Chapter 1: Holes in the Silkspan
My earliest memories of model airplanes go back to when I was 6 years old. I can remember warm Saturday afternoons when my Dad would drive me and my younger brother Bob, he was 2 at the time, out to the local Control Line flying site. It was actually part of the Philadelphia Water Works, and it was located next to the Philadelphia Police Academy. So the site was commonly called “The Police Academy.”
My Dad had a friend that was there every weekend. I never did know how they came to meet. I think his last name was McDonald and he seemed to be an expert with engines, building, and flying. Sometimes Dad would hold the plane, while Mr. McDonald was starting the engine. Most observers did not venture down on the field. They would sit up on a berm where the cars parked and watch from there. I felt really privileged to be able to get right down where the action took place. But that came with a price. When my father was occupied, I had to keep track of my brother and make sure he didn’t walk over lines or fall on someone’s plane.
I can still vividly remember the noise from the engines, the smell of the fuel, the smoke trailing behind the plane, and the total amazement that these wonderful machines could actually fly. It was a spectacular site to behold and to me, at that time, seemed complex and unattainable for a little kid.
Most of the discussions were beyond my understanding. I don’t know how my father came to be interested in model aviation. I know, that as a kid growing up, he built Free Flight rubber-powered planes. There were also guys flying Control Line gas-powered planes somewhere nearby, as he would frequently go there and watch them fly. I do recall the story he told me recounting how he got his first Control Line model. He was a young teenager; and I think he had just got a job - delivering flowers. Payday arrived and he got his first check. On his way home after work, he went to a hobby shop and spent his whole check, and some money he had saved on an Ohlsson & Rice engine, and a Control Line kit called the “Super Clown.” Just 2 years ago, approximately x years later, I built the same plane and powered it with an electric motor.
Anyway, back to the story. He couldn’t wait to get home and get started with building the kit and running the engine. He went directly down to the basement, opened the box, and looked at all the wood and bits and pieces that came with the kit. He laid the plans out on a table and was getting familiar with all the steps required to build his dream plane, when his mother called down to ask him what he was doing. “I’m building a model airplane,” he replied. For some reason, that got her attention and she came down to see for herself. “Just where did you get the money to pay for all this stuff?” she said. He explained that he just got his first pay, plus he had been saving for a long time. She told him to pack it all up and return it for a refund. Dismayed and disappointed, he reluctantly began placing everything back in the box. I guess his sadness got to her and she relented as he was about to walk out the door headed for the hobby shop. She told him he could keep it, but for now on he would have to bring home his entire pay, and she would give him a portion as an allowance.
It's hard for me to imagine my grandmother taking such a hard line. As a kid, I spent many days, often a week at a time, staying at my grandparents' house. My grandmother spent hours with me playing games, taking me on day trips, and so much more. Seems as if she always found a way to give me whatever I wanted. I can remember she would convince my parents to let me stay up long after my brothers had to go to bed on Christmas Eve. Then I would get to play with the model trains on the platform all by myself. I guess times were different back in the '40s.
Chapter 2: The Full Tank
Most people remember their first time flying a Control Line model. I have no clear memory of that first flight. It was with a Cox plastic model, as we had so many of those. But I would venture to say there were more crashes than successful flights with those. However, I do remember my first Control Line balsa model flight. But before that occurred, I went through a stage where I built several rubber-powered Comet kits.
When I was 10 years old, I built my first balsa model. It was a Comet, Ryan SC. I don’t recall how I got it or even why that one was selected. It certainly wasn’t an ideal candidate for a successful flyer. I spent many days working on it and when I got stuck and wasn’t sure what to do next, I’d have to wait for Dad. I covered it with Jap tissue (I don’t care if that’s not politically correct today, it was called Jap tissue back then).
The instructions said to wet it in order to shrink the tissue, and then remove the ten million wrinkles I had managed to create. Ok, how else do you wet it; hold it under the faucet and give it a good soaking, right? Well, that’s exactly what I did, and it warped to hell and back. Dad came to the rescue, and we managed to steam out most of the twists. I gave it a few coats of clear dope and about 5,000 coats of various colors of dope to make it look like the picture on the box. Dad was working and I just couldn’t wait for the weekend. I walked about a half mile to get to a field with some tall grass.
It took forever to wind it up (years later Dad built a mechanical winder). Facing the wind, I let go of the prop and gave it a toss. It went out about 5 feet, rolled over to the left, and crashed. The left wing broke at the fuselage joint. I took it home and repaired the damage, but I never did get it to fly.
Dad suggested we try a model designed with more stability. One specifically built for flying rather than a scale model. So over time, we built the Phantom Fury and the Sparky. I learned about trimming the thrust angle of the prop block, the importance of balance, and in general how to trim the model. It took a considerable amount of time to build these stick and tissue marvels, but what a thrill it was to watch them climb and fly overhead with the sunlight shining through the semitransparent tissue-covered wings. Rubber-powered models were great, but a glow-powered model had to be even better.
