January 28, 2014 From Paris, With Love

The Liberty Gazette

January 28, 2014

Ely Air Lines
By Mike Ely and Linda Street-Ely

Mike: I wasn’t really surprised when my students handed me the bottle-sized box with "Mamont" emblazoned in gold lettering down the side. I was, however, kind of surprised by the caviar.
Working with foreign clients one becomes accustomed to the exercise of tradition and frequent offers of respect in the form of gifts; especially student-to-teacher gifts. It doesn’t really matter all that much what the gift is, but the gesture is an important part of many cultures, and it seems to me the significance and meaning reach beyond our notion of bringing an apple to class.

My non-U.S. clients come from Russia, Korea, Nigeria, Australia and South Africa. Each culture is unique and I notice a social expectation of respect I rarely see here in the United States anymore.

Mamont is Siberian vodka. Inside the snow-white box with bold lettering is a glass bottle fashioned in a tusk-like shape, inspired by the Yikagir Mammoth. We don’t drink vodka but the uniqueness of the bottle makes it fun to look at and, after all, we can appreciate the intent. Mamont, known as "The Spirit of Siberia," is filtered through Siberian rock and distilled six times from white winter wheat at the Itkul distillery, one of Russia’s oldest. I gratefully received it and two tins of caviar while standing in a frosty Paris parking lot, but pondered how these gifts would fare with U.S Customs.

The Paris-Houston direct flight brought me to Bush Intercontinental, where upon disembarking and entering Customs the agent examined my basket of treats and much to my surprise took no issue with the vodka, but scratched his head, looking for some sort of brand recognition on the cans of caviar. The words printed on the label are in the Russian Cyrillic language, which neither the agent nor I could decipher to compare to his "items approved" checklist. Resigned to the fact that he lacked the tools to make a decision based on knowledge, and using common sense instead, he looked up from his computer screen, then back at the cans again, roughly weighing them in his hands, then handed them back saying, "You’re cleared to go."

Now, since my diet doesn’t allow me to eat fish eggs, what to do with the caviar?

Linda: With a Christmas party to go to and needing something fun for the white elephant gift exchange I suggested the caviar paired with a classical music CD would make a pleasant and unusual gift. No, we did not include the vodka. While the novelty inspired chatter, it appeared that not everyone at the party likes classical music or is willing to indulge in caviar labeled with inscriptions they can’t read. No adventuresome Russians here!

Mike: Vodka seems to be a favorite gift from Russian crews. I recently received yet another bottle of a different label. Over the years Linda has made some delicious pie crusts from a recipe that includes vodka, but the collection is outpacing her baking.

I’ve also received "Mosaic" Babooshka dolls from a pilot from Mongolia, a set of four elephants carved from stone from a Nigerian pilot, and a hand-painted plate of the Cathedral of St. Basil the Blessed in Moscow’s Red Square from another Russian crew. I respect the traditions of these people and appreciate the unique treasures and the meaning in the giving.

www.ElyAirLines.blogspot.com

January 21, 2014 Magic Carpet Ride

The Liberty Gazette

January 14, 2014

Ely Air Lines
By Mike Ely and Linda Street-Ely

Linda: A couple Sundays ago the Elyminator sprang up into a stiff headwind, eager to help a friend begin the journey into the joys of airplane ownership. Dean with his newly minted private pilot certificate had just ended his search for a plane of his own. Though he is building an RV-9, that airplane is at least a couple years away from taking flight So Dean bought a Grumman Cheetah to maintain his flying skills while he custom-builds his new steed. Finding one at an airport near San Antonio he struck a deal with its owner. Since he had learned to fly in a Cessna and was not familiar with the handling differences of a Grumman we flew out to help him bring his prize home.

Mike: When I think of a small 3,000 foot long grass airstrip I think of something like the crop duster strip at Gum Island next to Highway 146 south of Dayton, or the airstrip called Dunham Field near Crosby that has around 20 hangars along its 2,800 feet of turf. Another example is the West Liberty Airport located west of Dayton north of 1960 near the county line. These two privately owned airports are open to the general aviation public. Private runways like the ag-strip are not. So as we flew westbound into the late afternoon sun we expected to find something similar to Dunham, but we were surprised.

