Curtains for SMO

General aviation airports represent a unique microcosm of society. They seem immune to the societal ailments found beyond their boundaries. Crime and discord rarely intrude upon the tranquility of airport life. These are among the few places where religion, nationality, race, gender, and economic status have little bearing on acceptance. The price of admission requires only a sincere love of aviation.

Airports obviously benefit commerce and make a community more accessible to the rest of the world, but they also are open spaces to be preserved and cherished, areas void of structural congestion and the accompanying crush of humanity. An airport is a place from which we can see and enter the sky, a sanctuary of camaraderie where pilots orchestrate music with whirling propellers.

Small airports also are educational and inspirational. In 1952, a tall, lanky, 14-year-old boy from a low-income family happened upon Santa Monica Airport (SMO). There he became enthralled by the dancing windsock; the aroma of avgas; the mysterious, infectious elixir of flight. Desperate to enter this fascinating world, he begged for and obtained an after-school job at the airport. Cleaning restrooms, sweeping out cavernous hangars, and scrubbing oil streaks from the bellies of airplanes were not quite what he had in mind, but he persevered.

The teenager ultimately found the friendship and acceptance at SMO that he had failed to find elsewhere, and his life became inexorably linked to the sky. He learned to fly there, earned his ratings, and instructed his way through college. He flew the big jets for TWA, now enjoys teaching others who share his passion for flight and has learned enough about writing to at least pen these words of gratitude.

Countless other GA airports have inspired youngsters to pursue aviation careers by giving them an opportunity to become intimate with the romance of aviation. Many of them ultimately join the rest of us who wash our wings in the wind. Without such motivation, their destinies—and perhaps the destiny of a nation—might be otherwise.

What is particularly sad about a threatened airport, however, is that many of those who have the most to lose are often the most apathetic about volunteering to help save their airport.

General Billy Mitchell, the untiring advocate for aviation between the world wars, once wrote, “If you would measure the heartbeat of a city, take the pulse of her airport.” If this is taken literally, then the city of Santa Monica is about to experience cardiac arrest. As a result of what is regarded as a political agreement between the Obama administration and the city of Santa Monica, SMO is slated for permanent closure on the last day of 2028.

The city had wanted to close its airport for decades and use the valuable land for more profitable and politically favorable purposes. It did not matter that their storied airport was steeped in romantic history and aeronautical lore. It cared not that this is one of America’s oldest airports and is where the Douglas World Cruisers began their global odyssey in 1924, or that this is where most of the piston-powered Douglas DC transports were built and launched, or that SMO was once the busiest single-runway airport in the world, or that it has been an important reliever for nearby Los Angeles International Airport (LAX).

In Shakespeare’s Henry V, King Henry V of England inspired his troops before the Battle of Agincourt. His soldiers were outnumbered by the French and were weary from battle. Rallying his forces, Henry said, “We few, we happy few, we band of brothers; for he to-day that sheds his blood with me shall be my brother.”

He just as well could have been attempting to inspire you and me, political soldiers who also at times face seemingly overwhelming odds against those who would take away our airports. And we aviators, we happy few, are bonded by a mutual love of flight and the precious freedom our airports provide.

Henry won the Battle of Agincourt, and if our airports are to survive, then you and I, we band of brothers and sisters, must rise to resist those who would challenge our right to fly. When an airport is threatened by the bulldozer, we must stand, be counted, and fight to preserve for aviation some of what it has given us despite the strength of the opposition. We owe it to ourselves and to those who follow.

www.BarrySchiff.com