It was time to build a glow-powered Control Line model. My mother gave me 50 cents a week to buy milk at school. I figured that money would be better spent on model airplanes and fishing tackle. So that money went into my secret stash, along with what I earned collecting soda bottles, carting them to the grocery store, and exchanging them for the deposit. I also mowed lawns for some extra income. With my earnings stuffed into my pocket, Dad and I headed for the hobby shop.
The hobby shop was one of my favorite places to go, and there were several in the area. This time we went to the Allied Hobbies, located in Philadelphia on Rising Sun Ave. Unlike the hobby shops today, if you can find one, this one was poorly lighted, and had a somewhat dingy atmosphere, with an old hardwood floor that squeaked in some places as you walked on it. But for me it was a magical place. There were Lionel, American Flyer, and HO trains along with everything you would need to create a spectacular model railroad layout. And there were what seemed to me to be hundreds of model airplane kits. The kits seemed to be stacked all the way to the ceiling on dusty shelves. So many manufactures like Scientific, Comet, Guillows, Cleveland, Goldberg, and Megows all roughly organized by type, like Control Line, Free Flight, and even Radio Controlled. The place was a paradise. Today, we were here for the Sterling Beginner Ringmaster. I found it in short order on a lower shelf, blew of the dust, and ogled the red and white box. I had looked at that picture (in black and white) dozens of times in American Modeler magazine but to see it in color made it even more appealing.
It didn’t take long to build. The construction was mainly all solid pieces of wood, much quicker to build than cutting and gluing all those sticks in those Free Flight jobs. After a few days and several coats of dope, it was ready. Dad and I loaded the car, and we set out for the Police Academy aka the flying field.
This was it man! We were going to fly with the big guns now. Fortunately, it was a summer weekday morning, and we were the only ones there. We hauled all of the stuff down to the flying circle, ran out the lines, checked to make sure the handle was adjusted properly, and fueled up the .049 Cox Baby Bee engine. After some fooling around with the engine, we got it running, and I ran out to the handle as fast as I could. Dad was still messing around adjusting the needle, but I was ready to go. When he had it set, he looked out to me, and I shook my head and yelled let it go. And so he did. It went 2 feet, nosed over digging the prop into the grass, and stopped. “Did you give it up elevator?” asked my Dad. I told him I was holding full up. He said the grass is too tall for these little wheels, so we are going to have to do a hand launch. Sure, that should be no problem; that was normal operation for all those Free Flight models we flew.
We cleaned it up, refueled, fired up the engine, and back out to the handle I ran. Dad ran a few steps and launched it. I felt a slight tug on the line at first and then it climbed straight up. I tried giving it down elevator but there was no line tension. It was coming in on me, so I started backing up. It was pretty high up when the nose pitched down; still there was no line tension. I held full up elevator and started running away from it as fast as my legs would carry me. I wasn’t even looking at it any more, just holding up elevator with my arm out and running my ass off. All of a sudden, I felt it tug on the line, I turned around and saw that it pulled out about a foot off the ground and started up again. This time it really came in on me, it passed over head and the lines were so limp that even superman couldn’t run fast enough to take out the slack. There was a sickening thud, followed by sudden silence. With the sound of the engine still ringing in my ears both of us ran over to the plane which at this point hadn’t really even gone a full lap. Miraculously, the damage was light. The landing gear was bent as was the nylon prop, the engine was loaded with dirt, and the rudder had broken off completely.
As we were cleaning up, some guy walked over to us. Apparently, he had pulled in sometime during our wild flying sessions. He said he was just driving by when he saw us, so he stopped to watch. He asked if he could take a look at the plane. Then he said you might want to add some offset to the motor, and you definitely need to add some weight on the outboard wing tip. I don’t know who that guy was, and I don’t recall ever seeing him again. But his advice was spot on. When we got home, we cleaned up the motor, added some right thrust, put the rudder back on, and glued part of a fishing sinker to the outboard wing tip. The next day we returned to the flying field.
It was almost a repeat of the day before in the sense that we had the field entirely to ourselves, but the outcome was vastly different. This time I had good line tension and was able to control the plane; if you can call what I was do controlling. I was actually way over controlling it – up and down, and up and down it went. Lap 1 down and still going. Lap 2 went by and instead of getting better, the oscillations got worse. On lap 3 I let it get a little too low and it bottomed out. But we were delighted. I actually flew just over 3 laps.
We went again and again and again. One time I made it to seven laps. Thinking back maybe it was a little tail heavy or the handle was too sensitive. But we didn’t know about moving the lines in on the handle back then. It was what it was, and you simply learned to fly it the way it was. My flying started to smooth out over time. And then it happened. I went past lap 7. I heard my Dad yell something but couldn’t make it out. He later said that he was telling me I passed lap 8. I lost track of laps and just kept going. Finally, the engine sputtered and quit. It glided like a brick and flipped over when it hit grass breaking off the rudder again. A complete flight! I flew THE FULL TANK! No one was there to see it, just me and my Dad, but that’s all that mattered. On the way home, we stopped for lunch to celebrate and spent the whole time reliving those flights and what we would do next.
