Conference vmszoo::rc

    MAN!  things've sure been quiet on the conference the last few days.
    WHUTZUP GUYS??  Everybody on vacation...gone fishin' or sumpthin'?
    
    In an attempt to keep the ol' nostalgia pot a-boilin', lemme' offer
    the following (stranger than fiction) tale for your amuzement. Hope-
    fully it will stir some of y'all to relate some of your "war stories
    for the edification and enjoyment of all.
    
    The year must've been about '67, maybe '68.  I was teaching my full-
    size instructor to fly R/C (awfulest student I ever had) on his
    much broken/much repaired Senior Falcon (powered by OS .58, controll-
    ed by a Galaxy-5, 5-ch proportional mfg'd by Ted White in Albuquerque,
    N.Mex - now defunct...The radio---not Ted).  This poor old bird
    no longer had ONE straight surface left on it; it was even swaybacked
    from where the fuselage had been re-joined after a crash and poorly
    re-aligned...being painted yellow, it looked a lot like a flying
    banana!!  Seriously, the trim changed with EVERY click of throttle,
    up or down (no exaggeration)!!
    
    Well, as it happened, my brother was home on leave from the USAF at
    the time and wanted to go flying.  Being "between-planes" at the
    time, I borrowed my student's nasty old Falcon, promising to fix
    or replace it if anything happened, and away we went to the flying
    field, a dirt crop-duster strip out in the middle of NOWHERE. NOTE:
    that field's location is now right in the middle of northwest Phoenix.
                            
    Any way, we'd flown it several times, commenting all along how bad
    this thing was to fly WHEN IT HAPPENED!  In his haste to get the
    bird up "one-more-time", my brother set the Falcon on the ground
    and let go...despite my horrified shouts to, "TURN THE RECEIVER
    ON!!!.  (You see, battery life was nowhere as good back then, high-
    drain circuitry and such, so it was common to leave the receiver
    turned off 'til the time of release to conserve batteries.)  
    
    Obviously, the Falcon ignored my vain attempts to control it from
    a transmitter that was hollerin' into thin air, so I turned it off
    and prayed the mindless bird would hit someting/ANYTHING to prevent
    it getting airborne.  But, no-joy...the blasted thing rotated and
    climbed out, pretty as you pleas in a gentle left bank.  I remarked
    to my dumb-struck brother that it was all over...that bank would
    tighten up 'til the Falcon dashed itself to bits against the desert
    floor.  
    
    But NO, that stupid, horribly out of trim abomination of an airplane
    continued to climb in gentle left-hand circles 'til our concern
    became the distinct possibility of a fly-away.  Naturally, while
    all this was transpiring, all I could think of was that I was going
    to have to build the owner a brand new airplane to replace this
    turkey...and that rankled me a bit!  OF COURSE, the tank was full,
    so I told my brother, "DON'T TAKE YER' EYES OFF IT, EVEN TO BLINK,"
    then packed up all our paraphernalia, and away we went, chasing
    this ever smaller yellow speck in the sky in the car.
    
    After about 5 miles, the Falcon decided to stay pretty much in the
    same place, still circling, so we got out of the car, watched and
    prayed some more.  By now, the possibility that we might just get
    this thing back in more or less one piece had begun to creep into
    our feeble brains.  It was very faint but you could just barely
    hear the engine purring away contentedly and then, after about 25
    minutes (it seemed like 25 years), the engine ran out of fuel and
    quit.
    
    We watched in total disbelief as this horribly set-up, totally out
    of trim airplane transitioned into gentle, gliding right hand circles
    in the best free-flight fashion.  Now we KNEW there was a chance.
    After gliding down to maybe 1000', the bird started migrating, as
    if drawn there by some invisible force, toward a large open field
    and we followed, obediently, hoping no obstruction(s) would jump
    up and spoil what now appeared to be an excellent chance to get
    it back in a minimum number of pieces.
    
    Well, somebody up there liked us that day cause the crazy doggone
    thing, now graceful as an eagle riding a thermal, threaded its way
    between power-poles, UNDER the telephone/power lines, across the
    road, OVER a barbed-wire fence and touched down not much worse than
    some of the landings I'd made with it that very day.
    
    Much, MUCH relieved, we walked over to the Falcon, looked it over
    and determined quickly that there wasn't one new mark on it.  Walk-
    ing back to the car, my brother sez, "This looks like a pretty good
    place...ya' wanna' fly it again??"  I looked at him with a gaze
    that would've wilted a 35' Saguaro cactus and replied, "You outa'
    yer rabid-a__ mind???"  WE TOOK IT HOME!
    
    That's the end of the tale and I swear it's the absolute gospel...
    if I'm lyin', I'm dyin'!!!!!!
    
    Send in your unusual stories soon...., adios for now,
    
    Al Casey
    

    Brian, I swear before the great R/C God in the sky that the stories
    I've related are the gospel truth.  I'll not deny that the passage
    of time combined with a smidgen of literary license may make them
    a little more fun to remember, nowadays, but they are based on actual,
    personal experiences and recollections.  Wanna' hear some more??
    
    Lemme' relate to you some of the strange/funny/interesting things
    that occurred during the 18 consecutive years I attended the Albu-
    querque Fun-Fly.  But first, a little background:  The Albq. bash
    is probably one of the oldest (if not THE oldest) R/C fun-fly in
    the country....certainly in the southwest.  It's been going, without
    interruption, since the mid-'50's, well before the advent of propor-
    tional R/C.  I began attending in '63, never missing a year 'til
    1981.  The meet featured events like bomb-drop (water ballons ejected
    from a paper cup attached to the airplane), limbo, crap-shoot, pony
    express, etc. ad infinitum.  In addition, the meet was also THE
    place to show and fly new scale birds...yes, a few gluttons for
    punishment were, even then, flying some beautiful scale creations,
    somtimes successfully.
    
    I remember a fellow named Jack Blything...we all thought he was
    NUTZ!  This guy had the audacity to be experimenting with, of all
    things, styrofoam-cored wings.  Many a good laugh was had at Jack's
    expense as we witnessed countless in-flight failures of his "rubber
    wings."  Once, on a particularly cold morning, one of his wings
    broke just outside the landing gear block and fell off WHILE HE
    WAS TAXYING OUT TO TAKEOFF!  Poor old deluded Jack...I wonder who's
    laughing NOW?  
    
    Then there was ol' "Doc" Savage.  Nicknamed after the '40's era
    comic book/serial hero, Doc was one to draw to.  Doc had, at one
    time been a member of the Sons of the Pioneers and was a teriffic
    entertainer, on and off the field.  Doc passed on a few years back,
    but I'll never forget him, transmitter-in-hand, chasing HIMSELF
    up and down the taxi-apron with his AeroMaster hollerin', "WHOA!
    ...HEEL YOU SONAFAB___!!!
    
    We had a LOT of fun with Ted White too.  Ted was (and still is today)
    THE premier hot-dawg, free-style, barnstorming R/C pilot in the
    country.  Ted had eyes in the back of his head and ALWAYS knew when
    another pilot was in trouble.  He'd be at your side in a heartbeat
    ready to save the day, which he usually did.  Well, one day a "friend"
    of Ted's and ours, C.G. Hoover (son of Frank Hoover, whose F&M propor-
    tional radios were one of the first, maybe THE first on the market)
    decided to put Ted on a bit.  A couple of C.G.'s buddies made a
    BIG deal out of "fighting" to see who would fly C.G.'s plane.  As
    far as anyone knew, NEITHER of them had ever even flown before and,
    as they did a great "3-Stooges" routine getting the engine started,
    they dropped the transmitter several times and generally abused
    EVERY common sense rule known, relative to successfully flying an
    R/C model.  Everyone on the field was, by now, completely taken-in
    by these shennanigans, no one more so that Ted.  Finally, while
    the airplane was taxying erratically around the field, one of these
    two "clowns" threw the tramnsmitter on the ground HARD and the two
    of them commenced to have a fistfight (mock, of course) while the
    airplane went crazy, took off like a wounded albatross and limped
    around the sky on the (apparent) brink of disaster.  The transmitter
    lay on the ground emitting a shower of sparks and an ominous cloud 
    dense SMELLY smoke (stink-bomb).  In true Dudley Do-Right fashion,
    Ted ran up, grabbed the sparking, foul-smelling box and attempted,
    heroically, to save the doomed model, hollerin' at the top of his 
    lungs, "HEADS-UP...I AIN'T GOT IT...I CAN'T SAVE IT!!!"   It was
    about this time that we noticed C.G. hunkered down behing some trash
    barrels, REAL transmitter in hand and nearly rolling on the ground
    in laughter.  When Ted finally realized he'd been HAD, he dropped
    the bobby-trapped transmitter and went after C.G. with a vengeance.
    C.G. had to pass the transmitter to Dac Savage and run for his life.
    Awhile later, Ted had "forgiven" C.G. and the story almost immediately
    became a legend in these parts.
    