Zuehl Field takes its name from a small ghost town nearby. Its 3,000’ long by 200’ wide grass runway is so close to Randolph Air Force Base that the traffic pattern for Zuehl is restricted to the east side. At first sight I would not have guessed it to be an airport if I hadn’t spied the four-engine Douglas DC-4 sitting next to a hangar at the north end. That was my first clue this place was different. The four engine transport is just one of over 100 airplanes based here. The Zuehl Airport Flying Community Owners Association maintains the 230-acre airport. The runway seems to offer a lot of elbow room compared to most private landing zones that are hemmed in by trees on most sides. The taxiway-street layout lends to the feeling of openness.

Linda: The approach in gusty winds presented some challenges but the landing was uneventful and we found Dean and his wife Marilyn standing out in the brisk wind waiting for our arrival. Dean had already done the walk-around preflight inspection twice before we arrived and a ground run to warm up the engine. Mike completed his own inspection and he and Dean climbed in and started up. I took off in the Elyminator ahead of them. Climbing out I turned east over I-10, Dean and Mike only a mile behind. However since Dean was still learning his new machine Mike took some time to help him settle in and I continued on keeping in radio contact with them. They were not far behind when I landed back at Ellington.

Mike: Soon Dean and Marilyn will say good-bye to long car trips and long airport security lines as they travel the country in their ‘new’ magic carpet.

www.ElyAirLines.blogspot.com

January 14, 2014 Gypsy Week

The Liberty Gazette

January 14, 2014

Ely Air Lines
By Mike Ely and Linda Street-Ely

Linda: The week from Christmas to New Year's offered some time to get away. With weather in some parts behaving wretchedly, we pledged to go where the sun was shining - westward ho!

First order of business was to make good on a promise to a young niece and nephew in Pflugerville who were eager to take a flight. The children enjoyed their aerial sight-seeing tour, a first for them, after which we headed west with no particular plans. The afternoon spread across the West Texas plains, the last hour of the flight extending past sunset, with residual light shining upon Guadalupe Peak for 50 miles. We ended our day in Las Cruces, New Mexico, where fellow air racer Seth Baker gave us a warm welcome, a couple of meals, and a pleasant send-off in the morning.

Along the playa just west of Lordsburg, New Mexico some areas were still soggy from recent rains, but the Peloncillo Mountains stood proudly along the Arizona-New Mexico line. There, in Skeleton Canyon, Geronimo surrendered to the United States Cavalry. While it was rainy and cloudy back in Liberty, we were soaking in the sunshine, and my own personal historian and geographer offered thoughtful narratives about the areas below as we took turns flying.

Mike: The Chiricahua Mountains, like others in the Southwestern U.S., are surrounded by arid deserts. I’ve climbed these mountains and find their nickname, "Sky Islands," appropriate because with gains in elevation the temperatures decrease and vegetation turns green. Near the top stand pine trees up to 70 feet tall. Flying over the foothills at 8,500’ those pines at their highest point were still higher than we were.

Pushing into the headwind, further west we discussed Cochise Stronghold in the Dragoon Mountains to our left, then crossing a ridge into the Tucson area we turned toward Phoenix.

After a night in the Valley of the Sun, Flagstaff seemed to be calling. Our friends the Strayers welcomed us with warm hearts and homes and good food. Driving out to their remote property I realized how much I missed mountain air. After joining them for worship services Sunday morning we headed for Boulder City, Nevada, past the southern end of the Grand Canyon for a quick visit with my brother and his family.

Benson, Arizona, a place familiar to us, offered a good stop for the next night. With the airplane tied down we took the courtesy shuttle to the hotel, while unbeknownst to us Seth had flown to Benson too. His text message early next morn admitted the only reason he didn’t hide our plane in a hangar and leave a treasure map on the ground was because he wouldn’t be there to witness our surprise.

Roy Jones runs the Benson Airport and sets a great example. With his wife, he’s raising five kids on the airport, managing the business, giving flight lessons, helping people. And he offers a fuel discount for a clean joke he can tell his kids.