Chapter 3: Role Reversal
The Beginner’s Ringmaster got a real workout that summer. The firewall broke off several times, and the rudder was glued back on countless times. We finally got rid of the landing gear altogether, as it was causing most of the problems during the landing. We went on to build several more solid balsa wing 1/2A planes that year. One in particular I remember was fashioned after a jet. It had a swept back wing with the leadouts passing through a boom extending out from the tip of the inboard wing. It was painted sky blue with black trim. I think it was a Scientific kit, but I have not been able to find it and I’ll never remember the name. The reason I remember it so well was I completed it on Christmas Eve. My grandparents (my father’s parents) always came over on Christmas Eve and spent several days with us. I remember showing it to them and my grandmother commented on how nice it looked. I wonder now, if, at that time, she remembered my Dad’s Super Clown. Of course, it was years later when I heard that story and they have long since passed away.
Anyway, Christmas day came, and it was bitter cold, but I convinced my Dad and my Grandfather to take me flying. There was a vacant lot not too far away that had been cleared for building some apartments. The dirt was hard packed and frozen, which was perfect because this model had a tricycle gear. It was really had to get it started, and I flew only once but it went very well.
Taking off from the ground looked so much better than those hand launches. Frozen to the bone, we drove back home and warmed up with some hot chocolate. My Mother told us we were crazy, but we knew better.
The other thing that happened that summer was that my Dad finally learned how to fly. Now, this was a real role reversal. Here I am at 11 years old - the expert, know-it-all flyer giving him flying advice. He went through the same learning curve – over controlling and getting dizzy until one day it all just came together. This was just the beginning for us. From here, we would continue to fly together for the next 50 years.
But for now, it was time for some aerobatics and these flat wing balsa wings just didn’t cut it. Oh sure, if everything was just right, we could occasionally get them to loop but a better plane was required. Next came the Baby Ringmaster with a built up wing. It would loop all day. The first loops were not very successful until we finally learned that you just don’t pull full up and expect the plane to loop and then survive. You had to fly the loop. That meant applying the amount of up required to allow the plane to fly through the loop without stalling. You vary the amount of elevator applied as needed as you watch it track through the maneuver.
Occasionally, some of my friends would come along with us to see what this control flying stuff was all about. And before long, they were hooked on it as well.
Chapter 4: The Fish Know and Poaching Plywood
Our house soon became a center of activity for the neighborhood kids wanting to build and fly model airplanes. My father always showed an interest and took an active role in whatever we were doing. That extended to our friends as well. It didn’t matter what it was: souping up slot cars, repairing bicycles, fishing, building downhill soapbox derby racers, building electronic gadgets like metal detectors, radios ... no matter what it was, Dad got involved. One day, my friend Grant came over to the house. When I answered the door, I expected he was coming to get me to play stick ball or race slot cars. “I didn’t come for you,” he said. He asked if my Dad was home because he had some questions on how to proceed with the plane he was building.
I can’t remember any of my friends' father’s taking any interest in anything we did, but you could always count on my Dad. My friend Bobby and I used to go fishing a lot and we were into reading magazines like Boys Life and Outdoor Life. We read all these articles about big game fishing for Pike, Bass, Walleyes, and so on. All we ever caught were carp, suckers, and perch. Then were learned that a local creek was going to be stocked with trout. Opening day was in April. We read every article we could find on how to fish for trout. Then we spent hours making flies. All the pros in Outdoor Life used flies to catch these trophy fish, so that had to be the secret formula. Opening day arrived and it was my Dad who volunteered to take us. The season started at 5 am and we wanted to get there and pick a spot around 4 am. Dad worked the night shift and didn’t get home until one in the morning but he was more than willing to get us there by 4 am. Once we got there, he stayed in the car to catch some sleep while Bobby and I went down to the creek and found our spot.
We hooked up those flies and fished for several hours and didn’t even get a bite. Dad must have seen how disappointed we were when we got back to the car. He asked what we used for bait and we showed him all the terrific flies we had tied. He looked at me and with a dead serious face and said, “You can’t catch trout with flies this time of the year. Flies haven’t hatched yet, and the fish know that. Try worms.”
He took us back down to the creek and we dug up some worms. Bobby went on to catch 2 trout. I came up empty that day but caught my fair share of trout over the years on worms. I don’t know if the fish really know or not, but the worms worked.
My buddies and I built up a nice collection of models. We had Control Line and Free Flight and also rockets. On the weekends, my Dad would take us all to the flying field. During the week, we hauled all of our stuff to this open field which was about a mile away. The grass was rather high, so we had to hand launch our Control Line models.
Some new homes were being built in the area and there was a lot of wood lying about in what looked like a junk pile. We were on our way home with our planes and toolboxes when we saw this piece of plywood and decided we could use that as a runway. It was too big to carry with all our other stuff, so we decided to drag it over to some nearby woods, hide it, and pick it up later.
While we were dragging the plywood, a guy drove up in a truck and yelled at us. “What are you kids doing in here and where do you think you’re going with that wood?” He seemed really mean, and I felt like we were going to be in big time trouble for lifting the wood. We showed him our planes, and he asked a bunch of questions after which he said "Come with me."