    Well, I've got more of 'em if anyone's interested...ask me about
    the great P-38 caper...but I've gotta' go for now.  Keep the stories
    coming....I know I'm not the only NOTER who has some interesting
    tales to swap.
    
    Adios amigos,	Al

    OK, here goes on the great P-38 caper.  My best R/C buddy, Bob 
    Frey (pronounced Fry), and I had "come into" a Royal P-38....this
    was about 1980.  The '38 had been built by a good friend of Dan
    Parsons (the same one who sells the excellent 0.6 oz. fiberglass
    cloth advertised in RCM & M.A.N. magazines).  This friend of Dan's
    was a cabinet maker, highly skilled with working wood and working
    with his hands so, even though this was his first modeling effort,
    the '38 was well and properly built.
    
    Unfortunately, the poor guy had a heart attack and died before he
    ever got a chance to see his creation fly so his widow asked Dan
    to take it around to various meets and fly it in memory of her departed
    husband.  Dan had been doing just that for a year or more when,
    at one of our 1/8 Air Force Scale Fly-In's, an engine failure and
    pilot-error caused the bird to crash.  And THAT's where Bob and
    I got into the picture.
    
    We bought the wreckage "in a basket" complete with Rhom-Air retracts
    for a bargain price and set out to restore the P-38 to it's former
    glory.  It was a helluva' task but, eventually, we got 'er back
    in one piece, installed a pair of Enya .60 II's and proceded to
    have an absolute ball over the next 3 years and well over 200 flights.
    Heck I even took it to the Western Scale Nat's one year and entered
    it in team-scale.  Despite a terrible static score (65), I managed
    to place third due to the magnificent flight performance this thing
    had.  Our favorite maneuver was the Avalanche (loop with snap-roll
    at the top), a maneuver considered to be suicide for a heavy twin.
    
    Anyway, Bob, Kent Walters and I took our scale birds to the Albq.
    Fun-Fly one year...probably around 1978; Bob had his P-47D razorback
    Thunderbolt (the "Little Chief"), Kent had his old backup Royal
    F-4U-1 Corsair (he still has it) and I took the ol' P-38.  At the
    meet I had the chance to fly the '38 for the original builder's
    widow and we were having a blast showing what scale birds could
    do (Bob's forte was a lomcevak with the big Jug and the Avalanche
    with the '38 drew an audible gasp from the crowd every time!).
    
    Ted White was there flying the pants off a Martin-Baker MB-5 and,
    as the meet wound down toward closing, it was decided we should
    get Ted's and our 3 warbirds up for a little formation work.  So,
    up we went and what a flight we were having; coming in 4-abreast
    doing formation rolls, loops, hammerheads, Immelman turns and the
    like.  AND HERE'S WHERE THE "REAL" STORY BEGINS:"  A guy none of
    us knew got so excited that he JUST HAD to join our formation so
    he took off with an old Sterling Spitfire and tried to catch up.
    
    Well, the old Spit just didn't have the beans to catch up, so this
    guy decides to take a shortcut across the right-hand circuit we
    were flying...it might have worked if he hadn't misjudged his po-
    sition relative to ours, speed, etc.  JUST as we had rolled out
    on heading and pulled up to start another roll, here came this Spit
    diagonally right through the middle of our 4-plane formation. Mir-
    aculously, he missed 3 of the 4 warbirds but the loud THUD! and
    the silver confetti that filled the air showed that he had NOT 
    missed the P-38! 
    
    The '38 shuddered, trim went crazy and, all of a sudden, I had my
    hands full of nearly unflyable airplane!  A quick assessment revealed
    that a full 10" of the right-outboard wing were missing and what was
    left of the right aileron was fluttering in the breeze.  Sometimes
    a person rises to adversity in the face of disaster and, I guess,
    this was my day to shine.  It became immediately apparent that the
    '38 couldn't fly at full throttle due to the lost lift and excessive
    drag of the badly damaged right wing...it wanted to roll off to
    the right and NO amount of left aileron would raise that right wing!
    
    Playing with the throttles I discovered that I could maintain level
    flight at about 1/2 to 2/3 throttle while holding almost full left
    aileron.  BUT I couldn't turn it...twice I recovered it after it
    snapped when I tried to turn and I was sure it was inevitable that
    the bird would go in sooner or later.  Then I found, to my delight
    and relief, that, if I was careful, I could get a semblance of a
    turn by using sparing amounts of left rudder, balanced with the
    left aileron I was already holding (I wouldn't have dared try it
    to the right!) and, little by little I worried the crippled '38
    back toward the runway.  I should explain that time was of the essence
    here because the throttle setting wasn't enough to keep me airborne
    (the bird weighed 14 lbs. after repairs) and I dared NOT add any
    power lest it snap again....by now, I was well below the altitude
    needed to recover.  So, all the time, I had been losing altitude
    in a long, shallow powered-glide and I might not make the runway.
    I should also ass that, at the Albq. field, it's certain death to
    miss the field...the "rough" surrounding the field being littered
    with gigantic rocks and boulders. 
    
    At any rate, my luck held (for once) and the '38 crossed the threshold
    at no more than 2' altitude, at which point I "popped" the retracts
    and the bird kissed on and rolled to a stop.  I had such a case
    of "Battle-rattle" I barely heard the response from the crowd and
    the other pilots in the pits but, that day, you'd have thought I
    was Superman or something.
    
    But that's not the end...Good old Ted was so concerned for my bird,
    shouting instructions and "wishing me in" that, as we were walking
    to the '38, I heard a yell, "I CAN'T FIND MY AIRPLANE!" and as hundreds
    of eyes searched desparately, the ominous sound of an engine winding
    up tighter and tighter filled the air and suddenly STOPPED!  The
    cloud of dust finally pointed us to where Ted's beautiful MB-5 had
    plunged straight-in.
                         
    And it STILL wasn't over...where was the Spit that had started all
    this mayhem???  Then we spotted him...dragging in over the boundary
    fence with something dangling from the nose. He managed to stretch
    it to within 10 yards of the runway when he ran out of altitude,
    airspeed and luck, all at the same time.  He went into the sand
    but was relatively undamaged with the exception of the object dangling
    from the nose.  We could now see that it WAS the nose of the airplane,
    hanging by the throttle linkage.  He had continued to fly after
    the mid-air 'til the out-of-balance condition caused by a shattered
    prop had torn the nose, from the firewall forward, from the fuselage. 
    He was definitely NOT hurt as badly as poor Ted...there was absolutely
    NOTHING left of his MB-5 that could be reused...the radio, even
    the retractable tailwheel, EVERYTHING was a total write-off!
    
    We had a hard time being too upset with the Spitfire pilot...his
    only crime had been becoming so enthusiastic at what he was seeing
    that he wanted to be part of it. But he sure caused some excitement
    in the bargain, not to mention Ted's loss.  Fortunately, Ted took
    it real well and thought this was an experience we'd ALL remember
    for a LOOOOONG time!
    
