Pilots

Ask Terry Bliquez what he likes best about his Cessna 205, and he'll be quick to answer: "It doesn't have an ejection seat."

Bliquez, 58, is a quiet, unassuming retired Air Force colonel who conceived and now runs Sky Cross Corporation in San Antonio, Texas. It's a nonprofit ministry that airlifts food, clothing, and medicine to Mexican families living in poverty across the Rio Grande. The reference to an ejection seat stems from a 1970 incident in the skies over Laos that Bliquez says helped shape his decision years later to "do God's work."

As an intelligence officer working from the backseat of a twin-turboprop OV–10A Bronco, Bliquez's job 30 years ago was to identify enemy targets on the ground in Laos and relay coordinates to orbiting fighters. During one particular mission, his pilot rolled in to mark a target with smoke, catching Bliquez off guard.

"I instinctively grabbed what I could to regain balance," he recalls. "It happened to be the ejection-seat handle. It was mostly deployed before I realized what I'd done. I tried to put the safety pin back in, but it was up too far. So there I was, perched on a rocket that could blow at any second."

"Sit tight and don't move," yelled his pilot. "We're heading home." And for 50 terrifying minutes, en route to Nakohm-Phanom Air Base in northern Thailand, Bliquez scarcely breathed. "I feared every little air bump would set it off, and I'd be blasted through the canopy," he says. "By the time my feet touched the tarmac at NKP, I was drained."

A devout Catholic, Bliquez found spiritual meaning in the incident. "First off, I figured God might have spared me for a reason and there'd come a day for payback of sorts. Second, I knew that as scary as the incident was, I loved flying and would pursue aviation in some capacity. Hopefully, the two would mesh."

Bliquez entered the Air Force to fly, but eye problems kept him from flight training. Therefore, he took advantage of Air Force-sanctioned aero clubs to earn private, commercial, and instrument ratings in single- and multiengine aircraft. Later came CFI and CFII ratings. Adding to his credentials was a seven-year stretch as an air traffic controller.

Upon retirement in 1993 after a 26-year career, Bliquez decided it was, indeed, payback time. "My wife and I agreed to bypass a job in corporate America," he says. "We'd live on my pension and devote our lives to charitable work."

After settling in Texas and soliciting funds from donors, Bliquez met a network of missionary nuns who encouraged him to concentrate on Mexican colonias, or villages, just across the border. They guided him to Canales and Flores on the outskirts of Nuevo Progreso in Mexico.

"It was sobering," says Bliquez. "People lived in mud huts with dirt floors and no running water. The children survived on a meal a day. Many had never seen even the most basic kind of medicine, such as aspirin. Others had never tasted apples or oranges. Our goal, then, was to help with their basic subsistence needs so the children could go to school and break the poverty chain."

At first, he had no aircraft. But Bliquez was so optimistic that a donor would come through, he completed the two-year aircraft mechanic's program at St. Phillips College in San Antonio, graduating in 1996 with an airframe and powerplant mechanic certificate. And, like clockwork, the aircraft came. A commercial airline pilot in St. Louis heard of Sky Cross and donated his Cessna 205.

"With the rear seats removed, it's the perfect trash hauler," says Bliquez. "And it's allowed us to expand our operation." Before getting the Cessna, Bliquez made the hot, dusty trip to the border in a pickup truck and could only manage support for the 200 people of Canales and Flores. Today, he feeds and clothes more than 4,000 Mexican nationals and Mexican-Americans along the border. When he accumulates a planeload of donated or purchased clothes, medicine, and food, he flies to McAllen International Airport in southern Texas, where he checks in and unloads. Multidenominational, church-affiliated volunteers then truck the materials to Matamoros, Monte Cristo, Nuevo Laredo, Canales, Flores, and two orphanages on the U.S. side of the border. With additional donor pledges, Bliquez hopes to expand even farther to colonias across from Eagle Pass and Del Rio.

There are no salaried employees in Sky Cross, only a network of 50 or more volunteers, missionaries, and donors. Bliquez keeps corporate expenses to a minimum by using his home as an office and warehouse. He pays most travel expenses from out of pocket, but his brother, wanting to do his part, pays for aircraft fuel and parts. Check-Six-Aviation at Stinson Field in San Antonio donates the Cessna's hangar space. And, of course, Bliquez performs his own aircraft maintenance.

"It's humbling," says Bliquez. "The people we help live such a life of need, where food is a miracle, shoes are a miracle, and even another sunrise is a miracle. Yet, they never complain. I want to do much more."

For information, write Sky Cross Corporation, at 7302 Putter Lane, San Antonio, Texas 78244, or call 210/ 661-6808.