We followed him around the back of one of the rows of houses that were being framed. And there we saw stacks of new plywood. He pulled one off and told us to carry it back over to his truck and put it in the back. Then he told us to load up all of our planes and jump in. He drove us back to my house and we put the plywood in the garage. The guy said he was going to stop over some day and watch us fly off the makeshift runway. Turned out he was the superintendent of the construction outfit, and he did come over from time to time to watch. We painted that plywood with grey paint. My Dad cut it in half, and we kept it hidden in the woods out by the field. The Baby Ringmaster no longer needed a hand launch.
Chapter 5: The Real McCoy
The small Cox Baby Bee and Black Widow engines were great but extended inverted flight was a problem. It was time to move on. We did have some limited success with drilling a hole in the integrated fuel tank and running an external tank with the feed line tubing passing through that hole and into the fitting behind the reed valve. But there were bigger models out there to be experienced.
By this time, I had a new more dependable source of income. I delivered papers for the Philadelphia Evening Bulletin which has long since closed its doors. There was a department store called Korvette’s located on the Roosevelt Blvd in Northeast Philadelphia. On the lower level of that store just to the right of the down escalator was area that sold hobby supplies. In that area there was a glass counter, and under that counter was a brand-new McCoy .19 Red Head engine that came into my possession thanks to that paper route.
Following the natural progression of the Ringmaster family, the new engine found a home on a Ringmaster Jr. Wow! That seemed like a really big airplane to me at that time. This one was painted yellow and red and would fly on steel lines – no more strings. The lines, and a brand new “E-Z Just” handle, were purchased at Allied Hobbies (the one with the old squeaky hardwood floors).
With a new plane and new equipment, Dad and I set out for the flying field. I was a little nervous and didn’t know what to expect but nothing takes the edge off being nervous like not being able to get the engine started. Man was that thing hard to start. I flipped until I got tired, then Dad took over, then me again. All of the equipment was new except for the battery. Back then we used 1.5-volt lantern batteries. At this point, we had 2 old ones wired in parallel and the glow plug would barely sizzle. We found another one somewhere in the car and fumbled around with different combinations until we finally got that thing to run.
I vividly remember 2 things about that flight and nothing else. One, it pulled on those lines like a bear. But nothing like my Dad’s .61 powered Bearcat that I would fly years later. But at this point, my only frame of reference was the line tension felt on those Cox .049 engines. The second thing I remember was how well it glided after the engine quit. It seemed to go on forever; nothing like those small trainers we flew.
Over time, we eventually added more of the Ringmaster line to our collection. I had a Ringmaster, and Dad built a Super Ringmaster. From this point on we built more planes than I can count. It was like an assembly line. We also joined a club that led to connections with other flyers, and adventures. But those stories are yet to come.
Chapter 6: First Control Line Stunt Contest
Between 1964 and 1970, our model airplane activities became really diversified. We flew Control Line stunt, slow combat, 1/2a mouse racers, balloon bust, Free Flight ½ A, A, B, and C gas, A1 and A2 towline gliders, hand launch gliders, catapult gliders, wakefied rubber, P-30 rubber, rubber scale, and glow-powered scale Free Flight. We also tried indoor Free Flight.
We built microfilm-covered planes, mica paper-covered planes, indoor gliders, and rubber scale models. We also flew RC models, some were single channel using an escapement to move the rudder, after which we moved on to the Galloping Ghost system, and then a reed system.
Part of what drove this explosion of interest was the fact that we joined a club called the Philadelphia Sky Pirates. They were primarily a Free Flight club. They were also part of the Delaware Valley Federation of Model Airplanes. I’m not sure if that was the correct name, but the Federation encompassed many local clubs specializing in all areas of model aviation. We also became members of the Academy of Model Aeronautics. I now had an official license to fly. It’s been more than 60 years now and I still have that license with the same number.
We really had to step up our building practices to meet the demands for preparing for all of these activities. This was long before CA glue, although I remember having 5 minute epoxy at the 69 Nationals. I remember that because I was flying a 1/2A Starduster and after it dt’ed, it dropped down and hit this huge rock, probably the only rock on the base. When it hit the firewall broke off and we used 5 minute epoxy to glue it back on. Most of the time we had several projects going on simultaneously. Dad worked nights so I didn’t see him until the weekends. But I would build in the evenings, and he would pick up where I left off when he got home. We would leave notes to one another to keep it all straight. This technique worked for my math homework as well. I would leave my algebra homework for review, and he would leave me feedback that I could read through before I left for school in the morning. He didn‘t get home until 1am but on Friday nights I would stay up and wait for him. He would often come home with cheese steaks, or hoagies, and we would catch up while eating, and then do some building or watch the Late Late Show together on TV.