    The story finally ends a few years later...we had repaired the '38
    and had MANY more flights on it when a guy with more money than
    experience made us an offer we couldn't refuse and bought it from
    Bob and I.  He STUFFED IT when he ignored proper engine-out procedure
    on his second unassisted flight, snapped it and blew it into the
    local history books! 
    
    Adios Amigos,	Al Casey
    almost full left aileron to maintai

    
    Well I've been kind of hanging back on this one but seeing as how
    you asked......
    
    For some history there are these two guys in the club, one works
    as a pattern maker and the other photographic reproductions,
    stickers,labels etc.
    Needless to say but they usually don't need any encouragement but
    low and behold they got some in the form of another member in the
    club. Seem as the story goes that this third member was a pain in
    the butt (in the eyes of the first two). Well that was all that
    was needed. The story now shifts to the seen of the crime. One day
    at a funfly all was set. The event director charle (one of the original
    two) had set one of the events up as a speed run. The victom (Del)was
    out at the start line with Al ( the photo guy). As al set down del's
    ship to get ready for the speeed run he nicked the prop. Feeling
    bad they returned to the pits. Al also feeling sorry offered to
    help Del. As Del rumaged thru his box looking for a prop none were
    to be found. Charle being the kind soul he is offered Del one of
    his. Del put it on and off they were back to the strat line engine
    running. Al set the plane down and cleared the area so Del could
    get ready for takeoff. The started counted down 3,  2,  1,  GO!!
    Del nailed the throttle and the engine roared pouring on the power.
    But the plane just sat there on the runway. the clock was ticking.
    De runs up and pushes the plane forward with ths foot. But nothing.
    Del" must be a wheel stuck", so he shuts down the engine and they
    return to the pits. The wheels are checked and all seems well.
    Back to the start line, this time with the engine tweeked out
    and ready to pour it on. Again Al sets the plane down and the count
    down begins. 3,  2,  1,   GO. Del hammers the throttle and the engine
    roars into action. But as before the plane just sits there. Del
    Furstrated not gives the plane a good kick but the pans just rolls
    a couple of feet. Del shuts down the engine and walks back to the
    pits mortified as to what is wrong. Charle yell over to Del "Hey
    what's wrong?, If you would break down and buy something new once
    and a while you might get something to work". They he proceed to
    say" hey how about my prop, You know that cost me money". Del 
    removes the prop and returned it to charles. Al runs over with another
    prop but less pitch and says" del maybe it will pull a lower pitch"
    Del not being one who quits installed the prop and proceeded back
    to the flight line. Full throttle and the ship lumbers into the
    air and runs it's three laps. Del came is seventh out of ten.
    To this day he hasn't realized what happened.
    
    
    
    	CAN ANYONE ELSE FIGURE THIS ONE OUT??
    
    						TOM

    
    	You guy's are so close that I'll give in and finish the story.
    Well if one was a detective one would have noticed that Charle is
    a Pattern make and Al workd making labels.  The idea of a push and
    a puller is the solution to this puzzle. ?Yes they set Del up. They
    knew that Del always uses a Topflite 10/7 prop. Charle hand carved
    the prop. One blade as a puller and the other as a pusher. Al 
    photographed a Topflite prop and reproduced a label that was affixed
    to the prop. When run you can't notice the difference. As much forward
    energy is exerted by one blade is exerted in the opposite direction
    with the other blade. As Del never started the plane he couldn't
    realize that there was air being blown forward.
    
    						Tom
    
    I have seen this prop and if you look at it quickly you don't notice
    the difference.

    Al Casey
    PNO::CASEYA  
    551-5572
    
    Just to keep things going and to start off the 7th decade of 
    replies in "RAMBLINGS," I'll spin another yarn fer' y'all.
    
    This goes back about 10 years.  Bob Frey and I went over to Mile
    Square Park in Fountain Valley, CA for what was then called the
    Western Scale Nationals, a contest started about a year earlier
    by the (then) newly formed So. Cal. Scale Squadron.  Bob entered
    his P-47N Thunderbolt (modified from Bob Holman's Complete-a-pak
    kit.  I had not yet convinced myself I was interested in competition
    so I wasn't flying, just playin' "pit-lizard" for Bob.
    
    It's necessary to describe the layout at Mile Square Park:  It's
    just like its name, a huge park, 1-mile square, that contains picnic
    areas, golf-course, lagoon, baseball and soccer fields AND a giant,
    triangular shaped, paved airstrip, about 1500' on a side, left over
    from WW-II days when the Marines used it as a training strip, but
    subsequently swallowed up by the explosive sprawl of Orange County.
                                                                
    Each leg of the triangle was dedicated to different activities:
    R/C'ers on 1-leg, U-control and free-flight on 1-leg and land- 
    sailers (like ice boats on wheels) and model rockets on the re-
    maining leg.  Picture it this way...as you faced the R/C runway,
    you had U-control/free-flight to your left and Land-sailers/model
    rockets to your right.  Lotsa' room though, no problem, right?
    Well ALMOST!
    
    As you turned onto the runway heading to begin a maneuver-pass,
    you couldn't avoid flying right over the model rocket area and this
    went on without incident for all of Saturday and into Sunday morning's
    first competition rounds.  
    
    THE SHOT HEARD 'ROUND THE WORLD (or at least the park):  Kent Walters
    was flying his first SBD Dauntless, armed with a bomb which contained
    a 12 ga. shotgun shell with the shot removed...this was well BEFORE
    the days when AMA outlawed pyro-technics.  On his second round flight,
    Kent experienced a failure of his bomb-release mechanism and the
    bomb dropped prematurely just as he was turning onto the runway
    heading.  Well, you've probably already guessed that the bomb fell
    directly into the model rocket area with a loud BANG!  Some fist-
    shaking audible discontent from the rocketeers could be made out
    but nothing/no-one was hurt so the contest continued. (I should
    mention here that Kent was so upset at this "near-miss" that he
    immediately discontinued the use of "live ordnance," using instead
    a urethane-foam bomb with half a rubber ball in the nose from that
    day forward.)            
    
    A few flights later, Bob's big (for the day) Jug was up on an official
    flight with me calling maneuvers and spotting traffic for him. He
    was just turning-in over the rocketeers when we heard a SWIIIISSSH-
    THUUUUDD and the engine over-revved, losing power instantly!  I
    was hollerin', "GEAR, FLAPS, LANDING TRIM" while Bob's hands were
    a blur, executing commands a micro-second before I yelled them. For-
    tunately (thanks to almost unlimited runway) Bob was able to dead-stick
    the heavy Jug straight ahead without further incident/damage.
    
    Close examination revealed minor damage to the cowling, wing leading
    edge and landing gear doors...like light small shrapnel hits all
    over the place.  Our first thought was that the prop had shed a
    blade in flight, but one of the flight-judges resolved any further
    speculation as to what had REALLY happened.  It's probably too obvious
    to make a "guess what happened" thing out of, so I'll just reveal
    the obvious.
    
    Neither Bob nor I saw it but, when the SWIIISSH was heard, the judge
    (and several others in the pits) saw the tell-tale smoke trail of
    the model rocket streak upward, right through the propellor arc
    of the P-47, producing the THUUUDD as the prop was shattered into
    splinters and the dead-stick landing ensued immediately.
    
    The big question has always been, "Was it deliberate?"  Probably
    was but, if so, I wonder who was the most surprised, Bob and I or
    the rocketeer who couldn't have thought he might ACTUALLY hit a
    fast-moving target.  Suffice to say, we've always believed that
    this instance has to be the only time in history that a WW-II Navy 
    divebomber attacked a rocket installation or that a P-47 was shot
    down by a rocket in retaliation.
    
    The obvious safety implicaions were instantly noted and, ever
    since that day, the model rocket area has been moved to the apex
    of the triangle farthest from the R/C area of Mile Square Park.
                              
