Howard and me
Starring in my own imagination
This docudrama was based on the story of the Air Florida tragedy involving a Boeing 737 that crashed into the 14th Street Bridge and plunged into the icy Potomac River two minutes after lifting off from Washington National Airport, now Ronald Reagan Washington National Airport (DCA), on January 13, 1982.
During the numerous days spent on the set, I got to know various members of the production team as well as visitors attracted to the set by the subject of the film. One was a pilot who also was a makeup artist for the studio. I asked him at one point why he seemed to be studying my face. “I was just thinking,” he replied, “how easy it would be to make you look like Howard Hughes.” This was when I was younger, of course, and my face was much thinner. I was amused by his observation, and we eventually traded business cards, neither of us having reason to believe we would ever meet again.
Flash forward a few years to when I was asked to be the keynote speaker at an annual dinner meeting of pilots. The gentleman extending the invitation, Perry Winston, wanted to know if I could provide something different in the way of entertainment.
Just then, a devilish thought came to mind. “Look, Perry,” I said, “I might not be available that evening, but what if I could arrange for Howard Hughes to say a few words in my place?”
Perry reacted with predictable disbelief. “Really,” I said. “What if I could make that happen?” All the while I kept wondering if I’d be able to reconnect with that makeup artist who said he could make me look like Howard Hughes.
I was emboldened to attempt this charade by something even more audacious that my close friend, Martha Lunken, had accomplished. A veteran columnist for Flying magazine, an FAA inspector, and a DC–3 driver extraordinaire, Martha had grown annoyed over the years at being unable to attend meetings of the Quiet Birdmen, a secretive club founded in 1921 by World War I pilots who limited membership and attendance to male aviators. She had long been fascinated by the idea of “crashing the party” and was encouraged by her friend, Bob Strunk, a retired USAir captain, to do just that.
Step one was for Martha to visit a serious costume store in Cincinnati for a mustache, glasses, men’s shoes, hair tint, and face coloring to darken her skin. She then went to a Goodwill store for trousers, a shirt, and a sport jacket. Before dressing, however, she was wrapped with a sheet to give her some bulk. The result was Martha’s alter ego, Hugh Benz, a freight dog for Zantop, a nonsked airline. Her infiltration of a QB meeting was successful; no one had suspected that there had been a woman in their midst.
After spending a few hours in a makeup chair, I discovered that I really had begun to resemble Howard Hughes. (See the photo.) But I couldn’t just saunter into the dining room where I was to speak. I had to develop the deception. This included hiring a few uniformed, off-duty police officers to serve as bodyguards. Except for Perry Winston, no one in the audience knew who their guest speaker was to be. The police officers were first to walk onto the dais, and a quiet hush rapidly overcame the room. Not so much as single clink of silverware could be heard. I was next to step onto the dais, wearing the familiar posture of the airline magnate. Someone whispered, “It’s Howard Hughes.” Unfortunately, I couldn’t contain myself for very long and cracked up, as did the police officers. After composing myself, I delivered a speech as if I really were Howard Hughes.
As a pilot for TWA, I worked for Hughes during the mid- to late-1960s. Unfortunately, I never met the man, but always wondered what he would have thought of my impersonation.
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