The next morning’s flight took us over Reserve, New Mexico, to Albuquerque for lunch, and into Santa Fe in time for New Year’s Eve.

The first day of the new year we reluctantly headed back to the real world. The 57-knot tailwinds across the Rockies created up and down drafts we felt over 160 miles downwind, but shot us quickly home. We agreed, Gypsy Week should happen again.

www.ElyAirLines.blogspot.com

January 7, 2014 Boyhood dreams

The Liberty Gazette

January 7, 2014

Ely Air Lines
By Mike Ely and Linda Street-Ely

Mike: Standing high upon a rocking and swaying platform leaning into the strong winds the boy holds fast to the mast. He shades his eyes to the blazing sun with his other hand looking out on deep blue swelling waters as their tops curl into waves. The black flag is flapping behind him and he thinks he sees another ship or possibly a tree on an island in the distance when his concentration is interrupted by a shout from below. Down through the branches Mother is hollering for him – its time to go and he has to come down now.

Arduously climbing down through interlocking brambles of branches, he voices a protest he knows will not prevail, "Awe Mom, now?" Even then he is imagining sliding down the fasting rope from the Jolly Roger’s crow’s nest, back into reality.

Norman Rockwell’s "Boyhood Dreams" was one of a four-painting series covering the four seasons. In the summer painting a young boy has set his garden hoe aside and sits on a split rail fence as he and his dog watch a train chug down the tracks in the distance. How many boys and girls daydream of places just over the hill? How about acting these out as they scurry up to their fort precariously built among the tallest branches of a large tree? Think of the thrill of building that hide-a-way and the adventures to be had there.

The other day I was having lunch with Dean Doolittle, EAA Chapter 12’s Young Eagles coordinator. He told me of a Boy Scout troop in Houston that has over 200 scouts. I was shocked to hear that Dean approached the group several times to offer Young Eagles flights – a highly successful program now in its 24the year, having introduced nearly two million children to the wonders of flight - yet not one of the boys in that particular troop has participated.

We learned that it isn't the scouts’ lack of interest stopping them, but their parents’ fears.

Do parents listen to their children’s hopes and encourage their dreams throughout early development continuing on into adolescence and young adulthood? Or do they quash them or try and replace those dreams with their own? Are we creating future leaders that are scared of their own shadows by holding them back?

I don’t advocate reckless behavior but I do encourage young people to develop their imaginations and expand their boundaries. I can appreciate and sympathize with parents wanting to protect their young ones, remembering my mother’s similar desires, but she finally let me loose and in doing so, encouraged me to soar.

Being dangerous is part of a boy’s (and some girls’) DNA. What do boys do when they go camping? They hunt up snakes, lizards and all sorts of gruesome and terrifying creatures. They'll do that anyway given half a chance. But if they are never allowed the freedom to roam, raised as risk-averse, they likely will become fear-driven and never stand up when it matters most. Perhaps we should send those scout parents "The Dangerous Book for Boys."

Slipping the bonds of earth and overcoming gravity is just one adventure that awaits. Searching for far-off lands, being a sheriff in an old west town or just sailing on the open seas are all worthy dreams. Happy trails – and let your boys be boys.

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December 31, 2013 Plages Sombres - Known but to God

The Liberty Gazette

December 31, 2013

Ely Air Lines
By Mike Ely and Linda Street-Ely

Mike: I stand in quiet survey of the scene, cold water crashing on the shore before me. A faint murmur accents the air, its sound emerging quickly into a crackling roar. In seconds a French Mirage fighter jet dressed in camouflage screams past me, a hundred feet above the churning English Channel. The pilot banks hard north and disappears in the distance. Silence returns.

Turning from the overlook a lush green carpet of grass spotted by immaculately maintained trees unfolds behind me. There, in perfect symmetry, ten thousand white marble crosses declare the war is over. Winter may be the time to visit this place as there are neither crowds nor chaos to compete with contemplation except for an occasional military jet flying by to pay respects to the soldiers buried here.