    Adios y'all,	Al

    Here's one you may find humorous (unless it happened to YOU).  A
    fellow scale R/Cer who hails from Denver, Colo., had been flying
    a simply terrible looking Hawker Hurricane that was older than water
    but we knew he had a new 75", 1/5 scale Corsair nearly ready and,
    from all reports, it was gonna' be gorgeous.  He'd given us to expect
    to see it at that year's Scale Masters Champ's but, when he showed
    up, he unpacked and assembled the same tired, much repaired ol'
    Hurribus.
    
    Naturally, we asked him, "Hey Brian...where's the new Corsair??
    You didn't crash it, did you?"  His answer had us all rolling on
    the ground in fits of uncontrollable laughter!  Brian replied,
    "No I didn't crash it, though that would've been a more honorable
    end for it.  After putting on the last coat of K&B matte clear,
    I set the Corsair in the driveway to cure and my wife backed over
    it with her car as she left to go shopping!"
    
    Brian finished dead-last in that year's Masters with the contest-
    weary Hurri and became the second recipient of the "BEING LAST SUCKS"
    T-shirt, a tradition started by the first last-place Masters finisher,
    Frank Tiano!!
    
    Adios,	Al

    There once was a radio show that was called, "CAN YOU TOP THIS"!
    It was a live, unrehearsed joke telling bash, and quite popular.
    Reminds me of telling fish stories; always a bigger one to tell
    about the one that got away.
    
    Anyhoo, the story of Al Casey's borrowed Senior Falcon reminds me
    of an anecdote that took place at Dover AFB, Delaware, in 1956.
    
    Seems as though the resident GURU was a local high school science
    teacher that built all of his RC stuff out of his HAM junk box.
    He had a carrier wave (CW) rig in a rudder only ship that was always
    flying away on him; old transmitter batteries, cold solder joints,
    forgot to wind up the escapement rubber, etc.
    
    One day his ship just started flying straight away (as usual), without
    the faintest semblence of control, so he just picked up his
    ground-based transmitter and with 12 foot clicker switch keying
    cable dangling and 6 foot steel rod (jointed in 3 sections) antenna
    wriggling, he charged cross country after his bird, leaving the
    base on foot and taking off down the two lane road towards the town
    of Dover (ps, things have changed slightly, as far as roads are
    concerned, since then). Larry Beason and I watched Jake's airplane
    start to circle, getting farther and farther away, until it was
    a speck, and I reckon, by that time, Jake was just a speck also.
    
    Would you believe, the thing started coming back a little and since
    this stuff was really shared on just one very WIDE, WIDE 27.255
    MHZ frequency (only one of us could fly at a time), I decided that
    since Jake didn't have it, maybe I should try and see what I could
    do. (By the way, Jake used big tanks of fuel and a fuel miser, OK
    CUB .099)....
    
    I turned on my transmitter and HAD HIS BIRD! So I just flew it back
    to the field and as it came overhead it ran out of fuel. So I landed
    it, about three feet from where Jake had hand-launched it. Would
    you believe, neither Larry or I got in our cars and went out looking
    for Jake. About 45 minutes later, he came dragging in, looking like
    he had been through the swamps, transmitter still in hand.
    
    When he saw his model, sitting there pretty (actually, it was pretty
    raunchy) as a picture, I think he could have killed us; better to
    have lost the bird than be disgraced.... and pooped out at that.

    Hellooooooooooo,
    
    Anyone still out there???  "RAMBLINGS" has sure been quiet of late!
    ...come to think of it, the WHOLE RC conference has been somewhat
    like a morgue lately in terms of activity.
    
    Where's John Tavares these days?  How about Bob `n Brian from the
    U.K....and John from "Oz?"  Everybody on vacation (holiday) or
    sumthin'?  C'mon you guys, Kay, Chris, Dan and myself're havin'
    a rough time keepin' the net goin'.  I'm still waitin' fer' th'
    next installment from Brian on the trials/tribulations of a tyro
    "sqirrely-bird" driver.
    
    Meantime, I'll spin another yarn fer' y'all.  This one happened
    to Kent Walters, our resident U.S. Scale Masters champ (3-times),
    all-around good-guy, personal fying buddy and friend.  We were flying
    at a field on the far east side of the valley (east of Mesa for
    those who might have some knowledge of the greater Phoenix area)
    and Kent had been asked to test-hop a brand new Top-Flite P-40
    for a young fellow (about 18-yr.'s of age...I hate him!) who was
    brand new to scale...this was his very first scale ship.
    
    I need to describe the field's geography for the story to make any
    sense:  the runway runs east-west and the pits, ramada and flight-line
    are on the south side of the strip...there's virtually unlimited
    obstacle-free area  to the north, east and west of the runway....
    unless you count an occasional 35+ foot Saguaro (Sah-warrow) cactus.
    BUT, behind you, to the south, there's a 30' high dike (embankment)
    running alongside the Central Arizona Project canal, both of which
    parallel the runway at a distance of about 100 yards.  The canal
    is about 60' across, 25' deep and is running full of water nowadays.
    
    OK, the stage is set.  Kent made a perfectly normal takeoff with
    the new P-40 and was in the process of trimming the ship, about
    2-minutes into the flight, when, for some reason we NEVER did figure
    out, the receiver simply signed-off and the `40 entered the well-
    known "death-spiral."  It was plenty high when this occurred and
    the spiral was very shallow, so Kent had lots of time to check/re-check
    the transmitter, but all seemed OK at ground level, so he (and everyone
    else witnessing) concluded the bird was doomed and said so aloud.
    
    The poor kid who owned the plane, resigned to the imminent crash,
    had already doffed his shoes, socks and shirt, swum across the
    canal and started climbing up the dike as the `40 was drifting ever
    farther southward and was already well behind the dike.  The spiral
    finally tightened up and the plane dropped from view behind the
    dike with Kent still valiantly trying to fly it with an, apparently,
    dead radio.  As the `40 disappeared from sight, Kent gave it full
    up and waited a few seconds then, assuming the seemingly obvious,
    he switched off the Tx and set it on the ground.
    
    We noticed the owner, now atop the dike, frantically waving his
    arms but no one could make out what he was hollerin' when, all at
    once, the P-40 reappeared above the dike, engine snarling and clawing
    for altitude.  Kent's jaw hit the ground and he was so rattled at
    this that the, normally, cool, calm, "cowboy" fumbled all over himself
    trying to pick up the transmitter, switch it back on and try, once
    more, to fly this errant bird.
    
    It MUST'VE been devine intervention `cause, once Kent had collected
    himself and got the Tx turned back on, the P-40 behaved normally
    and responded to every control input, just like nothing had ever
    happened.  Kent wasted NO time setting-up, dropping the gear and
    landing.  The bird was checked profusely and nothing could be found
    to explain its baffling behavior.
    
    Subsequently, the radio was returned to the factory but NOTHING
    was ever found to explain the phenomena.  For peace-of-mind more
    than anything, all battery packs were changed and the plane flies,
    to this day, without a repeat of its maiden-flight truancy. We
    always felt this one wouldve made a great episode for "The Twilight
    Zone!"
    
    Adios,	Al

OK Guys,

So where're all the new yarns?  Chris has "promised" a story about his landing
in a tree so it sounds like he's finally received his first  "humbling" at the
hands of the great R/C Gods in the sky...can't wait to hear "that" one. :-}

While we're "impatiently" awaiting Chris' saga, I guess it's up to me to keep
the ball rollin', so here goes a tree story of my own:

Sometime back, I was solicited to test fly a fella's brandie-new Ugly-Stik and
give him a few refresher lessons as he was just returning to the recreation af-
ter an absence of over 5-yr.'s, forced on him by a series of spinal surgeries.

His new Stik was beautiful (if a Stik can, indeed, be beautiful); even though I
don't particularly care for film coverings, I had to admit he had done a gor-
geous job with the metallic-blue Monokote with yellow and black trim.  He'd done
a meticulous job of building/covering the bird and installing the engine and 
radio gear.  My only complaint was that he hadn't modified the wing hold-down
system to nylon bolts...he'd retained the dowels/rubberbands per the plans.

