February 2003

Hello Again to All Members,
We are all shocked and grieved at the news of the space shuttle Columbia. The space program is the epitome of aviation. It is the shining star of American endeavor and progress. At a time when our focus has been on improving national security, our astronauts have diligently continued to do the things Americans always do — work hard, learn more, look to the future, solve seemingly unsolveable problems. While others seek to destroy, we seek to build. And we seek to inspire others along the way. Let's honor the memory of the seven crew members by continuing to do these things through this very special program — and in our own lives.

The January Meeting
We had a very interesting speaker at the January meeting. Richard Herbst is the marketing director for Anywhere Map. This little gem of hardware and software innovation has come a long way since Fred first commented on it in the January 2001 issue of the newsletter. At that time, it really didn't even have a name. Now it has become a rather sophisticated device which is quite versatile. Some of the members were very thorough in their examination of its capabilities, to say the least.

Richard Herbst explains features of Anywhere Map		Bob Brantley, Dave Altis, and Ben Hurtt study the possibilities of Anywhere Map

Sweet Tater
During the meeting, it was proposed and accepted that we pay Ron White a fee for the use of the hangar and his providing breakfast (or lunch or dinner) when we meet there, which is often. Ron says he was caught by surprise and didn't really know how to respond at the time, as he realized that the Chapter's motive was to not impose on his hospitality, and he appreciates that. However, on reflection, he decided that he isn't really comfortable accepting any remuneration. In a very nice phone call, he read me a thoughtful little piece called "Tater People," which describes various kinds of attitudes toward helping in this world of ours, such as "spec taters," "comment taters," "dick taters," "agie taters," "hezzie taters," "emma taters," and, finally "sweet taters." (You can figure out how each of these operate.) Ron says he really wants to be a sweet tater, and he already is. So, we are welcome at the hangar any time, even if he can't be there. I propose that we just remember how blessed we are to have people like Ron with us. If you are familiar with Scripture, you will realize what an important word remember is in the Lord's thinking.

I really have reason to remember — both what the Lord has done, and what you all have done for me in the way of your concern, encouragement, advice, and prayers. Thank you, thank you, thank you all. The paperwork blizzard is finally winding down with officialdom. No decisions have been reached as to how to get back into the air. The engine and propeller are OK, so maybe that's a starting point.

The Wintertime Blues, A Time for Planning
Cold, cold, weather has made it hard to do any work on the Wright Flyer. Bill Ghan has spent some time checking out the proposed engine.

Members charged with planning our joint efforts with South Central MPA for airport appreciation days have been working on the various projects. Besides offering Young Eagle flights, work is progressing on the float trailer, the flight simulator upgrade, the airplane train, and the paper airplane craft corner. We have a laptop computer and a faster printer for the Young Eagles certificates. This year's certificate will be special for the centennial year. As of January 31, HQ has 646 Young Eagles recorded for our Chapter, the last being flown on December 27, 2002. If you have flown any Young Eagles during January, please get the information to me for our complete listing of Chapter 1218 Young Eagles. This includes their name, hometown, date of flight, aircraft make and model, and airport where the flight originated.

There was a last-minute flurry of submissions for the cookbook. Sharon told me she was typing them up as fast as they were received. Actually, we haven't appreciated the need for raising funds to support our activities until this year, mainly because we never had very ambitious plans before. The ladies have been ahead of the rest of the Chapter on this, so we should let them know we are glad they recognized this and set to work. We are sorting through pictures of homebuilt and restored aircraft to use on section header pages in the cookbook.

By the way, there is a surprising number of members who haven't remembered to pay their 2003 Chapter dues. So please come to the February meeting with a string around your finger and a $10 bill in your pocket (or a $10 and a $5 bill for a couple or family membership). To put a little teeth in it, you won't find a newsletter in your mailbox in March if you don't. OK, there's still the website. Seriously, though, we really want your participation more than anything else.

2003 Officers
We finally got a picture of the officers for the year. We took two pictures. Half of them smiled for one picture, and the other half smiled for the other picture. Hard choice...

Gene Pascoe, Lloyd Darter, Tom White, Phyllis and Ben Hurtt

More Booli'gans
Booley is at it again. He must be the world's greatest dreamer and salesman.

