This makes for a nice trip down memory lane, to a gentler time when the pace wasn't so hectic. I have three basic first impressions that have lasted over the years.
First was the first time I saw any sort of powered model flown. he year was 1947, I was 4 years old, but the memory is still vivid. My parents took me and my newborn baby sister to the park in town. (SLC) We were having a picnic lunch on a Sunday afternoon. It had to be Sunday, as that was the only day of the week my father had off in those post war days.
As is the want of any active 4 year old, I was running all over the park, but things took a drastic turn when first one car then several others atarted unloading models from the trunks. These were sure differnt from the windup balsa, silk and wire framed models my parents had supplied me with previously.
To me, these were huge. 3 foot or better in wingspan. Some of them were brightly colored, and you know how that can catch a childs attention. The "men", ( 19-30 years old ) proceeded to line their models up in a flight line, and I, for once a bit subdued, was allowed to get pretty close to them and look them over.
I remember the noise when the first one was fired up, I backed up a few feet, but couldn't take my eyes off the model. The guy who had started the engine twiddled with it a moment. The sound from the engine changed and he then ran out to his handle. I didn't know what to expect, as I had never seen anything like this before.
With a wave of his hand, the model was released and litterally jumped into the air, going 'round and 'round with that wonderful doppler effect accenting the motion. I was mesmerized watching the plane and not paying attention to any activities in the pits, so jumped in suprize when a second engine was started. Soon there was another plane in the air, chasing the first plane. They were racing each other and one was considerably faster. It climbed to pass and I figured out that the guys in the center had some way of making the planes fly where they wanted them. Neat.
All to soon, the noise lessened as one engine stopped and the pilot started a glide for a landing. The other plane made passes at the gliding plane fortelling what would happen next.
After they were both on the ground, two more planes were lined up, but this time, they were tying rolls of crepe paper to the tails of their planes. I was totally unprepared as a child of 4 for what happened next.
Quickly, both planes were started. I didn't jump from the noise as I expected it. The crepe paper streamers were whipping in the wind from the propellors. The first plane was launched, shortly followed by the second. Around and 'round they went. I thought it looked neat with the streamers flowing behind the planes, thinking this was going to be the same as the first flight.
Suddenly both planes started manuevering, trying to close the gaps on each other. Soon, one plane was behind the other and was jerking up and down trying to cut the streamer of the plane in front, but the in front looped and wind up behind the chasing plane. Suddenly a 3 foot piece of a streamer was floating down from the sky and some of the men were cheering, but it wasn't over yet. More wild manuevering and another piece of streamer began floating to the ground.
Right side up, upside down, climbing and diving, the airial dogfight continued until one of the planes made a close pass and took off all the streamer from his opponent. Then he chased the streamer, trying to cut it again and again as it floated to the ground.
One of the pieces wound up landing near me and of course, I had to have it. It smelled funny and I could see where the prop had chewed through it. They flew like that for several hours.
This was my introduction to powered model flight, and from what I've been told, most likely the first combat meet in the State of Utah.
I now belong to that same club, and some of those guys are still active members. None of them know the effect they had on a 4 year old boy that day.
The second memory is of my first "gas" powered plane. It was Christmas, 1952. For work, my folks had moved us to LA. I was 9 years old, going on 10. By now, I was known to be an airplane junky.
I built Strombecker solids, Plastics from Revell and Monogram, and when the mood struck and no kits were available I would carve my own from pieces of wood I would find.
I woke up, (Did anyone really sleep Christmas Eve when they were 9?) My folks had a rule, my sister and I could not go into the living room until they were up and with us. It was hard to obey that rule, but we did it.
Of course Mom and Dad were duly awakened at 6 AM. I'm sure it was to build our suspense, but they had to make coffee and breakfast first, (Oh how they loved to drag this out) before going into the living room.
Is or was anything so magical as Christmas morning, with the lights, (bubble lights) twinkling and reflecting off the tinsel for a 9 year old child? I still believed in Santa Clause, just in case, even though the ugly rumors had been heard at school.
My parents were not wealthy, but they always tried their best to make this time of the year special for us kids.