Anyway, we checked everything out, fired up the new O.S. .60 and put in a com-
pletely uneventful test flight; the plane flew right off the bench, requiring 
nothing I couldn't dial-in from the transmitter...all-in-all a fine bird.  After
refueling, I took the bird back up and handed it over to the owner who, though 
he had some expected rust and barnacles on him, proceeded to stick th' Stik 
around the sky pretty much unassisted except for verbal instructions from me.

Toward the end of the flight, I could sense that he was getting a little tired,
so I determined to let him get it set up for a pass up the runway, then take it 
back and land.  THAT, it turned out, was a fatal mistake, though no one could
possibly have predicted, at the time,  what was about to happen.

As he turned right onto the runway heading, the owner over-rolled into the bank
such that the nose dropped and the bird began to "wind-in" to a spiral.  No big
problem, I thought, He'll straighten it out with a little verbal assistance....
"A little left aileron and a little up" I said calmly, there was certainly no
reason for panic (YET), he was up at least 500' so there was plenty of time. He
responded immediately by flattening the bank with a little left aileron and as 
he began to pull the nose up, IT HAPPENED!  Without warning, the wing suddenly
parted company with the fuselage.

OHMYGAWD! HERE, he hollered as he thrust the transmitter into my hands, expect-
ing, I guess, that I might perform some miracle and save the doomed ship.  That
was the first of several times I've found myself in a similar situation and, I 
must say, it always feels the same: helpless, futile, inadequate, DOOMED!  It
seemed like I oughta' be doing "something" (there was plenty of time, owing to 
the altitude at the time of wing-jettison) so I fiddled with the sticks a bit
and discovered I "could" actually alter the trajectory somewhat so I determined
to try to "aim" it at a stand of Mesquite (Mess-keet) trees that lined the edge
of the runway behind us and cut the throttle.  The fuselage never spiralled, it
stayed upright; you could actually see the tail pumping up-and-down as I attemp-
ted to zero-in on the trees, reasoning that they would cushion the impact and 
minimize the damage, maybe even to the point of being repairable.

Well, it was surely more luck than good sense but the wingless fuse plummeted 
down like an ICBM, directly into the trees.  GREAT! I thought, just what I'd
hoped for, "Let's go see how it came through" I said to the owner.  I was really
thrilled that I'd been able to "help" the bird into the tree, thinking that this
surely had saved the fuse from being totalled.

I should mention, at this point, that a Mesquite tree, unlike trees most of you
are familiar with, is not a soft lookin', leafy-green thing.  It has thorns in
place of leaves and small yellow blooms are the only things to break up the dull
gray-green overall color of trunk, branches, et al.  Like all things in the de-
sert, it's primary function is to survive in a hostile, arid climate and DEFEND
itself.  Still, Mesquite trees Had to be softer than the 40-yr. old, decomposing
asphalt runway of the old WW-II training strip we were flying from..., didn't 
it??  We soon discovered the errors of our thinking.

When we reached the crash-site and looked up, both our jaws dropped, we looked
at each other in disbelief then simultaneously, despite the grimness of the sit-
uation, broke up in uncontrollable laughter, literally rolling on the ground!!
There, in the middle of the desert, was a homely Mesquite tree, masquerading as
a CHRISTMAS TREE...pretty metallic-blue "ornaments" festooned almost every thorn
of every upper limb where the fuselage had been torn to virtual shreds by the
violated tree.  Lovely, colorful red servo's dangled here and there; a flash of 
twinkling silver revealed itself as the dural main landing gear....puffy white
foam-balls turned out to be the foam-wrapped battery pack and fuel tank.  Lower
down, the nosewheel and strut spun merrily, hanging by the steering linkage and,
below that, the engine danced gaily up and down, the throttle linkage snagged by
the last possible branch that could've prevented it's making it to terra-firma.
Would you believe, the prop, while well scratched, was still in one piece?

Unfortunately, the humor of the situation immediately vanished when "I" had to
climb into this tree full of living barbed-wire and retrieve all the reuseable
and valuable hardware (remember, the owner had "just" recovered from 5-yr.'s of
back surgery).  By the time I got all the junk out of that tree, I looked like
I'd been attacked by two dozen rabid, enraged wildcats!!  I smarted ALL over and
was sore for weeks afterward from hundreds of scratches and puncture wounds!

The post-mortem revealed that the soft balsa fuse-sides had actually been "pun-
ky" enough that the front wing dowels had been ripped out of the wood by the 
tension of the rubberbands.  The wing, by the way had fluttered down gently and
had not received a scratch for it's trouble.  I just happened to have an Ugly-
Stik fuse kit at home which I loaned this poor unfortunate and he was back in 
the air again in about 10-days...THIS time with bolt-on wings!!!

Adios amigos,	Al

    While typing that last reply I remembered an amusing thing that
    happened last winter at the same field.  When the snow gets deep
    we can't get to the pit area so we fly from the end of the runway
    adjacent to a plowed road, pitting on the road (dirt road for the
    corn fields, not public highway).  Mike and I had already had a
    few flights, we would start the planes in the road then put them
    on the field and take off.  At this time of the winter there was
    about a two foot snowbank at the edge of the field and the field
    was level from there.  After taking off, we would step up on the
    field and fly.  Well Mike had already taken off and was standing
    on top of the snow flying happily.  I started my First Step and
    put it on the snow and took off, no problem.  Then I proceeded to
    step up on the bank to the field, now I am a bit heavier than Mike
    and the snow bank decided it did not want that much weight standing
    on it so as I stepped up it gave out and I landed flat on my belly,
    arms out straight clutching the transmitter with my mouth wide open.
     Good thing the First Step is a stable airplane, I was able to keep
    control and fly while lying down, Mike almost crashed his plane
    he was laughing so hard.  I managed to get up from the snow, while
    still flying and got a full flight in.  Winter flying sure makes
    for some amusing times, like the time Mike landed so nice and soft
    with his skis, but I'll let him tell that one.
    
    Charlie

Well, looks like the ol "RAMBLINGS" topic needs a little punching-up again.
Let's "ramble" back to the old Albuquerque Fun-Fly again for a short yarn, then
let's hear some of those embarrassing stories some of y'all were threatening to
tell on yer'selves, or on each other a few days ago.

I'm guessing that the year was around 1968-69 and I was there with my faithful
Taurus, flying is such events as bomb (water-balloon) drop, carrier-landings and
limbo.  I didn't like the limbo event (had seen many ships meet a premature de-
mise in this event) but was flying in it anyhow.  I'd done pretty good at the 
higher levels but, as the crepe-paper ribbon was lowered ever closer to the 
ground, things proceeded to get more intense (and difficult) as, I guess, is the
whole point of the event.

I managed to get down to (what was to be) the lowest level of around 14" and 
we discovered that several of the remaining ships could barely taxi under the
ribbon without catching the ribbon on the tip of the fin/rudder, let alone "fly"
under it.  I thought I'd made it on the first of my three attempts (still think
I did) but the officials said one or more of my wheels had touched the ground 
so I had to try again.

On my next attempt, I flew through the ribbon so I was down to my last attempt.
I was the last one to try and no one had made it yet so my final attempt would
either make me the winner or we'd all start over for another round of attempts.
I slowed the Taurus up all I could, dropping just below the power curve, then 
drug it in on the prop, using throttle to control altitude and rudder for direc-
tional control.  The approach looked real good right up to the last 20' or so 
from the limbo poles when a sudden, stray gust (common on the Volcano Cliffs
west of Albuquerque) blew the bird just slightly outside the intended flight
path.  I tried to rudder it back where I wanted it but it was too late...I was
committed (or should've been).