I learned of the D-Day invasion in school, history books, and movies, but standing here in the American Military Cemetery and Memorial at Normandy, the realization sinks much deeper. Touching the sand of Omaha Beach one can know of yet not quite fathom the terror and dedication those who took part in this colossal undertaking must have felt. I step with humble reverence around the headstones, reading names; many Known But to God. More than 1,500 names of sons who were never recovered or identified are etched in a circular stone wall. If they could, they’d speak of family, of going home.

During my flying career I have been afforded some grand opportunities. For the first two weeks of December my job required a return to Paris, France. I wasn’t interested in spending my free time in Paris so one weekend I rented a car, took on the challenge of Paris traffic circles and got the heck out of Dodge.

June 6th, 2014 will mark 70 years since these brave souls and others spilled their blood so that we might remain free. The price paid during the D-Day campaign was 50,000 Allied lives, with another 150,000 wounded.

As I drive around Normandy it is difficult to imagine war ever touching this landscape of low rolling terrain graced with long rock walls and hedgerows, quaint farms, cottages and stone chapels. Yet, if I looked, I’d see the evidence, a rusting cannon sitting on its side at a field’s edge, ruins of buildings left for the memory. Museums and historical markers populate the villages.

At Pointe Du Hoc is a moonscape of massive craters from bombs dropped to secure the planned offensive, shattering some of the fortifications that once overlooked both Omaha and Utah beaches. Here the cold winter wind seems to cut into me as the rain begins to fall while I enter preserved bunkers, thinking hard on the fate of those once inside them. Look, out on the beaches, where U.S. Army Rangers climbed these 100-foot cliffs taking this ground in the early morning hours of the invasion. Their losses were heavy as they stood off several counter-attacks until relief came the next day.

Near the memorial two flagpoles champion United States flags hung at half-mast. At sunset life in the cemetery pauses, the flags are lowered and all who are breathing salute or place their hand over their heart for the playing of Taps. I behold what is about me and I whisper "Thank you."

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December 24, 2013 WestJet Christmas

The Liberty Gazette

December 24, 2013

Ely Air Lines
By Mike Ely and Linda Street-Ely

Mike: Airline travel this time of year can be stressful. Getting to the airport, going through that mockery we call "security" and finally boarding the airplane in full cattle-car fashion can be overwhelming even for young, healthy people not traveling with children. If you are one of the millions of viewers who have experienced WestJet’s Christmas Miracle video, surely you’ve been blessed to have been an observer.

Canada’s low-cost and second largest airline is known for their customer service and friendly attitude, but now they’ve taken that to a new altitude.

In the middle of the night at each of two Canadian airports, Pearson International in Toronto and Hamilton International Airport in Hamilton, Ontario, WestJet employees quietly plant a large box in the departure waiting area. The next morning, as passengers scan boarding passes a virtual Santa magically appears "in the box". Addressing each passenger by name he interacts directly with them, confirming this is not an automated machine, and listening to each Christmas present wish list. Chuckling passengers then proceed to board their flights to Calgary.

The Santa boxes in Toronto and Hamilton are connected by Santa-cam to a studio in Calgary where Santa can see and speak with each passenger. Behind the scenes 175 WestJet employees volunteer as Santa’s elves, logging wish lists, organizing and executing the surprise. Once the customers have checked in at the two departure cities, the folks in Calgary head out to have some fun. WestJet teams race to local stores picking out exactly what the passengers requested, scurrying back to the airport in time to wrap and label each present and rush them to the baggage claim area.

Linda: The two flights land in Calgary, passengers disembark and make their way to the baggage claim area. As the baggage ramp buzzer sounds and the carousel begins to turn Christmas decorations illuminate and (fake) snow begins to fall on the weary travelers. Captivated by the holiday scene surrounding them, many pull out their cell phones to take photos…and then they notice the baggage that is coming down the ramp to the carousel is not baggage at all, but gift wrapped boxes labeled with their names. At first they’re stunned. Then that same Santa they spoke to before they boarded their planes shows up in the crowd. Realizing the gifts are for them, tears, laughter, and looks of astonishment fill the room as they unwrap and find exactly what they told Santa they wanted.

