Jay Honeck
Touchdown! Greaser!
I was a young man when I first attended Oshkosh, 32 years ago. I rode in on a motorcycle, my favorite gal on the back -- the same gal I'm with today, BTW -- and marveled at the airplanes and the controlled chaos.
I wasn't a pilot -- I couldn't even dream of flying, yet -- but I was a student of aviation history, and I was seeing planes FLYING that I had only read about in books. And I was surrounded by my heroes from WWII. Paul Tibbets, Pappy Boyington, Jimmy Doolittle -- they were all THERE. I was instantly enthralled, and although I could only afford to go on the field for a single day, I stayed in OSH for several days and watched from the opposite side of the field.
It opened a longing in me that I couldn't understand, or even describe. But then, it was over, and it was back to real life.
A year passed, and we were there again. This time, we were camped in a friend's back yard, driving our '82 Mazda GLC. Again, it was aviation heaven, and -- although I didn't know it at the time -- deep hooks were being planted. (And, BTW, we saw a new network called "Music Television", or "MTV", for the first time at our friend's house that year. It was 1984.)
In 1990 our son was born, in August. Mary's doctor disallowed her from attending Oshkosh that year, and she was SO angry! But I went, by myself, and called her (from a pay phone!) every hour, to make sure she wasn't in labor...
Fast forward five years. Our daughter has joined us, and we are now attending annually in our pop-up camper, parking at Mary's aunt's house in Winneconne, just North of OSH. We drive in to the show every day, for several days, and enjoy the show immensely. I am still not a pilot, still unable to assemble the various puzzle parts, but I now have two little kids, a mortgage, a career.
And flying is for rich people...
It's now 1994, and I'm back in the corporate world, working for a guy who owns a Cherokee 140. He senses my desire to fly, and helps me through the various hoops. He takes me by the hand to the airport, introduces me to a CFI, and -- most importantly -- offers to rent me his plane AT COST. Even though I have no business spending the money, my wife supports my decision, knowing that I will never have this chance again.
It's now 1998. We've attended OSH 16 times, now, and I've left the corporate world for the last time, starting another, more successful, business. And I am finally an aircraft owner! We fly our Cherokee Warrior into OSH for the first time, and camp in the North 40. It is a wondrous occasion, a homecoming of sorts that seems more like a dream than reality. Our two kids, aged 5 and 8, are in the back seat.
We have ARRIVED. Finally.
Move forward with me through time once again. It's now 2002, and we've outgrown the Warrior. Our first Oshkosh in the Pathfinder, with it's immense 1460-pound useful load, is an epiphany for us. No long must we weigh every stuffed animal the kids want to bring! At ages 9 and 12, they are getting bigger by the minute, and we're not getting any smaller...but Atlas is up to the challenge.
2008 comes around, quicker than you think. That little boy I carried around Oshkosh in a backpack, back in 1991, is now a pilot himself, and flies himself into the Vintage Camping area in our 1948 Ercoupe. We follow in Atlas, a few days later, and offer to let him set up camp with us out in the North 40 -- only to find that he has been "adopted" by all the graybeards in Vintage, and he doesn't want to leave his buddies!
Our son became a man, that week.
2013 quickly rolls around. Our kids are grown, and we have sold Atlas. We no longer need his immense useful load, and have replaced him with Amelia, our swift, nimble, aerobatic RV-8A. She is everything Atlas was not, and our flight in from Texas is done in record time.
But our kids still follow us to Oshkosh, with both our daughter and our son driving in from various points on the map. They have grown up on Wittman Field, after all, and know every square inch of the immense Airventure grounds. Oshkosh is the touchstone of their lives, the one true constant in a churning sea of jobs, deaths, marriages, and moves.
Through it all, there has been Oshkosh. Through four businesses, countless jobs, in three different states. Through births, deaths, marriages, illness, responsibility -- WHATEVER -- we, as a family have always made it to Oshkosh.
In the end, Oshkosh has become our Field of Dreams. EAA built it, and we came -- again and again. We will not -- cannot -- resist her call. She is there, wonderful and embracing, just as she was so many years ago. We will be there again this year for #32 in a row, and we are just as excited about the flight from Texas as we were that very first time, way back in the 20th century.
