The 47 Flying Club

1963 - Compton Airport, California

Two years before graduating from school, I would ride the bus from Hollywood to Compton to pump gas at the airport, clean hangars and help move planes around to the tie-downs and for payment I would receive flying lessons, and something very similar to the above photo was my very first ride and lesson number 1. One hour that forever changed my life.

My instructor guided me through my first walk around inspection of my fabulous machine and it was such an experience that I have no idea how or, what I did or, not do, but the fact is I was in a daze. I was enthralled by touching the taught fabric that covered the metal framing, the smell of a mixture of oil and gasoline that came from who knows where. All I remember was that urge to get inside and do the pilot shtick, but the preliminaries went on and on ad-infinitum or, so it appeared. Finally, Bob (He was the owner of the 47 Flying Club, along with his wife Faye) said with that voice of command, "Are you ready to go up now?". I remember nodding and mumbling something, I'm sure. Faye came over and slapped my back few times, declaring it was for good luck, and with the rituals done, I was seated in the front part of the cockpit, Bob sat in the back and immediately I felt the knock on my legs as the control stick took a life of its own and went berserk, only that it was Bob moving it (Red face!). One of the line-men came over and grabbed the propeller and yelled "Contact", Bob said over my shoulder to turn the ignition switch on, and to not touch anything, while yelling "Contact" back to the guy outside. Immediately I hated Bob! What the heck, I thought that I was going to fly...

With a flair, the line-man turned the prop and the engine came alive, and almost immediately my resentment for Bob dissipated into the cacophony of sounds from the little four cylinder Lycoming. This was simplicity in the most extensive meaning of the word. This plane had no radio, no head phones, no lights. Compton was an uncontrolled field at that time which meant to be on the alert at all time. Someone from one of the schools would be at the head of the field watching for traffic while holding this powerful flashlight with a green lens and one with a red lens, and he would point it to the aircraft at the head of the line and flash either green to go or red to stay put, but I'm getting ahead of my story - As we taxied to the runway, I was totally amazed at how this immense machine was going to leave the ground. As we rolled along, Bob made sure that I understood I was to follow his moves by just having my hand on the stick and my feet on the pedals without any pressure at all on either, to which I nodded and continued my experiences of someday being rid of Bob. Finally, we got to the head of the runway. Suddenly the power came up and I got all shook up as we were not on the runway, but at the head of it - Bob yelled - "Mag check", "Turn that switch to left and watch the RPM drop for left, and then for the right one, put it back at both, good job" He said, "Now pull that red knob back - That's the carb heat control". "All set, let's go for a spin..." and with those words, the little plane was placed in the middle of the runway and without too much fanfare it was moving gathering speed, I never noticed the guy with the green flashlight, the tail came up and before long we were off the ground and I was totally gaga about being aloft. On that first flight I felt every move that Bob was making, the turns, the small kick to the pedals. After a while, Bob touched my shoulder and said the most magic words "Take over, gently move the stick left and then right, see what it's like, now pull up gently and push down gently and level off". I could feel the banking sensation, the pulling of my stomach and the lightness of the body, "Now, push the stick left and give it a little left rudder with a little back pressure". "You see, that's your first actual turn at the controls", and the Bob became a genius. After few more minutes, my first hour in the air was coming to a close. Bob guided me back to Compton Airport and the downwind leg of the landing pattern where he took over the airplane once again so that I could follow his movements for the landing. That single hour became the catalyst for many years of what has been a wonderful experience behind the controls of many different aircraft. From military to commercial to executive machines, it all started with this simple and delightful collection of metal, fabric and simple mechanical parts. I never forget that once I was more familiar and no longer scared of the feelings one experiences in sudden and more radical moves and maneuvers, there came that time of total enjoyment while viewing the terrain below, and some things became funny stories - Like, following the path of a freeway two thousand feet below only to notice that the road traffic was moving faster than my airplane. As time progressed, this little machine gave way to a much nicer piece of equipment, I had logged about twenty hours and felt my solo was fast approaching. The new Citabria had a radio and a starter, so it was more of a formal airplane, faster, quieter, full instruments and a much more solid feel, plus more stuff to do and to remember. I was totally confident in my training until my instructor, Jerry Huntley, said, after I landed from a series of touch and goes - "Pull over and let me out" and I knew this was the other moment of dread that for many students of flight. That moment of truth - to finally be completely on your own for the very first time at the control of everything that will take place in the next few moments - The first Solo Flight. The instructions were simple, "Go up and complete a full pattern to a full stop landing and come pick me up". I locked the door and looked around for Mama, and nothing doing, I was off to the head of the runway and called the Intercom for take-off information. Faye's voice came into my headset and said, "Have fun, kiddo! The runway is clear...". With that showy flair of independence, I clicked the mic two times indicating understanding and took to the runway, and moments later I was up in the air. I saw my instructor waving off to the side and it took a lot of restraint to not rock the wings in acknowledgement, but I think he knew that the peacock behind the stick was his student and that was a great deal of pride for him.

After that moment, we flew together few times. It was all about building time for that magic number of fifty hours in order to obtain the private license. Cross country flights were something to think about. Jerry would give me route and time such as - Compton, to El Monte Airport, get the log book signed and come back it should take little over an hour. Subsequent flights would be more complicated with multiple stops, some as much as one hundred plus miles away, and so it went. The rest it can be said has been historic, at least for me, but there is a moral about this story as well - My Mom was not particularly crazy about the idea of me learning to fly. As a matter of fact she didn't know about it until my Dad bragged to a friend, and she heard. She made sure that I knew of her disappointment for me, but the fact is that I needed to follow my dream to the fullest. Parents should not be allowed to live their children's lives or dreams. I see sometimes parents wanting to be so close to their children's lives that it appears the kids are chocking, but say nothing, and I find that to be a sad turn of events. Young people need to be aware of their parental trust, and to learn good from bad, right from wrong. Parents too need to trust their young members to feel free to reach for whatever is their Brass Ring. Children should not be pushed in the directions the parents took. The parent's choices may not be the same, so don't assume and crowd their thinking.

I have spent the best part of my life behind the controls of very sophisticated machines. I have enjoyed moving beyond the speed of sound, being aloft where the darkness of outer space and the curvature of the earth become visible, landed in grass fields and wide runways near and far. Met lots of great people in the flying business and not at all related. All of this simply because I've have a full life doing what I was meant to do, what I dreamed of as a child and what I allowed to become reality. In my later years, if I could, I would own one of these little put-puts just to fly low and slow in any direction just for the heck of it. Slide the window open and feel that fresh cool air - Yeah, that would be heaven!