ready to test the skies with Air Force wings—it was only a matter of a couple of years.

“The only way a woman [could] get in the Air Force as an officer was through Officer Training School (OTS), which was 90 days,” LaSauce told FLYING. In 1972, LaSauce gained one of only two available slots for Officer Training School in the Long Island, New York, area. 

Once in, she faced even more barriers.

“We were not allowed to do the obstacle course. We were not allowed to do small arms training. We didn’t do sports with the guys. We sat on the sideline and we cheered,” she said. 

“They really kind of didn’t want us, you know?”

While in OTS, more changes happened as the Air Force opened up some of the more non-traditional career fields to women. Following her training, LaSauce grabbed the opportunity, landing at Chanute Air Force Base, Illinois, where she joined what became the first maintenance officer class offered to women.

There, she learned about aircraft engines, hydraulics, electronics, and aerodynamics. When she landed at her first duty station as a C-141 maintenance officer, she encountered another unforeseen issue.

“They did not have a uniform for women on the flightline,” she said. She adapted by wearing men’s fatigues before it was sanctioned by the service. 

Just as uniforms were rapidly changing, so were laws. In late 1975, President Gerald Ford put pen to paper, signing into effect a new law that allowed women access to the U.S. Service Academies starting in 1976.

“Under the bill, women will be subject to the same academic and other relevant standards for appointment, admission, training, graduation, and commissioning (except for those minor adjustments required because of physiological differences) applicable to men,” the White House said in an October 8, 1975, statement.

Within the next year, the Air Force Academy would open its doors to women cadets, and would later graduate 157 women in its first female class in 1980. At the same time, the USAF also opened up flight training for women through a test program.

As the Air Force Academy opened up to women, another small opportunity emerged for women already in the Air Force—a test program to train a small number of female pilots. LaSauce, along with dozens of other women, applied.

“As a maintenance officer, that is what got me selected because a lot of the girls had private pilot’s licenses,” she said. LaSauce, however, knew a lot about C-141 Starlifters, C-5 Galaxies, and C-130s.

Once she was accepted into undergraduate pilot training (UPT), the gravity of what it meant settled in.

“I knew it was important that we do well. And I knew that my success would matter to women that would come after me,” LaSauce said. “But I really didn’t realize how important it was for us to succeed.” 

The First 10

“Prior to this class, there was already…this push to integrate women fully and completely into the United States Air Force, and throughout the DOD and all branches of the military service,” said Christina Douglass, museum curator at the National Museum of the U.S. Air Force. “In terms of setting the stage, [the opening of military academies] was landmark, but there were really big rocks that I think women and our country had to go through.”

More than four dozen women in the Air Force representing a variety of backgrounds and career services applied for the UPT test program, and 10 were selected, Douglass said. Their selection was based upon the same qualification requirements of men at the time, which meant they had to have recommendations, be physically fit, and possess an academic and superior service background. 

“The only difference is…and this was kind of a big one, none of these women had graduated from the United States Air Force Academy,” which didn’t graduate its first class with women until 1980,” Douglass said. 

Their integration into the training meant every aspect of their acceptance was based upon the same requirements of men. “It was done specifically in order to  hold women to the same standards as men, and not give anybody any excuse to say, ‘No, you’re not qualified,'” she said.

The Women of UPT Class 77-08

In September 1976, the 10 women joined 35 male classmates for training at what is now former Williams Air Force Base in Arizona. The 48-week course included nearly 800 hours in academic, flying and officer training, as well as 210 hours of flight time in a Cessna T-37 and Northrop T-38 trainers. One year later, all 10 earned their pilot wings.

“They had been in the Air Force and were ready to serve and wanted to serve,” Douglass said. “They wanted an opportunity to fly airplanes. They knew they weren’t going to be able to do everything they would have or were capable of, but they wanted to do it anyway because at the time, they were very aware that they were opening a door.”

The Challenges of Being First

Once in pilot training, another challenge cropped up for the women.

“Now the problem was that they had folks that really did not want us to succeed,” LaSauce recalled. Instructors had to write a daily report on the women’s performance in class and on flights. The reports then went up the chain of command, sometimes up to the Pentagon.

LaSauce said that, years later, she learned that a Pentagon official questioned the training program after reports that two of the female students got sick during flight training. The issue, however, was dropped when another Pentagon official asked for a comparison of the number of male students getting sick after sitting in 100-degree heat in an airplane on a ramp in Arizona.

“They showed the numbers for the men, and so that was no longer a valid reason to stop it,” she said.

Then, there was the patch for the 3526th Pilot Training Squadron, Tipper Flight. The patch, which features a Playboy bunny logo, had a history at Williams. And while the photo of the scantily clad Playboy model had been removed from the flight room, the patch remained on women’s uniforms.

Wearing the small patch didn’t bother the female students as much as what came from it.

“Playboy magazine got wind of that,” leading the magazine to run a photo of the 10 women in the magazine, LaSauce said, who noted that by that time, their photo was in the public domain. 

Just like the issues she and the other women pilots faced in male-dominanted environments, such as officer and pilot clubs, LaSauce chose to not complain about the Tipper patch.

“You had to pick what battles you had to fight,” she said.

Building a Legacy

In September 1977, UPT-77-08 graduated three pilots short of its original roster of students, but all 10 women made it through, LaSauce said.

The women went on to make even more history. 

The class graduates would become: the first female T-38 instructor, who also flew T-38 chase for the space shuttle program, according to Women in Aviation International; the first female instructor assigned to the Air Force Academy; the first female C-9 aircraft commander; and the first female tanker commander.

And LaSauce? She became the first woman to command a C-141 aircraft, the first female pilot to fly in the 89th Airlift Wing at Andrews Air Force Base, Maryland, and the first woman to command an aerial port squadron.

Forty-five years later, the percentage of female pilots in the Air Force remains in the single digits, though it’s growing. In 2021, about 7.2 percent of active duty officers with a pilot rating were women, up from 5.6 percent reported in 2017, according to the service.

Female USAF Active Duty Officers with a Pilot Aeronautical Rating

The number of women interested in becoming pilots at the Academy is growing too, according to school officials.

“As an organization dedicated to developing officers of character for the U.S. Air Force and U.S. Space Force, both women and men of the cadet wing tend to demonstrate extremely high interest in aviation and space careers throughout their four-year education,” said Col. John Garver, director of operations and analysis, U.S. Air Force Academy.

The percentage of women in the graduating class of the U.S. Air Force Academy interested in pilot careers

“The test program opened a door, which these women pushed through for others to follow,” according to Women in Aviation International, which inducted UPT Class 77-08 into its Pioneer Hall of Fame in 2016. “The results were increased opportunities for rank advancement, command opportunities, and ultimately, piloting the entire inventory of Air Force aircraft, test pilot programs, and spacecraft.”

For LaSauce, it was an opportunity to serve her country and see the world.

“I’m extremely pleased and honored that our role in history is finally being told,” she said. “America knows about the women who flew in World War II, and they know about the women fighter pilots, but I’m afraid history has sort of lost any of the stories of my class, my generation.”

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