Musings: On the thrill of inspiration

Fifty thousand people walk the south ramp at Fargo’s Hector International Airport during the airshow weekend, and not one of them is looking at the ground: There’s a twin-engine Beechcraft turning circles in the air.

I know why I’m here. I’m a pilot, a writer, a photographer. This is a weekend of inspiration, opportunity, and thrill. But, come on—50,000 people? I know there aren’t 50,000 pilots in town. There’s a concert across the street tonight—Journey and Def Leppard—and many more people are here than there.

If you’re not a pilot, why go to an airshow?

Leucas and Shantelle Heintzman have brought their twin boys, Raylan and Dexter, both about 4 years old. I ask Dexter what he’s looking forward to the most, and he looks at me like I’m an idiot. “The airplanes!” he says. Are they cool? I ask. “Yeah!” he says.

Men and women of every age linger at the open doors of a Cessna 182; a pilot from the Civil Air Patrol explaining what they do. Boldly, children climb into the left seat. A bit more timidly, their parents do the same a moment later. Everyone runs their hands along an MQ–9 Reaper drone. A B–25 Mitchell bomber, Miss Mitchell, flies by, bomb doors open, and the whole crowd gasps when the simulated bombing run results in pyrotechnics exploding on the ground.

“I love mechanical things. I love aircraft,” says airshow fan Dan Carrell. He is not a pilot but has held a stick or yoke when up with other people. “The Blue Angels are always a treat,” he says, adding that he’s seen the group twice before. “They’re spectacular. They make the hair stand up on the back of your neck.”

I find myself thinking about a small figurine on my father’s desk. A young boy holds a toy airplane over his head, running along. It’s all about dreaming and hope. It’s all about imagination and adventure and mystery.

Stacey Timms and Chris Kehn wear Top Gun T-shirts: Ice Man and Maverick. “Actually,” Timms says, “you’re going to love this: The commander of the Blue Angels is a relative of mine. Like my third cousin or something. Never met him. As soon as my son graduates from high school in two years, I’m going to get my pilot’s license. This is my first time being here. First time at any airshow.”

Timms gets to see a lot of family, too. “They all came here, 20 some odd people came here today. Some more coming tomorrow. Coming for a reunion with the commander, to meet him. I’m super pumped to be here!”

A Pitts Special stops conversation with cartwheels and loops and dives. Screamin’ Sasquatch, a Waco biplane with a jet engine bolted underneath, roars through its routine. And then it’s time for the Blue Angels.

Chris and Stephanie Shafer stand at the edge of the ramp with their daughter Kaitlyn. Chris is afraid of heights. Nonetheless, he says, “I saw them when I was a kid, practicing, and my mom stopped on the side of the interstate. One of them rolled upside down and I saw him wave.”

Kaitlyn reaches out to touch a TBM Avenger. “This is awesome!”

Standing on the ramp, I look at the faces of the people around me. They look amazed, thrilled, proud. Everyone dreams of flying. Everyone leaps from the upward arc on a swing set and wishes they would just keep going. “If happy little bluebirds fly beyond the rainbow, why, oh why can’t I?” Superman. Ironman. Wonder Woman’s invisible jet.

This, I think, is the magic of an airshow. Right here, right at the end of my fingers, right over the runway in front of me, the dream is real.

W. Scott Olson is an aviation writer and private pilot living in Moorhead, Minnesota.