Bob Hoover's legacy
The magic of flight shapes destinies
When AOPA called to tell me that I had been chosen to receive the R.A. “Bob” Hoover Trophy, I was speechless. Literally speechless. I felt deeply honored and equally humbled—because I recognize there are many others who are as deserving.
The presentation was made on March 17 at the National Air and Space Museum. This was in the shadow of the Spirit of St. Louis—the real one, not a replica—which made the moment even more special.
As I rose to give a few brief remarks, I was reminded of Wilbur Wright. In 1908, while demonstrating the Wright airplane in France, a dinner was held in his honor. When called upon to speak, he stood and said, “I know of only one bird—the parrot—that can talk, but it doesn’t fly very well.” And with that, he sat down. As I rose to speak, I was overwhelmed with emotion and wished I could have done the same.
My thoughts then drifted to when I was a 13-year-old kid riding my bike around Santa Monica Airport (SMO). It was my first visit to a general aviation airport, and I was enthralled by the dancing windsock, the aroma of avgas, the musical tones of whirling propellers, and the sight of small airplanes disappearing over the horizon. In that moment, I knew I had to fly. It became the most powerful aspiration of my life.
It was a different era then. Pilots could take off and head in any direction without restriction or concern. We looked forward to the unveiling of new airplanes each year. People went to commercial airports just to watch a Lockheed Constellation come alive—smoke belching, engines rumbling. Airline passengers dressed for the occasion. Flying was an adventure, not a bus ride.
And yet—when you think about it—the act of flying itself remains just as wondrous and exhilarating as ever. It’s still a beautiful, aesthetic, almost poetic experience. What has changed are the forces that increasingly limit our access to the sky. For example, we lose far more airports each year than we gain. And one cannot help but wonder what has become of that spirit of flight—the spirit that once inspired a wide-eyed kid to wash and wax airplanes just for the chance to wash his wings in the wind?
Some years ago, I was asked by the Flight Test Historical Foundation to present Bob Hoover with that organization’s lifetime-achievement award. You cannot imagine what that meant to me. There stood one of my lifelong heroes—the man Jimmy Doolittle called the finest stick-and-rudder pilot who had ever lived.
You undoubtedly have seen the famous video of Bob Hoover pouring tea—backhandedly—from a pitcher into a glass sitting on the glare shield of his Aero Commander while performing an aileron roll. He performs the maneuver so smoothly, so precisely. He makes it look effortless, so effortless, in fact, that I once took one of my students on a flight to demonstrate just how easy it was. That was my first mistake. The second was not bringing along something to wipe up the mess.
To receive an award bearing Bob Hoover’s name is a profound and emotional honor. Bob Hoover was not just a legendary aviator; he represented the epitome of skill, discipline, humility, and grace. He understood that true airmanship was more than flying well. It is also about judgment, discipline, and respect—respect for the aircraft, respect for the environment, and respect for everyone with whom we share the sky.
Bob Hoover understood that true airmanship was more than flying well.
During my 74 years in aviation—I became a student pilot at 14—I have been extraordinarily fortunate to have learned from mentors who believed and taught that aviation is a lifelong pursuit of excellence. Any recognition I receive, therefore, is a direct reflection of those who nurtured, challenged, and trusted me.
I am deeply grateful to them, to AOPA, and to the other organizations and individuals who work tirelessly to keep aviation safe, vibrant, and inspiring. Because of their efforts, future generations will discover the same sense of wonder that lured so many of us into the sky.
I accepted this award with deep gratitude as well as with a renewed sense of responsibility to live up to the values that Bob Hoover so clearly embodied—professionalism, generosity, and a profound respect for the art and science of flight.
If a 13-year-old kid riding a bike around an airport can one day find himself being the recipient of such an honor—and seriously wondering how it all happened—then the magic of flight still has the power to lift lives, shape destinies, and carry our dreams beyond the horizon. 
www.BarrySchiff.com
