Jerry Emerson was the kind of guy who made dreams come true for pilots. Rather than sit back in his retirement from the insurance business, Emerson, a commercial pilot and flight instructor, decided that it was time to indulge a long-nurtured desire. So he got to work, and after considerable sweat equity had been invested in the project that had been forming in his mind, he transformed a rolling hillside in East Newport, Maine, into an airport. Emerson was back in business with an aerial flavor, now working from his own field while providing local pilots with a launching pad, training ground, and a site for fueling, maintaining, and hangaring their airplanes. It was the dream of aviators everywhere — and in a quiet corner of central Maine, the dream now had a name: Newport Skypark.
And it was a handsome piece of airport-making that Emerson had achieved. Taxi down to the end of the firm, 3,200-foot grass strip, turn into position, and launch past the closely growing trees. Catch that predictable little burble of turbulence as you break above the treeline. Climb out over sprawling Sebasticook Lake and turn west toward the mountains, or north toward the Maine woods, or south-southeast toward Bangor or the coast, as you take in the lovely view.
If you are a student pilot arriving from one of the many paved airports nearby, this may be your first encounter with a "soft field" with a less than perfectly level runway. This you observe as you pick out the field from among its green surroundings, fly the pattern, and line up on final. The pines and hardwoods are closer to the runway edge than you may have seen before; there's a gentle hump in the center (touch down from either direction going uphill and you're all set) and — well — it's just different. Your instructor has been waiting for the chance to bring you here and expand the horizons of your flying experience. Once you've found the place, which isn't all that easy to do, make careful note of the location; there's a darn good chance that he or she may throw you a simulated engine failure in this vicinity while returning home from a dual cross-country some day.
And so it was for almost 20 years. Student pilots flew their Cessna 150s and Piper Cherokees, and debriefed with their CFIs in a small building that still contains a dusty box filled with logbooks of the fledglings of long ago. Fire patrols launched from here on hot summer days. Privately owned airplanes roosted here and underwent maintenance in the shop. The Skypark was a "poor man's airport" in the best sense of the phrase, because it gave people of modest means, in an economically unexciting region, an opportunity to fly within their financial limitations.
Occasionally the airport made the local papers, as when Dan Rather came to town to cover a national political race. Another time, a local pilot who stumbled into the clouds was assisted to safety by an airline crew who helped him to stave off panic, regain control of his Cherokee, and bring the ship to earth at Newport. And then there was the time that a tornado came through and "stove up a bunch of airplanes," as a Maine pilot might explain in local parlance. The annual fly-in was always a big event, with 73 airplanes coming in one year, according to the articles in the official airport scrapbook. Russell Treadwell, a retired Marine A-4 pilot, worked as Emerson's partner and became a much-respected designated examiner and sage, flying his familiar taildragging Cessna 172 conversion or his twin Cessna Skymaster on a variety of missions. Two restaurants were within easy reach on the main drag at the foot of the strip, which made it convenient if you happened to drop in around mealtime.
But as I said, so it was for many years. By the early 1990s, Emerson's health had begun to fail, and he died on January 14, 1993, a few months short of his seventieth birthday. Activity slowed to a trickle at Newport Skypark, the for-sale sign went up, and hangar tenants moved away. The very real possibility arose that the next owner of the property might not have an airport in mind. Those who owed a debt of wings to Newport Skypark (or to ME68, as it is enigmatically known in official publications and directories) felt a deep and abiding sadness at the idea that Emerson's gift to aviation might also depart. A few dedicated volunteers, while not in a position to buy the place themselves, kept the candle burning, rolling the runway smooth each spring and climbing aboard the old tractor to mow the vigorous grass. Mary Emerson, Jerry's widow, still lived in the house at the north end of the airport and greeted old acquaintances with coffee and reminiscences. Beyond that, everything was up in the air.
Enter Larry Lapointe, a building contractor and enthusiastic commercial pilot from Bangor who had owned a variety of airplanes, ranging from a 1967 Cessna Skyhawk to a 1954 Beech V-tail Bonanza — and, more recently, a Piper Twin Comanche and an Aeronca Champ. Lapointe bought the Skypark about a year ago. He began renovations on the buildings, set out "a big American Flag as a windsock," rented out two hangars (so far), and made some improvements to the strip that will allow, he says, a happy end to the tradition of disregarding the north 800 feet of the runway as unusable during the wet season because of poor drainage. Lapointe flipped through the old logbooks, many of which gave testimony to incomplete training projects, and in a recent telephone chat to bring me up to date about the airport, gave me an earful about flight instructors who don't see their students all the way through. Of course, not all of them had the drive and determination that Larry had, as I remember so well from years ago when we worked on his instrument and commercial certification projects together in the Cessna 172 and the Beech Bonanza. But he's right — and flight instructors should accept this aspect of their work as elemental. Not all do.
So it is pretty sure now that Newport Skypark, once teetering on the brink of extinction, will survive. Already I have several new pilots in mind who would benefit from visiting Newport, and I have added its rolling runway back into the rotation of interesting runways to visit while teaching the art of flying. Now that the local flying club with which I am most closely associated has approved landings at grass fields for training purposes, the last obstacles have been removed — and summer is in full bloom.
I can hardly wait. That view as you climb out over Sebasticook Lake — well, you've got to see it to believe it.
For other articles on unusual airports and airport success stories, see AOPA Online ( www.aopa.org/pilot/links/links9908.shtml). Dan Namowitz is a writer and flight instructor living in Maine.
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