From a marketing perspective, WestJet has scored a mammoth branding win by pulling together joyful emotions, shockingly unbelievable actions, and real people who really give – a story everyone wants to share. It all adds up to a remarkable image for the company; one of honesty, integrity, compassion, and at a fraction of the cost of a television ad.

We haven’t totally spoiled it for you. If you haven’t seen it yet, go to YouTube and enter WestJet Christmas Miracle, and add yourself to the more than 30 million others this brilliant little surprise has touched. It’s narrated in the style of Clement Clarke Moore’s poem "‘Twas the Night Before Christmas," though the words were changed a bit.

To quote Santa, "Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good flight!"

www.ElyAirLines.blogspot.com

December 17, 2013 Rosie's daughter

The Liberty Gazette

December 17, 2013

Ely Air Lines
By Mike Ely and Linda Street-Ely

Linda: We left you hanging last week in Part 1 of The Real Rosie the Riveter. Don your parachute, we’re about to take a leap.

Rose Will Monroe, the woman who became the human face of Rosie the Riveter while building B-24s’, worked hard, had a passion for life, and never knew failure, not because she never failed, but because she never gave up. Her daughter, and my good friend, Vickie, inherited that spunk.

Mike: Although she enjoyed learning about flying from her mom, by the time Vickie was out of school she was eager to begin carving her own life. Flying took a back seat, or should I say, Vickie took a back seat. Instead of being up front at the controls, following in her mother’s wake, Rose’s youngest child moved to the back where there was easy access to the door, and began jumping out of airplanes – but not before she’d written a few new chapters in her own story.

After some time in New Mexico that included a horse, a dog, a marriage and a daughter, Vickie found herself a single mom and returned home to Indiana for a restart. She opened a water treatment business and considered earning her pilot license in order to more efficiently reach customers, but then she met a special someone who introduced her to skydiving.

Vickie became enamored with the flying world. Through her new position at the Clark County Airport in southern Indiana that old life she knew as her mom’s became her own, but with a twist – professional skydiving.

With a scholarship from the Ninety-Nines Vickie finally earned a pilot license while continuing to perform at airshows as part of the Aerial Allstars Skydiving Team, one of few people performing a unique night pyrotechnic routine. Control boxes strapped to her arms were wired underneath her jumpsuit, connected to pyro tubes attached to her feet. During a jump she’d monitor the altimeter on her wrist, pressing switches to release fireworks at predetermined altitudes.

Linda: A bus ride while visiting Cancun offered another twist. Wyn Croston, a dashing U.S. Air Force captain, electrical engineer and missile launch officer, took the last open seat on the bus. Exchanging phone numbers led to Wyn’s introduction to skydiving. "And I fell for her," he chuckled as we sat on the porch of the cabin they’re building in Willis. "Our first kiss was during a free-fall jump," Vickie chimed in.

These days Wyn and Vickie use their own plane to fly people and pets in need for Angel Flights, Young Eagles, Challenge Air, and Pilots & Paws.

Vickie reflects proudly yet humbly on her mother’s accomplishments and influence. "Mom was inducted posthumously into the Kentucky Aviation Hall of Fame for her role supporting the war effort, as Rosie the Riveter," she says with the smile in her soul beaming.

The Rose Monroe Society raised funds to support the National World War II Memorial. At the ground-breaking ceremony Vickie was joined by Colin Powell, Tom Hanks, Elizabeth Dole, and others. When a woman named Mrs. Smith struck up a conversation and asked, "What’s your connection with the Memorial," Vickie told of her famous mother. Mrs. Smith insisted Vickie stay put while she fetched her son, and moments later, FedEx founder Fred Smith was ushered over to shake Vickie’s hand as they discussed the importance of the National Memorial and of leaving a legacy.

www.ElyAirLines.blogspot.com

December 10, 2013 The Real Rosie the Riveter

The Liberty Gazette

December 10, 2013

Ely Air Lines
By Mike Ely and Linda Street-Ely

Mike: Farm kids learn early to do what it takes to make things work, and to work with what’s on hand. Vickie’s mom grew up on a farm, one of nine children, and one of the things she learned was how to build houses. That skill was enhanced when she became a widow and had to leave Kentucky with her two young children in search of work. Henry Ford had made his factory in Ypsilanti, Michigan available for building B-24s, and when Vickie’s mom heard there was work in Michigan she and her children boarded a bus that headed north.

