Stuck in South Carolina
“Your buddy just paid me a whole bunch of money for this airplane,” the seller growled. “If it ends up in a ditch because you decided not to get checked out by someone who knows how to fly it, that’s on you. Not me.”
The seller had a fair point. My friend had purchased this beautifully restored Fairchild PT–19, and even though he’s an experienced professional jet pilot, he didn’t yet have a tailwheel endorsement. I’ve got lots of tailwheel time, but I’d never even sat in a PT–19.
My friend had flown with the seller the previous day, however, and that was good enough for me. As long as my friend could start the PT–19’s Ranger engine and keep it running, I could muddle through the four takeoffs and landings required to get the World War II trainer from central Florida to its new home in Virginia. Passing up a checkout with the seller allowed us to avoid a murky situation where no one’s really sure who’s in charge. Is the seller pilot in command on a checkout flight because he’s the PT–19 expert? Am I calling the shots because I’m the CFI on my friend’s insurance policy?
I figured the seller would be glad to stay on the ground and wave goodbye as we flew away knowing that full payment for the airplane already resided in his bank account. I was willing to forgive his curtness because this had to be a difficult time for him. He had owned this airplane for decades, and spent years restoring it, and handing over the keys had to be excruciating. The airplane looked as good as it must have on the day it came off the Fairchild assembly line in Hagerstown, Maryland, in 1945.
Typical for summer in Florida, the morning air on delivery day was hot and humid, and I was anxious to get moving before the heat and moisture spawned thunderstorms. My friend and I needed to cover about 750 nautical miles before the sun went down and that would take about eight flying hours in the PT–19. Grinding around the traffic pattern on a checkout flight wouldn’t bring us any closer to home.
The seller’s angst when I declined the checkout bothered my friend, and I reconsidered and told them I’d very much appreciate a checkout flight. The seller and I donned canvas helmets, strapped into the open front and rear cockpits, and the Ranger spun the wood prop with gusto. The local flight went well, and it was mercifully short. We topped the fuel tanks, snapped some iPhone photos (the seller’s wife was beaming!), and started the long trek north while the air was still relatively smooth.
The first two-hour leg to St. Simons Island on the Georgia coast was delightful. The second leg along the beach was even better. Then things got complicated when we reached the self-serve fuel pump at Florence, South Carolina, and saw long streaks of black oil flowing back from the engine. Checking the dipstick, the Ranger’s oil level had fallen precipitously. We removed the cowl on the sweltering ramp to search for the source of the oil leak, and my friend called the seller and sent photos of the oily airplane.
This was a holiday Sunday afternoon and there was little activity at the airport. We found a maintenance hangar to store the airplane and considered our next move. The airplane wasn’t flyable. My friend and I also talked about the seller’s responsibility. Did he have any obligation to help out?
The sale had been consummated when we flew away, and “buyer beware” is the law of the land. This 79-year-old airplane clearly didn’t come with a warranty. We both concluded the seller wasn’t required to do anything. He had maintained the airplane to the highest standards. He wasn’t aware of any flaws at the time of the sale. Vintage machines are prone to break, often at inconvenient moments like this.
The buyer was on his own. That’s why we were bowled over when, a few hours later, the seller texted to let us know that he and his toolbox were in his truck driving to South Carolina. He’d be there the next morning to diagnose and possibly repair the oil leak.
My friend asked him not to come. A plan to return the airplane to flying status had already been hatched. We’d arranged for a ride home, and we’d return another day to finish the ferry trip. The seller owed him nothing.
But the seller wouldn’t hear of it. He was determined to make this situation right, and he’d do whatever it took to accomplish that. It was then that I realized that I’d vastly underestimated the seller and his crusty exterior.
Sure, he’d been gruff when we met that morning. But his real allegiance was to his beloved airplane. He wanted it to get off to a good start with its new owner, and he was willing to go to extreme lengths to make that happen.
My apologies for failing to see that.
AOPA Editor at Large Dave Hirschman encountered a loose-fitting oil cap on a recent ferry trip. Once a new gasket was in place and the cap was cinched down tightly, the oil stayed inside the engine.