In correct limbo procedure, I powered-up just as I reached the ribbon and pre-
pared to climb away.  The ship cleared the ribbon (and the ground) perfectly 
EXCEPT for the right wing which struck the outside limbo pole just outboard of
the main-gear torsion block and was sheared cleanly off at that point!  The
amputated wing fell to the ground while the crippled Taurus immediately tried
to roll to the right.  Hard left aileron AND rudder slowed the roll just long 
enough for the gear to touch down and there it was, rolling out on the ground, 
just as normal as you please with one wing totally (almost) gone. I taxied back
to where the sheared wing was laying, tucked the wing under my arm and taxied
back to the pits, more than a little embarrassed (and upset with myself).

Now a discussion commenced between the officials, "was it a legitimate pass, or
wasn't it?" Since it was cold and windy, none of the other pilots seemed anxious
to fly another round and since the Taurus' momentum had carried it outside the 
"no-touch zone," I was declared the winner of the event (fortunately as I was
hardly in any condition to fly another round).

That evening, I took the wing over to Dan Parsons' workshop where we "splinted"
the broken wing back together, poured the molded balsa shell leading edge full
of Sig 2-part polyurethane foam one rib-bay either side of the break, patched 
the torn covering and, Voila! the ol' Taurus completed the next day's events and
went on to live to the ripe old age of 7-years, passing through the hands of two
more owners and teaching a total of 5 newcomers (including myself) to fly R/C.

Adios,	Al

    Dan,
    
    I LOVE IT!  Talk about biting the hand that feeds it, eh?  When
    you came to the part where you were running to hand-launch it, I
    almost thought you were gonna' relate another hand-launch incident
    I witnessed "MANY" years ago.  Some may have heard similar tales
    and believed they were just "war stories" but I swear I saw this
    happen with my own two eyes.
    
    My Dad had taken me to the old Southwestern Regionals model airplane
    contest back in the middle-late `50's and what R/C there was at
    the time was still pretty primitive.  You saw a lot of nondescript,
    lookalike high wing/low stab birds and a few Berkley J-3 Cubs (you
    can still build one of these, it's the 72" Cub kitted by Sig...at
    least I "think" they still kit it).  These early diehard R/Cers
    would spend , seemingly, hours between flights tweaking and retuning 
    the radio(?) system and the winner was the guy who managed to get up
    the most/longest and didn't have his ship fly away, a verrry common
    occurrence.
    
    Well, a fellow named Glen Cunningham had been having a particularly
    bad time of it, trying to get in official flights, and was being
    frustrated to the point of utter distraction by an even balkier than 
    usual radio.  He was obviously getting more and more rattled as
    the heat(?) of competition increased with each round.  Prior to
    the upcoming round he'd really been having fits getting things properly
    realigned and was late getting to the flight line on top of everything
    else.
    
    Then his engine got stubborn and refused to start, further aggraviting
    the already monumental case of "battle-rattle" (nerves) Glen was
    experiencing.  Finally, the engine barked to life; Glen hurriedly
    tweaked the needle-valve, picked up plane and transmitter, preparing
    to hand-launch the big (for then) J-3.  He kicked at the ground
    to test the wind, lined up into it and took off running like a man
    possessed.  At the critical point of launch, Glen coiled his arm,
    and hurled THE TRANSMITTER straight ahead into the wind while retaining
    his death-grip on the snarling Cub.  The poor transmitter hit the
    ground with a resounding thud and disemboweled itself on the ground
    as Glen, his pace now retarded to a stupified walk, sauntered up
    to the pile of electronic rubble and just stared at it in disbelief,
    still hanging on to the growling J-3 Cub.
    
    Deathly silence overtook all witnesses to the event for a few seconds,
    then the entire flightline erupted in insane, uncontrollable fits
    of laughter.  Glen is still around flying R/C and seldom do we meet
    when someone doesn't recall his great transmitter hand-launch and
    the laughter explodes all over again.  And that's the truth, so
    help me Carl Goldberg!
    
    Adios,	Al

    Al's verbage on the hand launch brought to mind a past RC flyer
    that used to belong to our club. 
    
    This fellow was a true hot dogger they way he flew and he was good.
    He would fly inverted inches off of the grass.  One day out at the
    field he had a new EZ built Lazer. First flight he flamed out at
    the end or the runway. Second flight he wa up but had to dead stick
    it in. Made a good three point landing but tweaked the mains and
    they had to be straightened. Third flight things are going well
    so Gules goes into his act and does a low  +- 2ft. pass down the
    runway. All of a sudden he flames out. Gules slams in full rudder
    and ailerons and you never seen such a great couple of snaps 2 ft.
    off of the ground. The EZ Lazer then proceed to rekit itself on
    the paved runway. Gules collapses his antenna and proceeds to do
    the best drop kick I've seen since I payed flag football in the
    back yard.

I just cain't he'p muhself', I just gotta' tell a story on my buddy since my 
teens (and R/C mentor from the `60's), Ted White.  If you'll read the coverage
on the Byron bash by Art Schroeder in the current Model Airplane News, you'll 
find a comment by Art that Ted was (is) one of the most outstanding free-style, 
barnstorming R/C pilots that ever was and this yarn tells of a time when Ted
nearly unzipped his'self.

Back in the early-mid `60's, the Albuquerque flying site was a vacant, dirt
field adjacent to the jalopy, super-modified race track.  One day, Ted, Dan
Parsons, Jess Wright and myself were out enjoying a day at the flying field
and Ted was on a "kick" of flying his Bandido close-in, in continuous counter-
clockwise circles, doing a maneuver, then resuming the circle, just like wire-
less U-control.  We were fascinated to watch this display of total command over
his model but kept suggesting to Ted that he "could" be courting disaster if 
the least thing were to go wrong...there'd be nowhere for him to run and no time
to do it if the bird ever zeroed-in on him.

Ted had already put in 3-or-4 flights where the bulk of each flight was playing 
this "U-control" simulation game and was up doing it again when a super-modified
race car came down the road at about mach-2 and 90db over thunder, testing the
engine or something.  When he got down adjacent to us, the driver cranked the 
wheel over hard, gunned it and spun about 720-degrees worth of "brodies" before 
heading back up the road to the race track.

The enormous dust-cloud this guy stirred up seemed to drop over Ted like a wet
blanket (while he was still doing his U-control thing) and the next thing we 
knew, we hear a dull thud and an earsplitting "YEEEEOWWWW!"  Sure enough, Ted
had lost sight/control of his bird for an instant in the dust-cloud and had, 
indeed, hit "himself" a glancing blow, right in the mid-section.  The prop had
made several shallow slashes in Ted's belly and, naturally, he was bleeding
like a stuck-pig!

Now, "we" could see that the wounds were purely superficial but Ted is one of 
these type guys that turns to Jello at the sight of blood, especially if it's 
"his" blood, and he immediately started to panic and become giddy.  He insisted
we rush him to a doctor and we dicided that, in his frame of mind, he could go
into shock so we conceded this was a wise course to take.  We gave Ted an enor-
mous wad of paper towels to clutch over his belly, piled him into a car and,
leaving Jess to look after the planes, Dan and I drove him to the emergency
room of the nearest hospital.

I'll admit that he "looked" much more seriously injured than he was and the 
emergency room people rushed him right in and called a doctor who went in with 
Ted immediately.  It was only a moment or two when we heard a roar of laughter
erupt from Ted's treatment room, followed by the doctor bursting from the room
with tears of laughter in his eyes and walking, hysterically, over to the nurses
station.  Dan and I exchanged quizzical glances then concentrated on picking up
on what the doc was saying.  We couldn't make out what he was saying but, in a 
moment, the nurses were cracking up too.

Unable to stand the mystery and assured that Ted was OK, Dan and I sauntered
over to the doc and asked him what was so funny.  Between gasps for breath, the
doc explained that he'd found it mildly amusing that Ted's wounds were the re-
sult of hitting himself with a "toy" airplane but what had provoked his total 
loss of self control was that Ted was convinced the prop was "still in there"
and was insisting on exploratory surgery!  About this time, Ted sheepishly walk-
ed over, clutching a wad of gauze to his stomach, and said, "If everyone's fin-
ished with their big laugh at my expense, can you tape me up so I can get outa' 
here?"