Times were tough during WWII, and a job in the bomber factory was a good deal. They say they turned out one plane every 55 minutes, thanks to the handiwork of America’s women. They called them collectively, "Rosie the Riveter", after a popular song of the day. There was not just one Rosie, but six million who replaced the men who had gone to war.

When actor Walter Pidgeon came to the Willow Run factory in Ypsilanti to film a war bonds film the crew began looking for the woman who would be the human face of that spirit, the woman who embodied courage, strength, and determination.

Someone at the plant declared they had the perfect candidate right there, building airplanes. She was spunky and gutsy, fit the character of the song, her primary job was riveting, and her name really was Rose.

Linda: That all happened before Vickie was born, but she loves telling the story about her mom, Rose Will Monroe, the original Rosie the Riveter.

The familiar poster of the lady sporting a red bandana, flexing her bicep, was not the original. That was a Westinghouse company morale poster. The emblem on the model’s collar is a Westinghouse badge. Geraldine Hoff Doyle was a musician who decided after a couple of weeks working in the factory that the risk to her hands was too great. Not willing to sacrifice her future in music, she quit the job, but was there the day the photographer came to take pictures and choose a model. Years later, in the 1970’s, that Westinghouse company poster became the symbol of "Rosie the Riveter". Geraldine wasn’t even aware they had used her likeness until decades later.

Rose had long admired the women who came to pick up the airplanes she helped build; watching the WASPs fly away relying on her rivets, she longed to be one of them. The rules forbade her, a widow with children, to join the WASPs, but in spite of her circumstances her heart belonged in those airplanes.

In the early 1970’s Rose finally became a pilot, and shared her passion for flight infectiously for a few years, until one day when a passenger changed the course of her life. In his first flight in a small plane, the passenger reached forward on take-off and flipped the switch that operated the electric flaps asking, "What’s this do?"

What it did was slam the plane into the ground, causing serious injuries to Rose, Vickie, and the passenger. Rose lost an eye and a kidney, and her health was never fully recovered.

Says my amazing friend, Vickie, "Seems so final, but it's not. Mom left a legacy for all. She was uncompromising in her high standards, no job was beneath her, and she believed teamwork could accomplish anything."

We’ll leave you hanging ‘til next week when we’ll have more on this riveting history.

www.ElyAirLines.blogspot.com

December 3, 2013 The Ace

The Liberty Gazette

December 3, 2013

Ely Air Lines
By Mike Ely and Linda Street-Ely

Linda: The boy filled his glass jar with gasoline, hopped back on his bike, lawn mower in tow, and peddled out in search of tall grassy yards. Gas was 25 cents a gallon and for an enterprising young man, money could be made if he was willing to look and work for it.

The filling station owner had taken notice of the youngster and offered him a job. Jim had long admired the men who stood at the station’s pump island with their pressed uniforms, tire gauges in their shirt pockets and smiles on their faces, and accepted the job, thinking of the respect he would earn when he quickly serviced cars belonging to ladies like his mother, who often stopped in for gas.

Fast-forward six months, Jim proudly wearing his crisp uniform at the pump island. He’s worked his way up from cleaning hub-caps, vacuuming floors, washing windows, and stands like a sentinel surveying his domain one Sunday morning when his grandfather drives past on his way home from church.

An Austrian prisoner of war captured during WWI, his grandfather had been held in Crosby, Texas. After the war he saw opportunities here not available in Austria and declined the free trip back to Europe, eventually becoming a U.S. citizen.

Grandfather glanced at the boy sternly, driving on without waving back. Later that evening young Jim would begin to learn an important life lesson.

Grandfather: "What were you doing, and why were you not in church this morning?"

Jim: "Well, that’s my shift."

No matter what the image he thought he’d built for himself, Jim was encouraged to do better – by God’s standards.

"Come to my shop and you can work every day after school and not miss church on Sunday," offered his grandfather.

