Sury, founder and owner of the Aero-Plane Shop in Fort Worth, Texas, bought and sold dozens of airplanes from 1973 to 1988. With the help of his four sons — Mark, Paul, David, and Eric — as well as a staff of half a dozen, he maintained and leased the airplanes to local flight schools. Eventually, N714SV, an otherwise ordinary 1977 Cessna 150M Commuter, arrived to join a fleet that encompassed Cessna 150s, 152s, and 172s; Piper Arrows; and Beech Barons. Sury didn't pay much attention to the serial number, 15079405, until, in 1981, he called for some replacement parts. The voice on the phone at Cessna asked, perhaps rhetorically, "Do you know that you have the last 150 built?"
Fully understanding the difference between a good business deal and a likely piece of history, Sury immediately pulled the orange-and-white 150 from the rental line and parked it in the corner of his expansive hangar at Fort Worth's Meacham Field. In 1988, Sury made the decision to get out of the airplane-leasing business — his main client indicated a desire to own the airplanes. Besides, Sury says, "We were just tired of working so hard. In our heyday, we had 30 airplanes that were flying 6,000 hours a month, total. We were doing major engine overhauls every 8 days."
When Sury cashed out — replacing the fleet of trainers with a beautiful Beech 58P Baron and an equally immaculate A36 Bonanza — he found the time to tend to the last 150. Eventually, 4SV got an overhauled O-200 Continental and some fresh plastic inside. The paint job, from 1977, is original, as are the majority of the cabin furnishings; even the cream-colored ARC radios remain to amuse the local avionics tech. With a bit more than 1,000 hours' total time, the 150M would become one of Sury's little curiosities, to play stablemate to the Beeches and a 700-hour-old Cessna Skylane that had joined his fleet.
At Oshkosh 1995, Sury saw the first-production Cessna 150 — serial number 170001, built in 1958 as a 1959 model. Craig Roberts, of Aurora, Oregon, had just completed a lengthy and painstaking restoration of the airplane.
"A Canadian friend of mine noticed the ad for the airplane in the classified ads under 'RV' — the motorhome, not the airplane — and alerted me to it," says Roberts. "At the time, I was looking for a Cessna 140, but the serial number of the airplane swayed me. The airplane was pretty rough. I spent more than 2 years just finding the parts. Jim Somerset, the man who engineered the Texas Taildragger conversion, was a huge help. He was one of those guys who kept parts around, rather than throwing them away. Unfortunately, he passed away just a few months before I brought the 150 to Oshkosh."
Roberts, a veteran of other restorations that included warbirds and civilian classics alike, put in "about 2,000 to 3,000 hours" during the restoration. "It was my social life for a couple of years," Roberts says. And the restoration was not without headaches. "Those early 150s had a lot of parts different from the later airplanes, so finding the right piece for the '59 was a chore," Roberts says. "An airplane that old often gets modified and improved over the years, so I had to find original wheelpants, wing tips, propeller, spinner, instruments, instrument panel, and so on." Moreover, he was given a bum steer by someone at Cessna regarding the airplane's original paint. "I was told that all the first airplanes were red, but in fact serial number one was blue." Too bad Roberts found out after the strip, polish, and paint had been done. At least the FAA was willing to reissue the original registration number: N5501E.
His immediate plan after winning best of class awards at Oshkosh in 1995 was to keep the airplane around. But Roberts got the bug for another project and "besides, the airplane is too important to just fly around in. I was worried something would happen to it."
Finally, as Sury tells it, he and Roberts "did a little horse trading." That the 90-knot airplane was halfway across the country presented a roadblock that almost made Sury pass on the deal, but Norm Scroggins, AOPA's southwest regional representative, accepted the assignment to bring the airplane from Aurora back to Fort Worth. Eighteen flight hours later, the bookend 150s shared hangar space. (See "Restoration Rendevous" below.)
For its part, the first-production 150 brought along its share of history. Sold to The Air Oasis Company in Long Beach, California, apparently it was used to train newbie aviators. As the topline model, this 150 was called the Intercity Commuter. For a package price of $8,545, the Commuter came with dual controls, a Spartan cloth interior, gyro instruments (remanufactured war surplus, not new), a Narco Superhomer with a whopping six transmit crystals, 6 quarts of oil, and 22 gallons of gas. Those fluids were used to support Continental's new O-200-A, architecturally similar to the C-85 and C-90 four-cylinder engines used in the Cessna 120 and 140, but churning out a prop-torturing 100 horsepower at 2,750 rpm. The 150 would conclude its 18-year production run with the same powerplant.
Way back in 1959, available options included a fire extinguisher ($21.50), corrosion proofing ($325), stainless-steel control cables ($25), a spin-on oil filter ($21), a winterization kit ($15), and shoulder harnesses ($13.50). Cessna advertised the base price of the 150 for the 1959 model year as $6,995, but that was without dual controls, avionics, or anything more than the required VFR instruments. Hardly any were sold so stripped, though; the $7,940 Trainer became the de facto entry-level model.
