Since I was just a teenager in what was then the Aircraft Capital of the World — Wichita, Kansas — I’ve never been able to look down when a plane is overhead.
When other guys were scheming about how to get a six-pack of beer, I was working at the Fulton House restaurant in Canton, Ohio to earn money to stare at a “six pack” of flight instruments. On my 15th birthday, before I was even able to drive, my Mom took me to Canton-Akron airport to solo in a Cessna 150. Before I could do my cross country flying, money ran out (actually it got diverted into a college fund) and the only flying I did for 12,288 days thereafter was in my dreams.
That all changed as two kids were out from under our roof, and like a lot of guys, I was cut loose by my wife to pursue a lifelong quest. And that’s what delivered to me to the doorstep of scratchbuilding my own airplane. But that’s a story for another time.
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