Me and old Booley was sittin' under a wing one Saturday afternoon, I guess it was. The sun was up and shining hot and little sprigs of grass were already pushing up through the freshly thawed ground.

Booley was all leaned back on his elbows and had his feet crossed real comfortable in front of him. The wind was blowing at his loose, shaggy hair and he had a long blade of grass stuck into that wide gap between his two front teeth. His eyes were all squinched up, happy-like, and he kept trying to find a level spot on the ground to set his beer.

"Ain't nuthin' like spring time, Arnold boy!" He inhaled the freshness of the open air.

I looked at his beer for a moment, then when he closed his eyes and let the sun bask down on his face, I picked it up and drank it all down.

I swatted at a swarm of gnats, then burped the gas bubbles away. "Yeah," I coughed suddenly after inhaling one of the little buggers, hawking real hard to get the little pest out of my windpipe. "Ain't nuthin' like this time of year, al'right!" My cynicism rattled at the winged nuisance crawling around the dark chasms inside my throat. "Ticks, mosquitos, wasps, bees, and all kinds of other things…" I stopped in mid-sentence as a spider web floated across my face and stuck there. "An' jus' lookee here, Booley," I wailed. "These here flying spiders is ever'where!"

But, old Booley, he didn't bother much about nuthin' one way or the other. He just put his hands beneath his head and lay back in the green growin' grass and closed his eyes again to bask up some more sun. He lay that way for a long time, real quiet like, just suckin' air through that wide gap in his two front teeth like he always did when he was thinking real deep thoughts about something. After a bit, he reached for his beer, found it empty, then looked at it puzzled for a moment. He glanced at me, and then shrugged, rolled over and got him another one out of the cooler. He tasted at it leisurely, then put it down in the grass beside him again.

I reached over and felt it. It was nice and icy cold. Not at all like the one that he had let go flat. He lay there for a long time, watching curiously as another spider floated past on its long skinny web. I noticed that he wasn't paying no attention to me and he wasn't paying no attention to his beer either, so I picked it up and tasted it 'til it was all gone again.

I burped this time. "Whatcha thinkin' about there, Booley?" Tears crept into my eyes, that old beer was so icy cold.

That's when old Booley smiled and sat up. "I just had me an idea, Arnold boy! A real rip snorter this time!"

And I guess that's what I liked best about old Booley. He had this brain that was just a born sledge hammer sucker for ideas! They just seemed to float right in and outta his head like a fog through a swamp. Why, it was a wonder that he had a brain left at all the way he kept squeezing stuff outta his skull. He looked over at me, still suckin' air through that wide gap in his two front teeth.

"How'd you like to fly up to St. Louis, Arnold boy?" He seemed to have already forgotten about his beer. I was glad now that I had drank it. Good cold beer can go flat real quick when it sits too long in the hot sun.

"I don't mind," I told him, "if we got lotsa beer. This old Cub is awful slow, you know…"

"Oh, we ain't goin' in no Cub, Arnold!" he said, and I could see the excitement dancin' around inside them squinty little beady eyes of his.

"We ain't?" My mouth had already begun to dry out, and I wished he'd get us another beer.

"Shoot, no!" He shook his head, pointing to the flying spider that just floated past. It's long sticky web caught on my face and stuck there, too. I wiped the thin thread from my cheek and then tracked the tiny spider down and squashed it with my thumb.

"That's how we goin', Arnold boy! Just like them spiders!" His eyes squinched up and sparkled bright like. "They come all the way from South America that way, just hanging onto them thin little sticky webs of theirs!"

I thought old Booley was just joshing me. "I bet you're just joshing me, ain't you, Booley?" I said, squirming somewhat uneasily about our newly announced mode of transportation to St. Louis.

"No siree, bob!" Booley looked surprised that I didn't know. "Them webs is better'n any parachute, Arnold boy!" He finally picked up his beer, looked at me frowning, then rolled over to the cooler once again where he hesitated for a moment, then dug out two fresh icy cold ones, handing one to me. "Why, you ain't never seen no Gauchos come this far in no parachute, have you?"

I thought about it for a while. He was right again, old Booley was. I sure hadn't seen no Gauchos this far north floatin' around in no parachute, al'right!

