Pilots

Twenty miles into the Nevada desert, the ritz, glitz, and excess of Las Vegas fade into rock, dust, and boundless sky. This is the town of Jean, allegedly named for Jean Peters, the actress and former wife of the late billionaire/aviator/recluse Howard Hughes. Hughes snapped up most of Las Vegas in the 1950s and 1960s. Thanks to his minions and his millions, he effectively ran the metropolis. Having a nearby hamlet named for his ex-spouse would not have been a stretch.

Since the Hughes era, Las Vegas has evolved far beyond even his most grandiose plans. The great pyramids of Egypt, the Eiffel Tower, the entire city of Venice, tropical rainforests, giant aquariums, New York City, and space needles all have been reconstructed in the casino capital, enmeshed in endless miles of neon, gluttonous buffet lines, and a buzz that never stops.

Down I-15 in Jean, the two casinos are unabashedly downscale. Rooms can be had for as little as $19 a night, and gastronomes can inhale a Fred Flintstone-size portion of prime rib for $6. In this unlikely venue, in 1996, Bob Dylan launched a musical comeback at a place called Buffalo Bill's. Five miles north of here, in 1905, they drove the last spike in the "transcontinental" railroad that linked Los Angeles and Salt Lake City.

There's a prison here. It's across the field from Jean Airport (0L7). When you taxi up to the FBO, a thoughtful sign advises (too late), "Please do not overfly the prison or you will make some armed guards very nervous." The prison, the casinos, and the airport: That's basically the town. This is where Jerry Marshall found his niche in aviation.

Marshall began flying lessons in 1981 while working in the oil fields around Prudhoe Bay, Alaska. He saw the oil boom there about to go bust and began looking for a small business to buy while working on his pilot ratings. Eventually he would earn private, instrument, commercial, commercial glider, multiengine, and seaplane ratings and become a licensed airframe and powerplant mechanic. "I only got ratings that I knew I would use," he explains.

Marshall did not come to aviation naturally. "I hadn't always been interested in flying, but over the years I had other expensive hobbies. I used to race cars and motorcycles. And I was married once. That was expensive, too."

In 1985 he bought a small FBO at Oregon's Cottage Grove State Airport (61S), and enrolled in "the aviation school of hard knocks." Marshall quickly realized that running a small FBO was a seven-day-a-week proposition. Looking back at the FBO business he jokes, "Most people work at it until the money is gone." In Oregon, he found himself constantly looking for ways to broaden his customer base. He sold aircraft and did glider and banner tows, instruction, and maintenance.

In 1992 Marshall acquired a 1943 Stearman biplane that had been used by the Greek Air Force. The previous owner had bought it from the Athens Aero Club in 1975; it was a project plane. Restoration took eight years. Originally equipped with a smaller 225-horsepower engine, in 1990 the Stearman was refitted with a big 450-hp supercharged Pratt & Whitney radial. Marshall used it for glider towing and aerobatic rides.

Marshall had previously learned aerobatics in a Citabria he owned. The Stearman has triple the horsepower and double the gross weight. "I prefer to err on the conservative side."

By 1996 Marshall tired of the daily grind in Oregon. He sold the FBO and began looking for an aviation opportunity in the Southwest. The underutilized Jean Airport immediately impressed him as "a good place to make a living without starving."

"Soaring in the southwestern United States is some of the best in the world. You can fly 300 days a year here." Although there are only approximately 20,000 sailplane pilots in the United States, Marshall surmised that Jean, with its adjacent dry lake beds, 18,000-foot summer thermals, and strong upper-level winds, would be the perfect soaring mecca. He was right.

Marshall can tow a glider to 1,500 agl with the Stearman, and minutes later it is busting through 11,000 feet. "You can peg the variometer. You're climbing at 1,000 feet per minute without an engine. You can go out and back 500 miles in a day. Most sailplane pilots have never experienced this type of flying before."

While we often read about pilots who obtained glider ratings before their (powered) private pilot certificate, Marshall advises against it. "I tell everybody to get their PPL first and then their glider add-on." An add-on can take as little as 10 hours. But it's not easy.

"A lot of pilots get the impression that it is a piece of cake to fly a glider—especially pilots who have forgotten what their feet are for. It's hard to fly a glider well. Tow-out is the hardest part of glider flying. It's really precision formation flying."

However, glider pilots are susceptible to the same lapses that may eventually bite all who command vehicles in the sky. Marshall's favorite story is about a local glider pilot who got up and away only to receive an urgent radio call from his ground crew. They couldn't find the keys to the chase car. Mortified, the pilot searched his pockets and found the keys. No problem. He would just tie them to a handkerchief, overfly the airport, and toss them out the window. He did. The keys were never seen again.