You know, we took him directly back to the flying field where Jess was still 
standing by and, without a word, Ted began scouring the area.  Jess asked, 
What's he looking for?"  We responded we didn't know; then it became clear as 
we watched Ted retrieve "every" last scrap of that broken prop, daring any of 
us to laugh.  Ted became a lot more conservative flyer from that point on.......

Adios,	Al

    Jim,
    
    I've "seen" what a track-mounted Pom-Pom does to an ABS plastic/foam
    Lanier Transit RTF.  Ted White and I were involved with flying
    "targets" at McGregor range, Fort Bliss, Texas int the mid-`60's
    while they were testing a new "smokeless" [it wasn't] powder which
    [in theory] allowed the gunner to see the target after the first
    several rounds.  We flew all weekend without even a near miss until
    [what became] the last flight on Sunday.  Encouraged by the offer
    of a 3-day pass, the gunners got "much" more serious and on this
    flight [Ted was flying at the time] the explosive shell bursts began
    "walking" up from behind the mode until, all of a sudden, "POOF,"
    the Lanier simply vanished!!  We never even found the engine.
    Ted said it was the weirdest feeling he'd ever had...he felt like
    he should do "something," land or whatever, but there was nothing
    left to do except switch off the TX and walk away, sorta' stunned!
    
    Adios,	Al
    

Well, it's been awhile since I've spun a nostalgia yarn fer' y'all.  Fact is,
the well's gettin' kinda' dry.  I keep waitin' [hopin'] for Don Huff ta' come
to the rescue with some of the great experiences he's had over the years but
he's pretty tied up of late so I'll try to fill in something in the interim.

Back in the earlier days of Formula-I pylon racing, there was a father/son team
from Southern California by the name of Stockwell.  Whit [the son] was the pilot
while his father [Bob] was builder/caller/pit-lizard.  While Whit was an excel-
lent race pilot, he had the temperment/disposition of a diamondback rattler...
in short, he was a spoiled rotten, over-bearing brat!!  It became clear to those
interested enough to observe where Whit got his "sweetness" as his Dad was the
obvious prototype for Whit's behavior, an unadulterated pain in the a**!

As an aside, I wouldn't expect many to recognize the name Dr. Robert Stockwell,
but if I mentioned that he was the head of the English Dept. at [I think] UCLA
and was the "authority/judge" on the old Allen Ludden "Password" TV game show,
some of you might remember...at any rate, this Robert Stockwell was the "Bob"
Stockwell of Whit and Bob fame.

These two were absolutely the worst sports in the racing game at the time, ab-
solutely the poorest losers you'd ever hope to see....always challenging the 
rules, complaining about an officials decision, etc. ad infinitum.  Whit was
quite successful, always had one of the slickest looking, not to mention fastest
ships on the field and won frequently but, when he lost, LOOKOUT!  You never
heard such carping, bitching, etc. and formal protests were S.O.P. from the
nefarious Stockwells.

Enter my buddy, Ted White.  Now, Ted almost never had a competitive racer...in-
deed, he frequently had one of the slower birds at a given race.  However, Ted's
fantastic eyesight, reflexes and natural ability allowed him to regularly beat
much faster competition.

One year at the Winternationals in Tucson, Ted wound up tied with Whit for, as I
recall, 4th place and they had to fly-off to determine 4th and 5th.  I was call-
ing for Ted and he was flying his usual race, out-turning Whit something fierce,
especially at the scatter [farthest away] pylon. Ted managed to eke out a slight
lead over Whit's obviously faster ship and hold it, much to Whit's displeasure.

When Ted actually started widening his lead, we could hear Bob cussing Whit fer-
ociously to "Tighten it up" and, in so doing, Whit cut the scatter pylon, losing
a lap.  I saw the flagman signal the cut, as did the race starter who came over 
and told Ted to "Relax, Whit cut a pylon."  At this point, Ted rolled inverted
and finished the race upside-down.  Whit had gained the [apparent] lead when he
cut the pylon but it didn't matter due to the one lap penalty;  Ted had won....
we "thought."

When the smoke cleared, Whit was declared the winner since the lapcounter who 
was tracking Whit's plane had failed to see the "cut" signaled by the flagman 
and, therefore, had failed to add the penalty lap.  We appealed, the flagman
verified the cut and the starter testified he'd seen the signal and told Ted
to cool it as Whit had cut.  All this time, Bob and Whit were protesting vio-
lently, denying the cut vehemently, even though Whit had grudgingly admitted the
cut and congratulated Ted on his win at the immediate conclusion of the race.
Whit'd even flown the additional [penalty] lap before landing because "he" knew
better than anyone that he "had" cut the pylon.

But, it was all to no avail...the closed-minded NMPRA officials refused to re-
verse the decision, bowing to the infantile ranting and raving of the Stockwell
team.  Ah, but there "is" justice in this world.  The Tucson R/C Club contest
officials knew Ted had legitimately won and was getting the shaft from the NMPRA
boys so they pulled a little switcheroo.

At the awards ceremony, Whit was awarded 4th place to a shower of Boo's from the
onlookers and received a box of SIG 5-minute epoxy as his merchandise prize. Ted
was then declared 5th place finisher, BUT, he received a brand new K&B .40 ra-
cing engine as his prize.  Smirks and giggles abounded as the glaring Stockwells
abruptly folded their tent and hastily departed, knowing they'd been had!  This
was at least one instance where their deceit and atrocious sportsmanship paid
them the reward they so richly "deserved."

Adios amigos,	Al

	Well, probably like so many who access notes files for the
	first time, ya' set unseen and go from there.  But after a while
	and a lot of weeding and reading ya' get around to some of the
	older topics and start to get a feel for what's goin' on.

	That divine inspiration in hand, I felt compelled to drop this one
	into the ramblings topic.

	I belong to the SNHR/CC which every year puts on the the best
	pattern contest in the country, the New England Regional Championships.
	This contest takes place at the Orange Airport in western Massachusetts
	over Saturday and Sunday in the summer.

	Well, as most of you that have been to a pattern contest probably
	know, if your not a flier, they tend to be a little dull to observe
	after a couple of hours or so and this is especially true if you
	happen to be a tag along spousal type.  So at our contest we try
	to add a little social flavor to the event and have a HUGE meal
	catered to the contest on Saturday evening.  Ya see, one of our
	club members is a buyer for a regional market and with a little
	arm twistin' manages to convince a couple of salesmen types to
	"contribute" to a worthy cause.... and so steaks, shrimps, and
	all the trimmings abound for all that attend.

	Anyhow, this means that we knock off the contest flyin' a little
	earlier than some on Saturday which also leaves some free time
	for some sport flyin' at the airport, a real treat for some of
	us that always have to fly off grass fields cause that's mostly
	what's available here in the northeast.

	So about two or three years back, our now club vice president, a
	hell of a good guy named Harry Peters came to the contest to help
	with the work part and brought along his Sig Cougar to do a little
	sport flyin' Saturday evening.  Now Harry's no schlock when it
	comes to movin' the sticks around, in fact He's a real fun fly
	hotdog and regularly takes home top hardware in some of the larger
	fun fly contests in these parts.

	Well anyhow, Harry is out there tearin' up the sky with his Cougar
	and we're all standin' around givin' him all that expert advice
	everyone who's not flyin' always seems to have plenty of.  The
	crowd loves it after all the pattern flying looking about the same
	for most of the day.  Harry is really puttin' on a show and is
	coaxed into doin' some inverted passes down the runway at some point.
	Well one thing leads to another and pretty soon Harry is linin'
	her up and barreling down the runaway inverted at about six feet
	and what do ya' think all the experts were sayin?

	Yup: LOWER...LOWER...LOWER...LOWER...LOWER...LOWER...

	And of course Harry goes LOWER!!!  Every pass is just a little bit
	lower, all the time inverted, all the time full throttle and that
	Cougar is just screaming down the runway now less that two feet
	off the ground.

	LOWER...LOWER...LOWER... we all holler!!

