For those who subscribe to an airport directory, the periodic ritual of replacing pages has become a depressing chore. Deleted pages signal that public airports are closing at an alarming rate, and it is rare for a new page to be added. Compounding the problem is that an airport closed is an airport gone forever, a blasphemy against a national treasure. An exaggeration? I don't think so.
General aviation airports represent a unique microcosm of society. They seem immune to the ailments found beyond their boundaries. Carjackings, murder, rape, and other violent crimes rarely intrude upon the tranquility of airport life. These are among the few places where religion, nationality, race, sex, and economic status have little bearing on acceptance. The price of admission requires only a sincere interest in aviation.
Airports obviously benefit commerce and make a community more accessible to the rest of the world, but they do more than this. An airport is open space to be preserved and treasured, an area void of structural congestion and the accompanying crush of humanity. It is a place from which men and women can see and enter the sky, a sanctuary of camaraderie where pilots orchestrate music with whirling propellers.
Small airports also are educational and inspirational. In 1952 a tall, lanky, 14-year- old boy from a low-income family happened upon Clover Field (now called Santa Monica Municipal Airport). There he became enthralled with the dancing windsock, the aroma of avgas, the mysterious, infectious elixir of flight. Desperate to enter this fascinating world, he begged for and obtained an after-school job at the airport. Cleaning rest rooms and sweeping out cavernous hangars was not what he had in mind, but he persevered.
The teenager ultimately found the compassion and acceptance at SMO that he had failed to find elsewhere, and his life became inexorably linked to the sky. He learned to fly there, earned his ratings, and instructed his way through college. Today he captains a Lockheed 1011 for TWA, enjoys teaching others who share his passion for flight, and has learned enough about writing to at least pen these words of gratitude.
Countless other general aviation airports have inspired youngsters to pursue aerospace careers by giving them a chance to watch with awe and ultimately join those who live to wash their wings in the wind. Without such motivation, their destinies — and perhaps the destiny of a nation — might have been otherwise.
What makes a threatened airport especially sad is that those pilots who have the most to lose often are the most apathetic about voicing concern and taking positive action to prevent the airport's closing.
About 15 years ago, SMO was inundated with an onslaught of municipal abuse and harassment. The city council wanted the airport closed and the land used for more profitable and politically favorable purposes. It did not matter that their storied airport was steeped in romantic history and aeronautical lore. It cared not that this is where the Douglas World Cruisers began their global odyssey in 1924, or that SMO was one of the busiest single-runway airports in the world, or that it was an important reliever airport for nearby Los Angeles International.
But the council was not to have its way. A handful of dedicated pilots took up the gauntlet and fought back, even though most other airport users suffered from denial and opted not to participate in the resistance.
To embarrass the socialist city council, the activist pilots had printed some unique and politically sensitive bumper stickers. A day later and during the cold hours before dawn, the group covertly plastered the city (including the mayor's car) with messages that read, "Welcome to the People's Republic of Santa Monica." The red-and-white banners (complete with hammer and sickle) attracted immediate national attention to the plight of SMO, and this helped to gather the support needed to resist the anti-airport politicians.
Without the tireless efforts of a few dedicated pilots the airport would have fallen victim to the bulldozer.
In his play Henry the Fifth William Shakespeare wrote about how King Henry inspired his troops before the Battle of Agincourt. The English soldiers were outnumbered by the French; they were weary from battle. In rallying his forces, Henry said, "We few, we happy few, we band of brothers, for he today who sheds his blood with me shall truly be my brothers...."
King Henry could just as well have been speaking to you and me, political soldiers who also face seemingly overwhelming odds against those who would close our airports. And we aviators, we happy few, are bonded by our mutual love of flight and the precious freedom that our airports provide.
Henry won the Battle of Agincourt, and if our airports are to survive, then you and I, we band of brothers and sisters, must volunteer to battle those who would challenge our right to fly. It is time, my friends, to stand up and be counted, to give back to aviation some of what it has given us. We owe it to ourselves, and perhaps more important, to those who follow in our wake.
An information packet, "Gaining Community Support For Your Local Airport," is available to members at no charge. Call AOPA Regional Affairs at 301/695-2205.
Related Articles