One of the local Federation Control Line clubs announced an upcoming stunt contest. At this point, my Control Line stunt flying was mainly sport flying. I could do wingovers, inside and outside loops, lazy eights, and inverted flight. I didn’t know the official pattern, nor the sequence or even the proper way to fly the stunts. I thought my lazy eights were good enough to be called an eight - just had to do two of them in a row. I figured what the heck, I should be able to fly these stunts; all I need is a good plane. After all, how hard can a square, or a square eight, be to perform? They are nothing more than loops and eights with sharper corners. And so, with that cavalier attitude, it was decided to build a plane and enter the event.
The most popular and winning stunt plane available as a kit at that time appeared to be the “Nobler” with a Fox .35 engine. But there wasn’t enough time to build a nobler. The “Magician” looked to me to be a poor man's profile version of the “Nobler.” So we bought the “Magician” kit and went into our multi-shift building routine. The deadline was fast approaching, and we still had plenty of work to complete. This last minute, right up to the wire methodology became typical for us. I can remember still working on planes while Dad was driving to contests. We had a station wagon then, and I would be in the back bolting on engines, installing fuel tanks, or whatever was needed.
This event was held at our usual Control Line flying site, “The Police Academy”. With the dope barely dry on the “Magician” we arrived on the designated day. We got in a flight or two to make sure the engine ran properly, and the handle was adjusted correctly. That was about the extent of our knowledge for trimming a Control Line stunt ship.
Mark was a few years younger than I. He and his father were also members of the Sky Pirates. Mark was an exceptional flyer. I had watched him fly his “Nobler” before, and marveled at how well he flew. His father, Tom, was an outstanding modeler. His specialty was FAI Free Flight. Tom also had a business manufacturing and selling props, prop brakes, and I think maybe timers for Free Flight models. They did well no matter what events they entered. By now Mark had many Control Line stunt first-place awards under his belt.
Mark was out there on this day with his “Nobler.” I watched him put in a practice flight, and I knew at that point beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was going to be the one to beat. My optimism far exceeded my practical reasoning. I had never attempted to fly the pattern, and I didn’t know the sequence, but I figured if Dad could tell me what stunt to fly next, I would just do it. Mark made it look easy. Kind of like watching Fred Couples play golf, his swing looks effortless, so smooth and well timed. Looks easy, like you can do it the next time you’re on the course. If that were really true than everyone would be a pro golfer. The same holds for flying precision aerobatics.
My turn to fly was announced. I signaled for the plane to be released, and then took off and flew two level laps after which I pulled up high, and my father ran out to the center of the circle with a copy the rule book which listed the stunts to be flown. He sat down alongside of me and called for a reverse wing over. And so it went. After the outside loops I said, “Pop, what’s next?” “Inside squares,” he said. With those out of the way, he called for outside squares. He said to climb high, and then dive straight down to enter them. Wow! Now that I had to actually do that, it didn’t seem so easy. I pulled up high, leveled off, and snapped full down and back to neutral, and then repeated that a little too quickly causing the bottom of the square to be pretty high. I figured on the next one I would correct that and hold off a little longer. Well, I held off a little too long. This time the bottom of the loop was at ground level. I ended up plowing it into the ground. I stood there for a few seconds and then said, “What’s next Pop?” He replied, “Go pick up the pieces.”
It would be 53 years before I attempted to fly that pattern again. Although we continued to fly Control Line for a few more years, we eventually got caught up exclusively in RC. In 2015, one of the members of the club came out with a Control Line plane and asked if anyone knew how to fly one. I said I flew as a kid, I think I can still do it. I got dizzy but still managed to fly it, and I got hooked again. By the end of 2017, with a lot of help from a well know excellent builder and Control Line flyer by the name of Ski, I flew the pattern successfully for the 1st time. Too bad Dad wasn’t around to see it – but maybe he did. I would like to think so.
Chapter 7: The Chief of Police
One day, my Dad came home with a single channel radio receiver and transmitter. Apparently, he worked with some people that were flying radio-controlled planes, and he purchased this system from one of them. We needed something called an escapement, some rather large batteries, and an airplane to hold all of this stuff. The radio receiver actually had little vacuum tubes. We purchased the escapement and built an RC plane called the Mambo.
The escapement made remote control of the rudder possible. A rubber band running the length of the fuselage was connected to the escapement and provided a twisting force. The escapement had latches on it preventing rubber band from turning the center section of the escapement. The transmitter had a single button. When pressed once a solenoid was energized on the escapement, and released the latch allowing the center section to rotate 90 degrees. This motion was mechanically transferred to a torque rod which was connected between the rudder and the escapement. So one press of the button gave full right rudder, when the button was released it went back to neutral. The second press gave full left rudder. If full rudder was held for too long the plane would go into a spin. So to make a turn a series of button presses had to be made. So a right turn went like this. Press the button and hold it down just long enough to start the turn. When you see the nose start to drop let go of the button. The dihedral in the wing will cause the plane to start to level out. When you see that happen you press the button one more time very quickly and let it up. You don’t hold it because this is full left rudder.
Then you rapidly hit the button again and hold it. You continue to repeat this process until the plane takes on the heading you want to be on. Sounds simple but in reality it takes some practice.