After going through the presents, and opening the normal assortment a child would normally expect, even the prerequiset new clothing, Dad told me to look way behind the tree. I'd totally missed the fact that there, hiding just so I wouldn't see it was a large colorfully wrapped box, with my name on it, from Santa. (Sure glad I hadn't given up and believed the rumors)
I had no idea what it might be. I picked it up and as children often do, hoisted it, shook it a little, puzzled over what it might be. Soon, the exuberance of youth could no longer be contained and it was quickly unwrapped. The first thing I saw was in big letters COX TD-3. The box had a celophane window that allowed me to see inside. There was the most gorgeous plane I had ever seen before, and it had a real "gas" engine mounted to the front of it.
I was so enamored by this gift. I actually never flew it because I was afraid that I would crash it. Dad wanted to take me out and learn to fly it, but I refused. It's too bad because 4 years later I had to remove the engine to use on another plane and the LA smog had destroyed the plane. The thin Styrene reacted with the caustic smog and had developed cracks.
I still remember fondly running my hand over the curves of the apple cheek cowls, and in my mind there was a streamer floating snake like to the ground while I chased it, trying for one last cut before it settled to the ground.
Then there was the time I finally soloed my first Cl plane. My best friend at 14 was Bob Sullivan. He was a year or two older than I, and we were in Scouts together. I used to spend Saturdays and often slept over at his house. Bob lived at the end of a cul-de-sac. One day he brought out a CL plane That he had just bought with his paper route money.
It was made by K&B and was powered with an .049 engine. The same size as the one in my still unflown TD-3, but it didn't look like the one in my plane. The pane was made of aluminum, folded over into a delta wing. No fuse, just that little K&B mounted in front and some springy gear hanging below. We decided we were going to learn how to fly that day.
Since it was Bob's plane, he got the first flight. We started the engine by folowing the instructions. No breakin, we just needled it up to where it sounded like it was going as fast as it could, then backed it off 2 clicks like the instructions said to do.
I held the plane while Bob ran out, picked up the handle, and motioned me to release the plane. It accelerated while Bob held full up. suddenly it was airborn, climbing, up and up, and over, and into the asphalt. A perfect figure 9. We were both sure that the plane was toast.
It was lying on it's back, those spindle legs pointing at the sky. Bob turned it over, and we were both suprized that the sturdy aluminum wing wasn't damaged, niether was the engine.
Now, it was my turn. The motor was started. I ran out to the handle, and made sure up was up. a wave of my hand and the sturdy little wing was on it's way. Half way around the circle with full up, and I preceded to duplicate Bob's flight to a tee.
Still no damage. It took a few more tries and we figured out that we shouldn't give any control until the plane was going faster. Bob figured this out first. I think he was tired of the short flights and was just going to let it race around on the ground like a tethered car.
After slightly more than a lap, the wing lifted itself into the air smoothly. Up, down, up, down, ever faster and larger PIO's. (I later learned the term, for Pilot Induced Oscilations.) But, he made it almost 2 laps before the plane just wasn't able to pull up in time. We had to bend the gear back because this time the gear took most of the abuse from the crash.
Bob told me what he did to get the plane airborn, and how he thought it would be best to not give too much control.
My turn. I followed his advice, the plane became airborn. It suddenly started to climb, ( I was instinctivly giving it up to get some altitude, away from the asphalt.) I tried to give it just a little down, but alas, too much and I got locked into the same PIO cycle that Bob had.
None the less, we were on our way, and before the day was over, had learned to let the plane fly itself. After a lap or two, we could give small amounts of control and it would rise or lower to wherever we wanted it.
I forget, which of us was the first to fly out a tank of fuel. It really doesn't matter, as that was the day we both soloed our first Cl plane. After the lessons learned that day, I built and flew many 1/2A planes, using the engine from the unflown TD-3.
Within 6 months I bought my first big plane, a Sterling Mustang and a 5.95 Red head engine. All bought with paper route money, and all I could afford.
My McCoy lasted me years, as I was lucky enough to have met some older fliers who taught me how to properly break in and run the engine. The most memorable combination was that McCoy 4 stroking a Nobler through the pattern. totally reliable and easier to start than my buddies Fox. Yes, those were the days of lazy Saturdays spent in the school yard. All day long flying flight after flight.
Sure wish I could fly in the school yard now.
John Miller