Lunch Bunch: A Time for Old Friends and Airplanes

Our wednesday lunch bunch met as usual at one of our favorite restaurants near the airport. I realize that’s probably not an earthshaking event because it likely happens with pilots all over the country. 

A friend in Southern California tells me the same thing occurs on Fridays at the Camarillo Airport (KCMA) restaurant. (Note: If you want to meet Barry Schiff, KCMA is the place to go. Just be prepared to buy his lunch!)

But, for me, the curious, distressing, and sad thing is the absence of new young pilots or students who might absorb the wisdom and experiences (albeit inflated over time), opinions, and knowledge of us “Sky Gods…and Goddesses.”

This Article First Appeared in FLYING Magazine

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The others (usually including my sister who, after 60-plus years, is still a goggle-eyed private pilot and onetime stewardess) and I are mostly small airplane pilots these days. We fly Bonanzas, build and fly Cirruses, 172s, 182s and, of course, a Cessna 180.

Even without the youngsters, I love the diversity. One guy is a retired lifelong major airline pilot. A couple others are currently flying freight for UPS or FedEx. Another regularly circles the globe for a prestigious major corporation. Then there’s the rest of us—a ragged group of fervent general aviation pilots and builders.

Sometimes I share with them stories about the ways of the FAA and how to handle potential encounters, or about the accident sites I investigated during 28 years as an inspector. But mostly I speak about the wonderful 20-some years I was a DC-3 “specialist.” Telling these stories always leads to more memories and more stories, just as one airplane inevitably led to another.

Here’s a taste of that history.

DC-3

My path to the DC-3 was a windy one. I had a Lockheed Lodestar type rating when I was hired by the FAA as an air carrier inspector in the Chicago regional office.

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It soon became obvious that I knew nothing about Part 121 air carrier operations. In fact, I thought a minimum equipment list (MEL) showed only the equipment you needed to legally fly the airplane. When they sent me to a three-day “jet eval” course, showing proficiency in flying a DC-9, I came home with my tail between my legs. So, I was transferred to a truly toxic FSDO at DuPage Airport (KDPA) in west Chicago. It was awful.

But brighter days soon came, after I pleaded family emergency (elderly parents in Cincinnati) and went to Indianapolis. It was night and day…good people, good operators and, because Indy had a large DC-3 freight operator, Rhodes Aviation, in Columbus, Indiana, I went to initial training for the type rating in Florida. Then, every six months, I followed up with recurrent training in the DC-3. This kept me up to speed for when I tested pilots for type ratings or gave Part 135 six-month checks. 

For years, I did the six-month recurrent training with a Part 135 freight outfit flying DC-3s, and even a DC-4 (Carvair), plus some smaller stuff at Spaulding County Airport in Griffin, Georgia, south of Atlanta. The owner of the training facility, Bob McSwiggan, was a pilot examiner who could issue most airman certificates as well as DC-3 type ratings. 

On my first trip to Spaulding, I airlined into Atlanta and rented a car. But it was a challenge just finding the airport on the ground. I knew I was near, but all I could see were signs for a fairground with a gigantic Carvair on a hill. I couldn’t find a road or driveway, and so I finally went into a Piggly Wiggly to ask for directions. (Years later, this grocery store was destroyed by a Carvair on takeoff). They directed me to the “fairgrounds” entrance, but now I was late and terrified of the impression I would be making at this obviously big, prestigious flight school and freight operation…probably something like Embry-Riddle.

Except it wasn’t. After walking around, I entered a little terminal building and was sent to a grungy trailer parked behind. The owner (I guessed) was at a desk in the “office.” But, oh, what a guy. McSwiggan was almost as big around as he was tall but, I would soon learn, with a personality, love, knowledge, and talent for flying airplanes and genuine care for people. 

Carvair

In the early 1980s, Spaulding’s single runway (14-32) was 3,100 feet of asphalt in fair condition with a weight bearing capacity of 30,000 pounds. The DC-3’s max gross weight was 26,900 pounds, but I’m not sure how they got the ungainly Carvair into the sky with an empty weight of 41,365  and a max gross takeoff weight of 73,800. 

Designed by Freddy Laker, the Carvair could carry five cars and 22 passengers for trips across the English Channel, powered by four Pratt & Whitney R-2000-7M2 Twin Wasp engines. It was ideal for hauling freight (lots of it) except that all four of those temperamental engines were rarely still running on return from freight trips.  

The first challenge of flying a Carvair is getting into it. Climbing into the cockpit of this ungainly monster was a technique to be mastered. The aircraft was theft-proof because, if you didn’t start out with the correct foot in the correct slot on the climb, you’d never get in. 

I flew it a couple times with another McSwiggan in the right seat, making takeoffs and landings at the nearby Atlanta Speedway Airport (KHMP) on its 5,500-foot runway. I was pretty sure the FAA would approve of this rather unique experience…well, probably.

At Wednesday’s lunch table, I realized these stories aren’t just remembering old airplanes. We’re recalling who we were when we flew them and who we met along the way. And perhaps that’s why we keep coming back to share more.

This column first appeared in the April Issue 969 of the FLYING print edition.