Anyway, we spent more time turning the coils on the radio to optimize the range than we did actually attempting to fly it. It was really heavy and it never flew more than a few feet before crashing.
Then Dad came home with a transistorized system. We did much better with it. We went through a lot of planes. Some built from plans others were kits. Our best flights were with the “Miss World’s Fair” and the “Astro Might.” Most of the time I was the pilot and most of the time I would actually get to alter the planes course a few times and then lose control because it was out of range. In retrospect, I think a lot of that was me simply getting confused and losing track of how many times I had pushed the button. Dad didn’t do any better.
We continued to fly Control Line and Free Flight but actually being able to fly a model anywhere you wanted was really alluring. Then one day Dad came home with a Galloping Ghost system. With this system you could control rudder, elevator and throttle.
It was really strange in that the elevator constantly pulsed up and down, and the rudder pulsed left and right. When it flew it kind of waggled through the air. If you input say up elevator on the transmitter the center position of the pulsing would move up. So that the average elevator position was up. All the surfaces worked like this. The really cool part was it was proportional control. No more button pressing like the escapements.
For this system we built a Cessna (Scientific kit). I don’t recall what engine was used but with high hopes we headed to the flying field. Same place as the Control Line site. The Police Academy just off of State Rd in Philadelphia not too far from the Delaware River.
I walked about halfway across the field with the transmitter while Dad held the plane. We had good solid control. We then fired up the motor, Dad launched it into the wind and it flew perfectly. It climbed out in a nice gentle left hand turn with no input from me. Once it got up to a safe altitude I gave it some right rudder. It started going right and the nose dropped, I gave some up elevator. I was actually flying this thing. I told my Dad he had to try it. All the while it was gaining altitude. I was trying to get it to the center of the field so that I could pass the transmitter to him when suddenly it would not respond to any of my inputs.
It resumed a left hand climb. I tried reducing the throttle – no change. I tried full down – no change. I yelled those all too familiar words, “I don’t have it.” Only this time it wasn’t crashing. It was circling up in a perfectly trimmed left hand turn with a full tank of fuel on board.
It was one of those days where the sky was a deep blue color and there were a few puffy cumulus clouds drifting past. We stood there and just watched as it eventually became a tiny little speck in the sky still heading up toward a loan overhead cloud. And then, just like that, it disappeared. It seemed like it went right into that cloud.
We were devastated. After so many attempts we finally got a taste of what it was like to fly a radio-controlled plane only to watch it fly away. We packed up and set out for home.
Later that night the phone rang, and my Mom answered. She looked somewhat puzzled and called out to my father. “You better take this call, it’s a policeman." The person on the phone identified himself as the Chief of Police for Edgewater Park, New Jersey. He said they were just sitting down for dinner when they heard the dog barking in the backyard. He went out to investigate and saw a plane sitting in the yard that was jittering and making noises, which was sending the dog into a frenzy. He said he couldn’t figure how it could have landed there because the yard was surrounded by trees, and his wife had wash hanging on clotheslines strung across the yard. Somehow that Cessna managed to cross the Delaware River and fly over 9 miles to Edgwater Park, New Jersey, where it then found a way to land without a scratch after negotiating trees and passing under a clothesline. He went on to say that he turned it off, and found our phone number in the plane. My father made arrangements to go and get it the next day.
I can’t remember flying it again with the Galloping Ghost but I’m sure we did. And it would have been with less than a full tank of fuel because I do remember talking about that on the way home that day.
Chapter 8
The Northeast Philadelphia Airport was about 2 miles from our house. I was 15 years old when I decided I wanted to learn how to fly. My parents didn’t really raise any objections to it so one day I got on my bike and rode over to the airport. I parked and locked up my bike and then stood around for a while watching the planes taking off and wondering what it must feel like really fly.
I found the building advertising “Flying Lessons” and walked in the door. To the left were some chairs in front of windows looking out over the apron littered with small general aviation aircraft. To the right was a wall with maps, and aerial photographs under which there were more chairs and a magazine rack. Directly in front of me was a counter. I walked up to the counter but nobody was there. One part of the counter had glass cabinets and held all sorts of goodies like, plotters, sectional charts, log books, and those circular flight calculators. The right side of the counter had a display of pamphlets describing the flight training offerings.
Still nobody around but I could hear a radio in the background tuned to the control tower. I was looking at one of the pamphlets when a guy came out of the back room and said to hold on that someone would be with me shortly. He sat down at a desk and started working on something and I resumed studying the brochure.
I didn’t hear anyone approach but suddenly I heard this soft voice say, “May I help you?” I looked up at this beautiful women. I was taken aback and in total awe. I actually stood there staring and stammering something about flying. I finally was able to compose myself and tell her I wanted to learn how to fly. I noticed the guy over at the desk look up with a smile on his face. She asked me how old I was and I told her 15. She said I had to be 16. I told her I would be 16 in a few weeks. With that she said you can speak with Charlie here and he can fill you in on the details.
At this point the guy at the desk got up and introduced himself as Charlie Rieling, one of the flight instructors. He told me about the program and said I could go on an introductory flight today but could not start lessons until I was 16. Ok I said let’s go!
