It’s Not About the Plane
(continued) There will be a World War I airfield with opposing sides recreating battles of the air and ground. Two areas dedicated to rides and experiences related to the Golden Era of flight, and another two focused on World War II. Not the planes or the history per se, you understand, but on offering thought-providing rides and immersion experiences that use the drama of World War II and flight to teach, convey or connect visitors with some unifying and universal aspect of the human experience. And to make them think about reaching beyond themselves and whatever limits they believe constrain their dreams or their lives. Regardless of whether they have any inherent interest in airplanes.
 Even now, with just the original complement of buildings, a few immersion experiences and no bona fide "rides" incorporated into the mix yet, the restoration shop tour guides don't just talk about how airplanes are restored. They talk about Rosie the Riveter and the unlimited potential of women, emphasizing the point by pulling a couple of women out of the audience and teaching them on the spot how to buck rivets. The museum's newly added audio tour offers not facts about each subject airplane, but a radio-esque dramatic reenactment of an experience its pilot might have known, while posing questions to the listener about how that experience might relate to his or her life experience and encouraging them to think about ways those insights might help them expand their horizons or live closer to their dreams.
The goals are ambitious enough to sound crazy. But as I consider that option, I remember that this is also a guy who took second place at the world aerobatic championship at the age of 24, in a plane he designed and built himself—with only two years of training as an aeronautical engineer.
I listen, in the afternoon, as Kermit talks to an assembled crowd about the T-6 that he's about to fly and about the universal fascination with flight. "In the external world," he recites as if retelling the sacred story of the eight nights of Hanukkah, "we talk about reaching for the skies, or the stars. And in our internal journeys, we soar in our imaginations, and fly in our dreams." He's probably given the speech a thousand times, exhorting his listeners to believe that they already possess the tools they need to journey beyond whatever limitations they perceive. With or without an airplane. But no matter how many times he may have given the speech before, the passion behind it is still real. And so is its impact.
As I watch faces in the crowd listening intently and nodding in hopeful agreement, I try to place exactly who or what character Kermit reminds me of. The Pied Piper of Hamelin? No ... he led children astray. Walt Disney? No ... his magic was letting people escape from themselves, not encouraging them to engage themselves. In the end, it's Kermit himself who solves the mystery. On my way out, he points to a plaque outside his office that says, Toto, I think this man can help us.
"The Wizard of Oz is one of my favorite movies," he says. "And think about it. The wizard was just a guy bumbling through life with a fascination for flight. And all he was trying to do was help people realize their dreams and find their way home." His voice drops a few notes and his intensely focused eyes grow a little moist. "That's what I'm trying to do, too."
For more information on the Fantasy of Flight, visit fantasyofflight.com.
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