Pilotage

Mark R. Twombly is an aviator writer and columnist for AOPA Pilot and AOPA Flight Training magazines.

Like tender crocus shoots pushing up through frigid soil, February fly-ins, airshows, and airport open houses in Florida signal the imminent awakening of another flying season nationally.

It's said that airshows are second only to major league baseball in terms of public attendance. I'm not sure who is doing the counting, but they can start the tally for 2001 with the 9,000 to 10,000 people - let's make it 9,500 - who filed through the gate to walk the ramp at our local airport open house last weekend.

Though small in comparison to major fly-in and airshow standards, the open house beat the attendance figures at some of the home games played by Florida's backmarker major league baseball teams. Most important, the people who came were perfect for the occasion. They were a mix of old and young, but predominantly parents with their kids. Who better to spend a sunny day getting up close and personal with general aviation?

It was a Microsoft Flight Simulator type of crowd, enthusiasts who usually indulge their fascination with aviation through armchair involvement. They buy aviation books and magazines, watch "Wings," and fly single-pilot Learjets and combat-scarred Spitfires on their home computers. They weren't pilots, just local residents and winter visitors who were interested enough to pay $5 each, $3 for kids, to do something they rarely get to do - walk up to an airplane, touch it, inspect the cockpit, and ask the pilot how fast and how far it can fly.

The static display was top-notch. The warbird collection included the Collings Foundation's B–17G Flying Fortress Nine-O-Nine and B–24J Liberator Dragon and His Tail (with nose art that falls somewhere between a PG-13 and an R rating), the Valiant Air Command's Douglas C–47 Tico Belle and Bob Tullis' pristine P–51D. The Marines flew in a quartet of T–2 and T–45 trainers from Meridian, Mississippi, asking only for golf tee-time reservations in exchange. A steady stream of people flowed through the open fuselage of a hulking Air Force C–130 Hercules from Ohio. The Army brought an OV–1 Mohawk, while the civilian air corps parked its military-surplus T–28s, T–34s, O–2As, and a Fairchild BT–19 on the ramp.

Jimmy Buffett dispatched his to-die-for Grumman Albatross, which functions as an effective marketing platform for an expanding variety of Buffett's Margaritaville-branded products. Another popular attraction was a FedEx Boeing 727 opened up for walk-through public inspection.

The static display also featured a nice sampling of brand-new production aircraft ("Why, that airplane costs as much as my house!"), an eclectic assortment of personal general aviation airplanes, several public service aircraft, a handful of ultralights, and an impressive collection of radio-controlled models. Many in the crowd were not aware that the piston-powered twin performing loops and rolls was a miniature, 50-pound, remotely piloted version of the real thing.

Finally, for not much more than the price of a grouper dinner, people could buy a seat on a Robinson R44, a new Cessna 172, or a Waco biplane for a ride around the patch.

Every year there's talk locally of growing the open house into an airshow, but the government authority that manages the airport steadfastly refuses to consider it. It would mean closing the field to arrivals and departures during performances, and possibly penetrating Class C airspace associated with the nearby airline airport. There's also the safety issue. Ours is an urban airport, bounded by commercial and residential tracts. An airshow accident outside the airport's 616-acre boundary would be devastating.

The concerns are valid, but I look at places like the tiny 76-acre College Park, Maryland, airport that manages to stage a safe and successful annual airshow despite being located inside the Washington, D.C., Beltway. College Park lies under very busy Class B airspace and next to a major university, leafy residential subdivisions, and expensive commercial real estate. The airport is owned by the National Park Service, and manager Lee Schick says the modest airshow, which typically features four low-level aerobatic acts as well as a static display, draws some 10,000 to 12,000 people from the community. According to Schick, the airshow helps attenuate potential hostility toward the airport because surrounding residents enjoy coming to watch the performances and look at airplanes on display.

Airshow or no, public education, understanding, and goodwill toward the airport also are the bottom-line objectives of our local open house. All indications are that this year's event met the criteria. The press coverage was favorable - one of the local television anchors said she would go up for a second tandem parachute jump "in a minute" - and the crowds were the best in memory.

My moment came late on Saturday afternoon. Having looked all day at fabulous airplanes on the ramp and in the pattern, I had to go flying. I taxied out to the departure runway and found myself holding for takeoff behind the B–17. While I waited, transfixed, I heard a rumble behind me and turned to see the B–24 trundling up to follow me in sequence for takeoff. I've never been so happy to be sandwiched between two heavies.