Charlie did some paperwork, then I signed it. He took my $12, plucked some keys off a peg board, and we proceeded to the flightline. We walked up to a green and white Piper Cherokee 140. Charlie did a walk around ground check and then we got in. I got in first, sitting in the pilot’s seat. He went through the preflight check list and at some point started the engine. The plane shuddered and shook but evened out as the RPMs came up. I was surprised at how noisy it was but that didn’t bother me. At this point he asked if I was ok, I said I was fine. He got clearance to taxi and we headed for the runway.
After some final checks we got clearance to take off. He told me to keep my hands in my lap and my feet off the pedals. We accelerated down the runway, Charlie rotated the 140 and we were in the air. It was loud, the nose seemed to be up at a steep angle, and it was bumpy but I loved it.
Once we got away from the airport Charlie demonstrated how to fly straight and level. Then he asked if I wanted to try it. I would occasionally gain or lose a few feet but managed ok. He talked me through a gentle turn and told me I was really doing great. In what seemed like no time we were back on the ground. Still want to learn how to fly he asked?
I was back and ready to go on my 16th birthday. Charlie would be my instructor and we would fly together for the next 2 years. I had a new job now. I worked at McDonald’s after school. I soon learned how to drive now and had a set of wheels. While my friends used their earned money to put toward nice cars, I drove an old 58 Desoto, and spent my money on flying lessons, and model airplanes. Looking back I’m not sure how I found time to do all these things. I played golf, played on a baseball team, went to school, worked, and had a girlfriend that would someday be my wife.
I soloed after 16 hours. But before letting me do that Charlie wanted to make sure I was ready so he planned a little exercise for me but didn’t tell me about it. I had been telling my Dad all along about how I was progressing and one day I had a lesson scheduled giving him enough time to come and watch before having to go to work. I told him that I make all the takeoffs and landings at this point.
He followed me to the airport and stood out at the fence where I had watched on that first day. I went inside and got the briefing from Charlie as to what we were going to work on that day. At that point he told me that he was going to simulate and engine failure on takeoff and he had already cleared it with the tower.
Meanwhile, my Dad is outside watching. I see him as we walk out to the plane. He knows nothing about the simulation. Preflight check all done we got clearance to take off. I accelerated down runway 33, watching the airspeed indicator and rotated. At that moment Charlie pulls back on the throttle and declares “you have just had an engine failure”. We had talked about what to do in this situation many times. This was the test. I immediately pushed the nose over, and while keeping the wings level glided straight down the runway until we touched down. At that point Charlie said, “Well done, now get back on the throttle and let’s get out of here.” We rotated once again and proceeded into a nice smooth climb out. At this point I was thinking about what this take off must have looked like from my father’s perspective. It must have appeared like I bounced the plane down the runway trying to get airborne.
He told me later that there were a few people standing around watching and as I taxied out he told them that it was his boy out there flying that plane. I wonder what they must have thought of my flying skills, and that proud father after seeing that take off.
Chapter 9: Full Circle
I was up long before the 5 am alarm. The van had been packed and ready to go the night before. As previously arranged my buddy, and Control Line stunt flying mentor Ski Dombrovski, pulled his truck in alongside of the van, and he climbed in for the 150 mile trip to Lorton, VA.
It was September 2018, the year in which I flew the full Control Line stunt pattern for the first time. My new plane was still under construction so the Sig Banshee which I had been flying for the past year will be my entry in the intermediate class at the Northern Virginia Control Line contest.
We arrived later than I had hoped, and as a result had to park a fairly good distance from the flying area. It was a bit overcast with a warm light wind which picked up later in the day. The field was very wet from all the rain we had had earlier in the week. As we carried our equipment to the pit area there were soft spots in the grass where water would ooze up and cover your shoes. We were still looking for a place to set up when they called for the pilots meeting. Next time we need to arrive much earlier. For today we go with no test flight at a field I have never been to before, after a night with little sleep, and plenty of anticipation. But that’s no problem for me – I’m a pro at this now. This is my 3rd Control Line contest within the past year. I flew as a beginner the prior September, and got 1st place. That in itself is a story for later on. And I placed third over the summer as an intermediate entry in profile, and then again the next day in the Precision event at the Philly Fliers club. So what could possibly go wrong with all that experience under my belt?
We got underway immediately because all of the events had to be flown on one circle. I think the other one was too wet to be usable. Consequentially, everyone set up their tents and pit area in rows facing the only flying circle. As I recall I was number 3 to fly. We walked the lines and the plane out to the flying circle which felt like center stage as it seemed as if all eyes were on me. As we were fueling the plane Ski gave me some final advice: try not to make your loops egg shaped, remember to enter the overhead eight up wind and exit down wind. (I seemed to have formed a habit of doing the reverse.) And finally he said he would take up a position down wind and just off the flying circle. All I had to do was look for him, and fly my stunts in front of him as he would be directly opposite of where the judges were sitting.