Although the new job didn’t seem to have the same prestige, this place full of machines was fascinating. Jim started at the bottom, pushing a broom; soon the other men working there began showing him how to run the machines, entrusting him with work, but the customers weren’t convinced yet of the kid’s abilities.

When the men left on vacation or hunting trips and customer orders began to stack up, Jim decided he would fill them on his own. This meant he had to teach himself to type so he could create invoices as though he had turned the work over to the machinists. The customers never knew differently and Jim kept quiet and before long was a journeyman machinist.

Mike: Our friend learned to fly at a young age, the son of a flight instructor/airplane mechanic. His mom would drop him off at the airport after school and he’d climb the fence, pull a friend’s Piper Cub out of a hangar and go flying, then fill it back up and push it back in the hangar.

Jim Kubik was called to duty to serve our country as a medic, earning the right to be awarded credentials as a Physician’s Assistant, but he couldn’t wait to get back to the shop and the craftsmanship of making something out of a lump of steel. A humble man who probably wouldn’t want us to say how impressed we are with Baytown Ace Industrial, the business he’s built with faith and hard work, was that same young man who listened to his grandfather and set his priorities straight. He’s the one who holds court during Saturday morning breakfast gatherings of aviators in Baytown, and with his somewhat low-key exterior entertains us all with his many funny stories.

www.ElyAirLines.blogspot.com

November 26, 2013 Pointing the way

The Liberty Gazette

November 26, 2913

Ely Air Lines
By Mike Ely and Linda Street-Ely

Mike: Hunkered down in his open cockpit the aviator is wrapped in a heavy jumpsuit, fleece-lined leather jacket and helmet, goggles, and a silk scarf tied securely around his neck for wiping engine oil from his goggles. He peers out into the nighttime blizzard looking for a farmer’s bonfire. Once he sees it he continues on looking for the next as he crosses the countryside flying the U.S. Mail.

Linda: Early methods of air navigation included following railroads, using road maps and looking for easily identifiable objects on the ground, even farmers’ bonfires, in this method known as pilotage. Barns and water tanks that had a town name with an arrow painted on them proved helpful in regaining one’s bearings. Another system of early air navigation relied on a compass and watch. Flight planning for a particular heading at a specific speed for a certain amount of time results in a predictable flight even without fancy equipment. In the first days of airmail cockpits were unlit so reading instruments was difficult, and locating ground markers in the dark not so easy either. Most flying was done in the daytime.

Experimenting with bonfires in 1920 and then beacons in 1923 proved to the U.S. Mail service that it was possible to fly successfully at night along preplanned routes, even in marginal weather. This made operating mail routes with airplanes more efficient than trains, prompting Congress to fund a navigation system using beacons to light the way across the nation. Mail planes were served by an arrangement of beacons mounted on towers every ten miles to cross the nation’s midsection. Four years after construction of the beacons began the Federal Airway system was turned over to the Commerce Department’s Bureau of Lighthouses, the obvious choice for people with experience creating safe travel in the dark. Within 10 years 1,550 beacons covered 18,000 miles.

Mike: Often placed at remote locations each beacon site was built upon a concrete foundation in the form of an arrow pointing in the direction of the next beacon site. Mounted on the arrow was a tower that housed the rotating beacon. At the feather end of the concrete arrow was a shack protecting two generators; if one failed the other would continue on – pilots like redundancy. The beacons’ automatic bulb changing system swung a spare bulb into place when the other burned out. If a pilot had to land to wait out inclement weather or deal with a mechanical problem, the beacons were a welcome sight during those dark nights; their flashing green or red light signaling whether there was an adjacent landing strip. Many of the arrows still exist.

Ground-based navigation aids evolved over the years and the jump to GPS (satellite based navigation) equipment began offering precision positioning, but there are those who still use good old-fashioned pilotage as a preferred form of navigation. The Montana State Department of Aeronautics operates 17 of those original beacons to help pilots travel through the mountain passes that can be confusing and disorienting, even with GPS.

Who knows, maybe good old-fashioned pilotage would have been more helpful to the pilots of the 747 that landed at the wrong airport last week – using GPS. Oops.

www.ElyAirLines.blogspot.com