Proficient Pilot: Ode to an airport grill

It was a place where I watched little airplanes levitating magically into the sky and disappearing over the horizon. Where were they going? Before pedaling off the airport, I’d invariably stop at the Lindaire, the airport café, for a Coke and to watch pilots come and go. It was here that I began to develop the passionate desire to become one of them.

As years passed, the Lindaire became the Kitty Hawk and finally the Spitfire Grill. I obviously learned to fly, and the airport eatery is where I often hung out. It is where I studied Stick and Rudder, plotted courses on aeronautical charts, and did much of my homework. It was where I often received ground school from my instructors and where later I became the teacher. It is where I discovered that the CFI’s most useful teaching tool was the paper napkin. (I wish I’d saved the ones upon which I had drawn diagrams for my students; they’d make a fun book.)

When 15, I was a student pilot and worked after school as a line boy. My boss, Paul Bell, once asked me to hang somewhere—anywhere—a pair of posters given to him by the airport manager. Each contained a list of airport regulations that he mistakenly thought would be of interest to pilots. I hung them where they couldn’t be missed, at eye level when seated in the men’s and women’s restrooms.

The Spitfire Grill was the perfect place to wait for weather to improve, never knowing which of your friends might show up—or what friends you might make.The owner of the airport restaurant heard about this and asked if I would do the same in his restrooms. It was my first job as an “instructor,” and—if I say so myself—it was highly effective. It wasn’t long before everyone seemed to know the airport regs, whether they wanted to or not.

Our airport restaurant was used as much for socializing as for eating. It reminded me of the aero clubs that I had visited at so many of Europe’s general aviation airports. The tabletops consisted of glass-covered aeronautical charts. This inspired us to quiz each other about chart symbols. The walls were adorned with aviation memorabilia, pictures of airplanes, and black-and-white photos of the airport taken decades ago. (SMO was where four Douglas World Cruisers departed in 1924 for their flight around the world. It was the home of Douglas Aircraft for 50 years and where most DC–3s were made.)

The Spitfire Grill was the perfect place to wait for weather to improve, never knowing which of your friends might show up—or what friends you might make. This is where I met Hal Fishman, a local television news anchor who would become my flying buddy and closest friend for the next 43 years.

It was October 1964. I was having lunch at what was then the Kitty Hawk, killing time before having to report at LAX for a late-afternoon 707 flight to New York. Hal sat a few tables away, an aeronautical chart and other aviation paraphernalia spread before him. He seemed to be having trouble using his E6B “confuser.” I was in my airline uniform, so he apparently thought that I’d be able to help. He got up, walked over to my table, introduced himself, and asked, “Can you help me with this?”

So began a friendship chock full of wonderful flying adventures. Central to so many of them was the airport restaurant where we’d meet before flying or to sip something afterward.

I am writing this dedication to an airport eatery only days after the Spitfire Grill served the pilots of SMO for the last time. As part of its war of attrition against the airport and its users, the city had made it difficult for restaurateur John Clarizio to keep his doors open. Pilots I had not seen for decades crowded the “Spit” on March 1 to reminisce and celebrate our memories of what had been our favorite watering hole.

The Spitfire Grill is empty now, but the bare walls surely must remember when SMAA, our local pilots’ association, frequently met to develop warlike strategies that might help to keep open our embattled airport. But despite Herculean efforts and personal sacrifices, we lost. Our airport is scheduled to close on December 31, 2028, and its runway has already been shortened. Another place from which little airplanes take off and land will be forever gone.

The Spitfire Grill leaves behind only the cherished memories of those who called it their home away from home.

Web: barryschiff.com