With fuel in the tank, I made sure the vent cap was on, pulled through a few prime strokes, hooked up the glow ignitor, pulled the prop through again until I felt that familiar bump, and then signaled the judges to start the clock. A few flips and the LA40 came to life. Game on!
I forced myself to walk not run to the center of the circle, where I picked up the handle, secured the lanyard to my wrist, and then checked the controls. Now the conversation I have with myself begins. I kind of talk myself through the whole pattern. It starts with, make a smooth take off don’t pop it of the ground. I signal Ski to release the Banshee, and we are underway. The field is very soft and wet, and I end up lifting off sooner than expected. During the level laps I can see that Ski is now in position.
I’m counting laps out loud, on the sixth lap I pulled up into the wingover right in front of the judges, and as it comes over the top I pick up Ski, and take it right down at him, and then pull out inverted. The pull out was a bit high but I managed to keep it smooth and take it ½ lap around back to the judges, pull up again, look for Ski, and pull out right side up. So far so good. And so we continue to fly on, all seems to be going well until I find myself doing normal level laps, and thinking I should be ready to do an inside square, when suddenly I have brain freeze. It’s analogous to a computer suddenly locking up, and needing to be rebooted. Only there isn’t enough time to wait for the reboot sequence.
I can’t remember doing outside loops. If I had done them I would have had to be inverted to start them, but I don’t remember doing my inverted laps. Wait a minute, are you telling yourself you didn’t fly inverted laps? How can this be, how can I have forgotten what I just did. Meanwhile I’m on my 2nd level lap since whatever maneuver I had performed last. I don’t want to take a guess, and do the wrong stunt at this point. So all sorts of things start going through my head. Like remembering when I flew my first stunt contest when I was 12 or 13 years old, and my Dad sat out there with me with the rule book, and would call out the next stunt. But he is no longer here, and now I’m on my 4th lap. I consider waving and calling to the judges to tell them to scrub the flight. It’s now lap 5 and I see Ski standing off the circle. I’m just about to raise my hand and signal the judges when I have thought. On the 6th lap I yell out to Ski “I can’t remember what’s next.” Of course everyone in the pit area hears this as well. Ski, in his loudest voice replies, “Inside squares.” Inside squares, what is he thinking, what about all the other stuff I missed? Lap 7 is coming up, and if I don’t do something I risk not having enough fuel to finish. Oh, well, let’s go for it.
I flew 2 inside squares, and to me they looked really good, like the best I ever pulled off. But what good will that do me when I’ll lose so many points for missing the other things. Heck I don’t even know how they will judge that, I’m thinking I could get a 0 for the whole flight. Then I hear Ski calling for outside squares. Well, I’m back on track now, and know the rest of the sequence. The 2 outside squares looked good to me as well. Then Ski calls for a triangle. Well this is now getting really embarrassing so I yell back, "I’m ok now.” And I continue on through the sequences.
I find the square eights to be the most challenging maneuver, and once completed I get the feeling that the hard one is over, and it’s all downhill from here. So I press on still talking to myself, “2 vertical eights are next,” “Now two level laps,” “The hour glass is next.”
And so on until finally the clover leaf is completed and the engine is still running. It continues on for 2 or 3 more laps and finally stops. The glide is looking good, it’s passing in front of the judges, the wettest part of the field, when it touches down and bounces a few times. Because of the poor field conditions the contest director indicated that the judges would be lenient on the actual touch downs. I’m thinking to myself what does that matter after the flight I just put in. I walked over to get my plane and one of the judges says, “That was a really nice flight.” I said, “Thank you, but you mean all except for the inverted flight and the outside loops right.”
He replies, “They were fine but we couldn’t figure why you flew so many laps before you did the inside squares.” When I got back together with Ski, he asked me what went on out there. I explained it to him, and while telling him I missed the inverted laps and the outside loops it all came back to me and I could remember the whole sequence.
In, fact, I could remember counting my inverted laps every time I passed him standing on the edge of the circle. I told Ski that I wasn’t sure what happed out there, other than I just lost track of things, and talked myself into believing I missed those stunts. It was then that Ski casually mentioned that I entered the overhead down wind. He said it won’t likely matter in the scoring, but you made it harder on yourself because the wind had picked up.
The score I posted for that flight was higher than the score I got on my next flight. In fact it was high enough to earn me 1st place. When I got home that night I wanted to call my Dad and tell him how the day went. Over the years we did a lot of flying, and entered many contests together. If he didn’t attend one and I did, I would always call and relive the day with him and vice versa. He’s been gone now for many years but I have come full circle.
We started flying Control Line, went to Free Flight, then RC, and RC pylon racing. We raced for close to 20 years or so, and flew together every chance we had, and now, a lifetime later I have come back to flying Control Line. I still fly RC and Free Flight but my focus is on Control Line stunt.
Along the way, I have met many really fantastic people. Modelers are a unique group. In my experience, they are always willing to help one another. They will lend you tools, engines, glue, whatever is required to be able to get your model flying. This is true even if you are in completion with them. They are willing to share new ideas and techniques. I’m looking forward to many more years of friendships and flying with these talented people.