"But we ain't got no long, sticky, spidery web to fly to St. Louis on, Booley!" I reminded, feeling somewhat triumphant at my own observation.

"Why, Arnold boy, you don't need no web! Rope's the same thing as!" Then he grinned and his eyes squinched up again. "You know, Arnold, this time you gonna really be famous, you know that?"

"Me?" I questioned. He wanted me to fly all the way to St. Louis on a rope? "If you remember, the last time I got famous, Booley, your Jeep threw a rod, the gin pole broke and them whither-dither clocks never got me anywhere nears into orbit!" I reminded, recalling my feeble attempt at going around the world on clock power.

"Yeah, but we was close, Arnold boy, an'at's what really counts. Why, old Wilbur and Orville never give up, did they? An' just look where it landed them! Right smack in the middle of the history pages, an' you gonna be right in there with 'em!" he coddled. "Now, you just go ahead and finish your beer, and then we'll go out and find some rope. Some real fine rope like them spiders use. It's got to be fine to do the trick," he said.

And that's what he told the man at the hardware store, too. "It's got to be fine," he said, and I heard him when he said it.
"What you boys gonna do with all that rope?" the hardware store man asked.

"Fly it to St. Louis!" I burped smugly.

Together we rolled that heavy old spool of rope to Booley's pickup truck. "This here rope seems a mite weighty to me, Booley!" I mentioned in passing.

"That's because its still on that heavy old wooden spool, Arnold boy. Don't you worry none, when we get her all strung out across't the sky, she's gonna be as light as a feather!"

He was still grinning, his eyes all squinched up again, all happy-like when we got back to the field and stopped in front of his yellow Piper Cub.

"Hot diggity dog, Arnold boy! I got a good feelin' this time. Ain't nobody ever flew to St. Louis on a rope before! Yes sir! You really gonna be famous this time!"

Old Booley stuffed a couple of extra beers into my pockets, then pushed me into the back seat of his ragged old Cub. "After we get up there, Arnold boy," he whistled with excitement, "you just jump and let that old spool unwind an' you'll be in St. Louis before you can spit!"

He was makin' little happy gurgling sounds when he pulled the propeller through.

The spool on my lap kept squashin' the beers in my pockets so I took one of 'em out and opened it. Its suds left a long foamy wake as we bounded down the spring's fresh, green grassy runway. Minutes later, my beer was gone, sucked all empty by the wind rushing through the open cabin door. And up front, I could just barely see the top of old Booley's head. It was bobbin' up and down like a fishing cork he was laughin' so hard. And every one'st in a while, I could hear him shoutin', "you gonna be famous, Arnold boy! This time you gonna really be famous! All you got to do is just let her unwind and fly just like them South American spiders done!"

As I sat with my feet dangling over the Cub's door, all I could hear was old Booley urging me, shoutin', laughin', and whoopin' to beat sixty. "An' don't forget, they got girls in St. Louis, too, Arnold boy…"

Well, sir, lookin' down, I could see that spiderin' wasn't nearly as snappy and as innocent as it seemed to be. Somewhere, in one of my pockets, I had one lone, bubbly bottle of liquid courage left. And somewhere out there between the blue and the wind, there was St. Louis…and there was fame…and there was all them young screaming city girls who'd never seen a dashing young aviator come sailing out of the skies riding nothing but a spider's web.

Well…rattle, rattle, bang, bang, bump, I guess it's time for this aviatin' hero and that big old spool to unwind and jump.

Before We Close
Remember, the next meeting will be at Ron White's hangar on Saturday, February 8, 2003, at 9:00 a.m. Come earlier for breakfast and some good visiting. Also remember, Andy Anderson has a birthday coming up on the 22nd. He'll be 89. If he doesn't happen to be at the meeting, you can send him birthday greetings at his home address. Don will be happy to give it to you, I'm sure.

If you can't be at the meeting and haven't paid your dues, mail them to Gene Pascoe, HCR 79, Box 3010, Dora, MO 65637.

Buzz Thunderbee by Squawk

Yep, Buzz, they can do quite a bit of damage to the gear and other parts of the airframe.

See you all at the meeting!

February Meeting Announcement

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