William Thompson, a longtime Cessna flight-test engineer and author of several Cessna development books, including Cessna: Wings for the World, recalls that the first flight of the 150 was not particularly a nail-biter. "Management asked me to perform the first flight, even though another pilot had been chosen for the task. They thought that it was going to be an important airplane for Cessna, though I didn't think so at first. In fact, I had been asked to run the numbers on a new tricycle-gear trainer after the 120 and 140 production had concluded, and I thought that the relatively low performance with 100-hp and tricycle gear would hurt the airplane in the marketplace," Thompson says. With a self-deprecating chuckle, he concludes, "I guess I was wrong." Cessna turned out 684 copies in the first year of production; by the tenth, 1968, Cessna had produced the 10,000th 150.
To make direct comparisons between the 1959 model and the 150M of 1977 is a bit unfair to the later airplane, particularly considering the loving restoration of the elder trainer. For starters, the early airplane is, to many eyes, much handsomer. The fastback empennage and jaunty straight tail seem purposeful and genuine; the swept tail on the 1965-and-later airplanes seems like a cynical, marketing-driven tie-in with the larger, higher-performance airplanes in the Cessna line — big-airplane looks that did nothing for little-airplane performance. Thompson says, in Wings for the World, "As expected, the reduction in rudder power [from the swept tail] degraded both the crosswind landing capability and spin recoveries." At least Cessna never fell for the T-tail fad for piston singles that was so compelling in the 1970s. Perhaps it's also true that the restored 150 seems like not so much a battered trainer as a pert little two-seat recreation vehicle.
There are performance differences, too. The 1959 model is significantly lighter and turns in better runway and climb performance from its 100 horses. In fact, the airplane feels downright sprightly with a single soul aboard and full tanks. Typical empty weight of the fastback airplane is around 940 pounds, compared to the last models, which usually weigh a bit over half a ton. Higher maximum gross weight of the later models helped to offset the gains in empty weight, but only just.
Still, a 150 of any vintage is hardly a barnburner. Figure on a cruise of 80 to 90 knots, burning 6 gph. Differences in aerodynamics in the later birds — particularly a reduction in cooling drag and improvements in wheel-fairing design — help to offset the extra weight. Climb rate on hot days seems never to eclipse the lapse rate — does it ever get cool in here? — but you'll get to altitude eventually. An early 1960s Cessna 150 has a listed service ceiling of 15,600 feet, although it would take extraordinary circumstances to be able to endure the journey to that altitude.
Outright performance never mattered to Cessna or the training market, however. What FBOs and flight schools worldwide responded to was the 150's ability to take the punishment of botched landings, countless stalls and spins, and the often minimal maintenance meted to trainers — and continue to perform. Indeed, Cessna's major changes through the years centered on durability and maintenance issues much more than on sex appeal and pilot-pleasing touches.
Noting that the main-gear location would occasionally cause the nose gear to extend fully during taxi — putting it into the in-flight, no-nosewheel-steering mode — and at other times allow an airplane with a full baggage bay to tip back unceremoniously on the tail when the pilots got out, Cessna moved the gear aft 2 inches for the 1961 model. In 1963, Cessna brass decided that the fastback fuselage gave the trainer a claustrophobic interior, so a new model with a chopped-down empennage and Omni-Vision rear windows was penned for the 1964 model year. The 150D emerged — straight tail, rear windows, and all. The novel rear windows also introduced the amusing rearview mirror — all the better to watch the ELT antenna waggle in the breeze. Ironically, this major-change model sold the same number as the first year's — 684 — and was considered a success. It sold for $9,495 in Commuter trim.
Two years later, the 1966 150F model appeared, sporting the swept tail, electric flaps replacing the much-loved but space-stealing Johnson-bar-activated devices, and a few other changes. Thanks to price cuts and aggressive marketing to the newly formed Cessna Pilot Center program, the company sold an unprecedented 5,000-plus 150s in 1967. By the time production ended for the introduction of the 1978 Cessna 152 — itself hardly different from the 150M, save for the 110-hp Lycoming up front — Cessna had turned out nearly 24,000 of the 150s.
Now these erstwhile trainers are finding homes as Sunday-afternoon knockabouts. John Frank, president of the Cessna Pilots Association, says, "We are seeing more and more 150s and 152s ending up as fun, inexpensive personal airplanes. A lot of people who had 172s or 182s — and maybe don't fly as much as they used to — are finding that the 150 or 152 fits the bill nicely, for a lot less money." Is there a risk in buying an ex-trainer? Frank doesn't think so. As long as the airplane has been maintained properly, all ADs are complied with, and the engine is in good shape, there seem to be few reasons to shy away from a 150. Certainly the price is compelling: For a first-year airplane, the Aircraft Bluebook-Price Digest says that you'll spend around $13,000. (As always, these are average airplanes with mid-time engines.) Values ratchet upward in a fairly linear fashion to $18,000 for a 1977 150. Aerobat models, the slightly beefed-up, limited-aerobatic 150 introduced with the 1970 model year, command about a $1,500 premium over the right-side-up airplanes.