For those who have never attended, I urge you to do so. For those who are coming, we'll see you in just a few weeks!
I wasn't a pilot -- I couldn't even dream of flying, yet -- but I was a student of aviation history, and I was seeing planes FLYING that I had only read about in books. And I was surrounded by my heroes from WWII. Paul Tibbets, Pappy Boyington, Jimmy Doolittle -- they were all THERE. I was instantly enthralled, and although I could only afford to go on the field for a single day, I stayed in OSH for several days and watched from the opposite side of the field.
It opened a longing in me that I couldn't understand, or even describe. But then, it was over, and it was back to real life.
A year passed, and we were there again. This time, we were camped in a friend's back yard, driving our '82 Mazda GLC. Again, it was aviation heaven, and -- although I didn't know it at the time -- deep hooks were being planted. (And, BTW, we saw a new network called "Music Television", or "MTV", for the first time at our friend's house that year. It was 1984.)
In 1990 our son was born, in August. Mary's doctor disallowed her from attending Oshkosh that year, and she was SO angry! But I went, by myself, and called her (from a pay phone!) every hour, to make sure she wasn't in labor...
Fast forward five years. Our daughter has joined us, and we are now attending annually in our pop-up camper, parking at Mary's aunt's house in Winneconne, just North of OSH. We drive in to the show every day, for several days, and enjoy the show immensely. I am still not a pilot, still unable to assemble the various puzzle parts, but I now have two little kids, a mortgage, a career.
And flying is for rich people...
It's now 1994, and I'm back in the corporate world, working for a guy who owns a Cherokee 140. He senses my desire to fly, and helps me through the various hoops. He takes me by the hand to the airport, introduces me to a CFI, and -- most importantly -- offers to rent me his plane AT COST. Even though I have no business spending the money, my wife supports my decision, knowing that I will never have this chance again.
It's now 1998. We've attended OSH 16 times, now, and I've left the corporate world for the last time, starting another, more successful, business. And I am finally an aircraft owner! We fly our Cherokee Warrior into OSH for the first time, and camp in the North 40. It is a wondrous occasion, a homecoming of sorts that seems more like a dream than reality. Our two kids, aged 5 and 8, are in the back seat.
We have ARRIVED. Finally.
Move forward with me through time once again. It's now 2002, and we've outgrown the Warrior. Our first Oshkosh in the Pathfinder, with it's immense 1460-pound useful load, is an epiphany for us. No long must we weigh every stuffed animal the kids want to bring! At ages 9 and 12, they are getting bigger by the minute, and we're not getting any smaller...but Atlas is up to the challenge.
2008 comes around, quicker than you think. That little boy I carried around Oshkosh in a backpack, back in 1991, is now a pilot himself, and flies himself into the Vintage Camping area in our 1948 Ercoupe. We follow in Atlas, a few days later, and offer to let him set up camp with us out in the North 40 -- only to find that he has been "adopted" by all the graybeards in Vintage, and he doesn't want to leave his buddies!
Our son became a man, that week.
2013 quickly rolls around. Our kids are grown, and we have sold Atlas. We no longer need his immense useful load, and have replaced him with Amelia, our swift, nimble, aerobatic RV-8A. She is everything Atlas was not, and our flight in from Texas is done in record time.
But our kids still follow us to Oshkosh, with both our daughter and our son driving in from various points on the map. They have grown up on Wittman Field, after all, and know every square inch of the immense Airventure grounds. Oshkosh is the touchstone of their lives, the one true constant in a churning sea of jobs, deaths, marriages, and moves.
Through it all, there has been Oshkosh. Through four businesses, countless jobs, in three different states. Through births, deaths, marriages, illness, responsibility -- WHATEVER -- we, as a family have always made it to Oshkosh.
In the end, Oshkosh has become our Field of Dreams. EAA built it, and we came -- again and again. We will not -- cannot -- resist her call. She is there, wonderful and embracing, just as she was so many years ago. We will be there again this year for #32 in a row, and we are just as excited about the flight from Texas as we were that very first time, way back in the 20th century.
For those who have never attended, I urge you to do so. For those who are coming, we'll see you in just a few weeks!
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