Pilotage

Mark R. Twombly co-owns a Piper Twin Comanche that is sometimes based in Florida.

In the more than two decades I've been writing about aviation, I've walked more static-display flight lines at U.S. and international aviation trade shows, conventions, and airshows than I can count on twice my family's fingers and toes (6 people x 20 digits each x 2 = a lot of walking). And always I've been on the outside looking in — a wide-eyed spectator wandering among the sleek, the strange, and the wonderful flying machines on exhibit. This past weekend, I got to see what it is like to be on the other side of a static display.

The event was the annual open house at our local municipal airport: Page Field Aviation Days. It began on Friday evening when the largest hangar on the field was cleared of airplanes and used for a World War II-theme dinner dance sponsored by the area Florida Warbirds chapter. The B-17, B-24, and P-51 parked just outside the open hangar door lent lump-in-your-throat authenticity to the evening. Saturday and Sunday were devoted to the static display and formation flybys.

Along with shiny aircraft festooned with "For Sale" gloves on the props, muscular prop and jet warbird trainers, a smattering of former and active-duty military aircraft with attitude, and a functionally equipped local public service helicopter, the static display featured a number of typical owner-flown general aviation aircraft.

Rick, one of my airplane co-owners, had telephoned a couple of weeks before Aviation Days to suggest that maybe our airplane ought to make the scene, too. The thought had never occurred to me — an unremarkable Spam can sharing ramp space with true show planes? Rick didn't see it that way. Owners of other typical, locally based light aircraft were planning to participate. Why shouldn't we? Besides, Rick is proud of the airplane, enjoys talking to people about it, and, most of all, loves to hang out at the airport. "We need to make a sign with information about the airplane, and get a stand to display it next to the airplane," he added.

Wow! This was getting serious. Specifications are for spectators who come to ogle stuff they've only seen in books and movies — hulking old war machines powered by mighty oil-weeping, smoke-spewing radials; howling jets; and pocket-rocket experimentals. Surely they would not be interested in a tricycle-gear personal runabout propelled by a couple of buzzing four-cylinder sewing-machine engines.

But I was missing the point. This was not supposed to be a traditional airshow with aerobatic acts. It was intended as an open house, an opportunity for the public to see what goes on day to day at Page Field. And what mostly goes on involves general aviation aircraft made in places such as Wichita, Lock Haven, Vero Beach, Kerrville, and even Tarbes, France.

Big, noisy warbirds may be the sizzle that lures people to an airport open house, but the public should know that it's the plain-spoken, owner-flown, piston-powered singles and twins that bring home the bacon at their local field.

Rick had it right. We should put our airplane on display — with a poster-size spec sheet.

I researched the airplane's history, consulted the pilot's operating handbook, and compiled real-world performance numbers. Since we were motivated only by the desire to provide information and had nothing to sell, I decided it was OK to veer slightly off the usual just-the-facts approach to specifications.

After an adjective-filled introduction noting the airplane's superior qualities ("... more than 38 years old but still modern in appearance and performance ... an economical multi-engine trainer and personal light twin delivers wonderful efficiency — speed vs. fuel consumption a delight to fly the perfect airplane for cruising throughout the Eastern U.S. and Caribbean ..."), I objectively cited one of its drawbacks. "A relatively short landing gear, forward center of gravity, and laminar flow airfoil combine to make it difficult to achieve consistently smooth landings."

I added some commentary that proactively answered the second-most-asked question of static-display aircraft: How much does it cost? "Less than a decent boat," the copy noted. And operating and maintenance costs? "Less than you might think, but more than we expected."

Come Saturday morning, Rick taxied the airplane from our hangar to the static display in time to claim squatter's rights to prime real estate. He positioned us right at the public entrance to the flight line.

Saturday featured an unrelenting southwesterly wind, but Sunday was gorgeous. We brought a couple of chairs to sit in and a card table to dispense AOPA Pilot and AOPA Flight Training magazines and AOPA Air Safety Foundation literature. We spent a pleasant day jawing with old pilots ("I used to fly charter in one of those years ago"); bold pilots ("I flight-plan mine for 174 knots"); wanna-be pilots ("How much does it cost?"); and kids who dream of being pilots ("How fast does it go?").

At the end of the weekend Rick and I were tired and red-faced from exposure to too much wind and sun. We also were happy with perhaps having exposed a few people to one of the real joys of general aviation: owning your own airplane.

The call hasn't come yet, but I'm expecting it. "Hi, Mark, this is Rick. Say, what do think about contacting the people who run the static display at Sun 'n Fun and ...."