Well, there you have it! A typical week in the life of a barnstormer, circa 1990. With the exception of our comfortable sleeping quarters and the accompanying truck of supplies, not too different an operation from that of Waldo Pepper after WW I. And now, just to make a short story long, I will tell you how this retiree in his mid-sixties happened to end up out there a thousand miles from his wife and home and living a gypsy life.
One evening in the summer of 1987 I lucked upon a local TV news item that said a Tin Goose would be in Petersburg, Va., that weekend for the purpose of selling rides. I got all excited - had not even seen one for years - and, with two of my friends from the Virginia Aviation Museum, got to the airport early that Saturday. The pilot (a not-very-tall, sandy-haired man with squinty eyes) was working the gathering crowd over his PA system. I learned that his name was Al Chaney, but most people called him Capt. Al Chaney which was the name painted on each side of his airplane. A cute blond whom I would later get to know quite well as Valerie Davies, was busy selling $20 tickets (kids, $10) and lining up riders for the next flight.
We bought our tickets and then, whether from being polite or simply slow, found that we were getting the last three seats on the flight. Jack and I ended up sitting across from each other on bench seats while Bill sat on a jump seat that was put in place next to the cabin door. What a thrill that flight was and how it brought back memories from 50 years earlier!
That Monday I went back to the airport to see what was happening and to take a few pictures. It was then that I got my first chance to really meet Al and to experience for the first time his often gruff and somewhat complex personality. He had almost zero tolerance for any kind of phony actions, words, or attitudes. Since this is a G or, at worst a G-13 rated narrative, I cannot use the words he would use to describe some of the conversations that came his way; however, I've noticed such substances around barnyards.
When I arrived he was working alone on one of the engines and preparing to run it. After he had done that I eased on out to the airplane and was able to get a bit of conversation from him. He had a favorite line, one which I later heard him use dozens of times, that went like this: "You an aviator?" That simple question cut directly to the credentials of the person talking to him and, with an occasional follow-up such as "Whadaya fly?" set the tone for any further talk. I guess I passed his test because he loosened up a bit and seemed willing to talk.
As I was getting ready to leave he let fly another of his more or less standard remarks, remarks that I would hear often in the next few years but remarks that very seldom resulted in any takers. "I'm heading up to Washington in the morning. Better come along." He let me know that this was not a for-fee deal but just a freebie ride if I wanted it. It took me several seconds to decide and tell him "Sure, I want to go." "Well, be here in the morning. I'll leave about ten", he said. "Won't wait for you." Pushing my luck slightly I asked if I could bring Pat along and he said yes.
Not wanting to take any chance of missing out on this good deal I had Pat up early the next morning and, after a hasty breakfast, we hurried on down to Petersburg, arriving, as I recall, sometime before 8. Al was not even out yet. When he did show up I got busy helping with all the work of getting ready for flight. There were still a lot of things to be stowed on board, tiedowns to be removed, etc. Three or four other people had taken Al up on his offer so, about 10:30, we all climbed on board and headed for Hyde Field near Andrews AFB about 20 miles southeast of D.C.
Pat and I had left our car at the Petersburg airport without the slightest idea as to how we would get back there from Washington. I did have great confidence that we would make it somehow.
The flight itself was a real adventure. I was to learn that Al didn't believe in wasting a lot of time and fuel climbing for altitude on these short cross countries. We passed over downtown Richmond at about 1000 feet, enjoying the superb view from the large windows next to each of the passenger seats. This kind of flying really spoils you for when you have to climb into one of those DC 10s or other kinds of cattle cars that pass for airliners these days.
The weather was good except that it was very hot and fairly bumpy down low where we were. There was not much air circulation through the passenger cabin even though Al was flying with both cockpit windows open and an open air duct at the lower front of the cabin. (A year or so later I discovered a covered cabin air exhaust duct at the top rear of the cabin. Removing that cover plate would have helped). I was not bothered too much by the heat, the fumes, and the bumpiness but then I looked across the aisle to where Pat was sitting. It did not look good.
She was looking a bit green around the gills and when I noticed her she was pawing furiously through her handbag looking for tissues. I could sense what might be coming. One thing I did not want to have happen, after Al was nice enough to let us ride along in his airplane, was for Pat to christen the blue velour seat upholstery with what was left of her hastily eaten breakfast. Thinking fast I dumped the contents out of my leather camera case and handed it across to her. I knew I could always get another camera case. Our luck returned and Pat was able to get her nervous stomach settled down for the rest of the ride.
It is hard to overstate how pretty the view was as we flew low and slow over the lower Potomac and started up the peninsula towards Hyde Field. It had become my turn to move up to the copilot's seat for the rest of the trip so Pat took over with the video camera. I had flown from Hyde Field many times when I was stationed at Andrews so was more than a little pleased to be returning in such an auspicious manner. At the time we made this trip the runway was still a narrow band of blacktop much as I remembered it from nearly 50 years earlier. There was a white centerline down the runway which made for an odd appearance as the runway itself had a slight curve in it. Also, it was only a little wider than the 19-foot tread of the Tri-Motor's gear.
Little things like this never seemed to bother Al much and he made his usual smooth approach and landing. As we taxied in I noted that the decrepit buildings and hangars seemed to look pretty much the same as I'd remembered them from nearly half a century before. Considering that this is one of the very few small airports close to D.C. it really looked shabby. There were a large number of airplanes there, though.
Not to make a long story much longer I can tell you that we did get back home by various means that night having completed the first of many cross-country flights in the old Tin Goose. More later.