Through 1982 Cessna soldiered on with the 152, making detail improvements along the way to accommodate the Lycoming's strong dislike of leaded fuel and to improve maintenance and durability. Although the airplane was listed as being in production through 1985, Cessna didn't build any in the United States after 1982. And, today, with the new 172 coming on line and Cessna setting its sights on the 182 and 206 — with the looming possibilities of retractable versions of some of these airframes coming on line — it seems as unlikely as ever that we'll see new 152s roll out of Independence.
So Sury's pair will remain important milestones in American-made trainers, signposts of a time when general aviation seemed laid out before us and industrial powerhouse Cessna could hardly make a misstep. As for Sury...well, it's still true that he didn't plan on holding two of the most significant cards in the trainer deck. But with this pair, he's shown no intention of folding.
Restoration Rendezvous
Travels by trainer
BY NORM SCROGGINS
When my neighbor C.J. Sury saw the opportunity to acquire the first production Cessna 150, there was, as always, a catch. He'd have to go a long way to get it, all the way from Dallas to Aurora, Oregon, near Portland — and back. This was too much for C.J., a semiretired guy, and he was about to let the urge pass. Nor was he in a mood to have the airplane disassembled and shipped.
I learned about the situation and volunteered to ferry the 150 to Texas. What started as a simple favor for a friend turned out to be a journey of simple flying at its best.
I picked up the like-new Cessna 150 at Aurora. Oh, it was pretty — and, boy, did it smell good. It brought back memories of years ago, when as a young aviator I built time by ferrying other newly hatched Cessnas from Kansas to Texas.
Low cloud cover, just high enough for VFR flight, is a common weather situation faced by pilots in the Portland area. I had even planned for such contingency by plotting an alternate route through the Columbia River pass. But the weather, out of character, turned cooperative, and I left Aurora near daybreak under a thin broken layer of clouds. My plan to cross the mountains into drier air on a short hop to check fuel and oil consumption in Redmond, Oregon, was working.
People turned out at every stop to see my snazzy little machine and, at Redmond, to overhear my apology to the fueler for taking on just 5 gallons of fuel. Because the airplane holds a mere 22 gallons of usable fuel, it remained a challenge to ensure my practice of having an hour's reserve at each destination.
The entire fight would be made with dead reckoning and a Magellan XL handheld GPS, to assure that my "reckoning" was right. A single com and transponder rounded out the avionics in this 150. Following my departure to Klamath Falls, Oregon, I had to recall a few more basic skills when the generator appeared to fail and the directional gyro went belly up. Not a serious navigational problem — find a mountain, fly toward it, find the next mountain, fly toward it — repeat until home.
A handheld radio helped me get into Klamath Falls, Oregon, for a fuel stop, but I couldn't find anyone around who could help with the charging problem. I decided to try for Reno, Nevada, next, and I called ahead to Air Classics LTD about working on the generator. They said, "We will help you." (En route to Reno/Stead Airport, my right hip and thigh began to ache, leading me to think about an old sciatic nerve injury. But that wasn't the problem: My posterior was flapping over the flap handle. They really didn't build 150 seats very large in the old days.)
Reno/Stead Airport looked like a Russian MiG base, but an affable one. It turns out that Aviation Classics specializes in getting these Soviet fighters back into the air, and, this day, helping elderly Cessna 150s, too. Aviation Classics' pool of talent did not take long to cure my minor electrical problem — a "soft" fuse head. Before long, I was off to North Las Vegas.
North Las Vegas was the worst segment of this adventure. It's no help that North Vegas goes to sleep at dusk and wakes slowly after dawn. Find a spot, tie down at your leisure, walk to a nearby hotel, and wait until the morning to refuel. Then do battle with the self-fueling pump. For too long I swiped my card and answered insulting questions from the fueling terminal — and still I failed. Finally a friendly fuel truck took pity and burped up 11 gallons.
Gallup, New Mexico, was the next stop; on the way, groundspeed averaged 90 knots. At that rate I'd fail to have my hour's reserve, so Winslow, Arizona, became the target. At Winslow I borrowed pliers and repaired the DG. Then on to Albuquerque. No wind or cloud cover all the way.
Albuquerque's Double Eagle II airport has always been a favorite stop for quick turnarounds — no mussing with the big boys. On departure, density altitude was about 8,600 feet, and I knew that my little friend could climb 300 fpm at 80 knots. So I accelerated to 80 before pulling back the yoke for climb. Worked like a charm, although I made a mental note to tell C.J. to check the wheel bearings at the next annual. The Continental O-200 chugged away merrily, as it had all during the trip.
On the way to Plainview, Texas, rain shafts and occasional lightning drew my attention. Sure was a slow trip around, but better safe than hit by lightning. By dusk, I was on the ground, airplane in the hangar and me headed for a hotel and a well-earned night's rest.
Flight time penciled out to two and a half hours from Plainview to the first 150's new home in Fort Worth. Smooth air makes for a superb ending to a very long trip. At Meacham, I coaxed the 150 into its best rendition of a high-speed fly-by salute to the tower.
Nineteen hours and three minutes in the air over 3 days, with fuel and comfort stops at seven locations: The 150 was a trustworthy partner for what was a truly unforgettable experience.
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