	Harry lines her up again and here we go, now maybe just a foot
	or so off the deck, full throttle and inverted.  Well about half
	way down the runway with a perfect 10 for centering the maneuver
	that screamin' Enya just stops dead in its tracks... and Harry
	pulls that stick back with the catlike reflexes that we all have
	from all those hours of practice.  Well the Cougar did respond
	as it is a responsive ship and just nosed into the runway at what
	had to be 100+ MPH from one foot high.  I means to tell ya' that
	there was dead silence in the place.  Harry's plane was scattered
	down that runway for miles and I mean there was nothin' left of
	her.  So, Harry puts down his transmitter and the grave diggin'
	party accompanies him out to recover the bits.

	That plane hit so hard that the engine was in many little pieces
	the largest of which was the piston and rod which also made it
	furthest down the runway, about 50 yards from where she hit and to
	this day Harry still wears that piston and rod safety pinned to the
	visor of his cap!!

	Have a good weekend everybody.

	Ron

    Kay,
    
    I didn't mean to ignore yer' glider story...muchas gracias.  Can
    I assume this is the same glider you flew today during yer' lunchtime
    session in Acton?  If so, it's good to know it wasn't seriously
    damaged.
    
    Yer' mention of the rudder being run over by a car brings to mind
    another Ted White story [Gawd! For such a splendid pilot, Ted's
    sure lost a lot of ships...and in the most peculiar ways too].
    
    I was visiting Ted in Oklahoma City one time shorlty before he moved
    to Dallas.  Ted grabbed a coupla birds and said "Let's go flyin'."
    Naturally, he didn't have ta' ask me twice so before long we found
    ourselves in a large open field bounded on the far side by a railroad
    switchyard.  After several flights, Ted overextended the fuel supply
    in his El Bandido and called "Deadstick!"
    
    By now, a respectable wind from the direction of the switchyard
    had built up and, naturally, Ted was out over the yard when the
    engine quit.  (Hold it, guys, yer' gettin ahead of me.)
    
    Yeah, you guessed it, unable to penetrate back to the field, Ted
    deadsticked the Bandido right at the edge of the switch yard and
    the ship bounced, rather ignobly, right onto the railroad tracks.
    
    We sauntered, rather casually, toward the stranded airplane until,
    "What was that?"  You got it...we heard the unmistakeable sound of
    the airhorns of a diesel locomotive and decided we'd better elevate
    the priority of retrieving the airplane.  Now at a fast trot, we
    ran towards the Bandido but too late; the locomotive with several
    box cars in tow came into sight around a bend that was shielded
    from view by some buildings and it was clear that, unless it stopped,
    we couldn't possibly reach the plane before the train did. 
    
    Need I say it?  The train _didn't_ stop and we were too late.  We
    stood dumfounded while we watched probably 25-tons of diesel locomotive
    reduce the once proud Bandido to so much indistinguishable garbage!!
    
    I mean it was a total write off.  Nothing recognizeable was left.
    We never did find some of it, including the receiver and the engine
    had been mashed flatter `n a sailcat as it'd been [obviously] directly 
    beneath one of the diesel's wheels.
    
    Ted was awfully [understandably] upset about it at the moment but
    he cooled off quickly and we had an enormously good time telling
    and retelling the story that night (and for many years to follow). 
    
    Adios amigos,	Al
                              

Here is an interesting note that I received in the mail today.  It sort
of fits in the Rambling category.

Bye          --+--
Kay R. Fisher  |
---------------O---------------
================================================================================
Note 52.2                    Your Air Force is Awake                      2 of 5
HAMPS::HILL "Nick Hill - UK Corp. Actts"            116 lines  16-MAY-1988 08:34
                        -< and one for the USN flyers >-
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
 
			HOW ROUGH CAN IT GET?
			~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
 
	Re-typed from an incident report circa 1972.
 
 
Present day aircraft tend to be viewed as highly sensitive
instruments.
 
The McDonnell Douglas Phantom is a modern highly sophisticated weapons
system.
 
A U.S. Navy Phantom took off one evening to build up night and
simulated instrument time with a mirror landing practice on a local
airfield.
 
A Tacan penetration with GCA pick-up was commenced in a mirror landing
sequence, the final controller assuming control at 9 miles.  At 3
miles the Phantom was established on the glide path and continued in
to 1/2 mile, at which point the controller instructed the pilot to
take over on visual.
 
GCA control, however, continued to transmit "on glide path and course"
information throughout the remainder of the approach.  This
information was false.
 
The Phantom pilot checked the mirror and realised, despite GCA
information, that he was undershooting.  He applied full combat power.
 
The aircraft struck the ground 50 ft. short of the runway, colliding
with an 18 inch mound of earth and then bouncing into a 2 ft. deep
trench just 5 ft. short of the threshold.
 
On final impact the port main gear was torn off at the trunnions and
the starboard wheel sheared at the axle stub and ran ahead of the
aircraft down the runway.  Both wing tips were torn off.
 
The pilot saw sparks in the rear view mirror and called up to report
damage.  The aircraft carried on down the runway and became airborne.
 
The Landing Safety Officer, who had just come on duty, was requested
to check the state of the aircraft on fly-over.  Although it was dark,
he did not use an Aldis lamp but reported the damage to the pilot as
"a burst starboard tyre".
 
It was decided to effect a short field arrestment on the secondary
runway to avoid closing the main runway.  The LSO asked for a
communications equipped truck so that he could control the arrested
landing.  The truck arrived without communications equipment.
 
While efforts were being made to get the ground/air communications
equipment, the Phantom orbited the field.  Hydraulic warning lights
came on but all three systems indicated normal pressure.  The pilot
blew down gear and flap as a precaution.  Shortly after this the power
controls' hydraulics failed, so he extended the ram air turbine.
 
By this time the communications equipment had arrived and the LSO
called for a low pass, to "establish proper alignment with the
secondary runway".  During this pass, with the entire port main gear,
the starboard wheel and both wing tips missing, the LSO called up the
pilot to say that he could not see the arrestor hook.  The pilot
checked the gear and hook and reported "All down and locked".  The LSO
then advised him to make a normal approach on the centre line.
 
The approach and attempted arrestment were normal, but on touchdown
the port engine flamed out.  The aircraft settled, sliced through
both arrestor cables and with sparks flying, the left wing began to
drag on the concrete.
 
The LSO advised the pilot to cut throttles and stay down.  But the
pilot was losing directional control and was running off the runway.
He selected starboard after burner and got the Phantom back in the
air.  The tail plane skinning was torn, the arrestor hook forced up
fouling its housing, and both jet pipe nozzles fractured.  The left
wing skinning was torn.
 
After this, the pilot somewhat heatedly asked the LSO to check the
gear again.  After another low pass, this time illuminated, the LSO
relayed "some gear damage" to the pilot.  This was confirmed almost
immediately by the duty truck arriving with the port main gear and
starboard wheel.  This latter evidence was not reported to the pilot.
 
Another arrestment was set up, this time with the runway foamed.  The
pilot managed to re-light the port engine.
 
The tower, at this juncture, requested Coast Guard to provide a rescue
helicopter at the scene.
 
The second attempted arrest (third touchdown) was commenced with 1,000
lb. fuel remaining.  Touchdown was 3,000 ft. short of the cables and
once again the Phantom cut straight through the cables and skidded
down the runway, tearing out several large panels from the lower
fuselage.
 
The pilot applied full afterburner and once more got the Phantom into
the air.  The handling was described as "marginal".
 
Once more the runway was foamed and cables belayed to the chain
arrestor gear.  With 800 lb. fuel remaining the Phantom made a good
approach but was again short, hit the cables at a high speed and
severed both of them, tearing off the nose gear and doors in the
process.
 
With full afterburner, the pilot once more managed to get the aircraft
into the air, by now with a "dangerously low" fuel state.  He decided
to do a Martin Baker let-down and headed for the coast.
 
Climbing laboriously at about 1,500 feet the Phantom rolled violently
to the right and pieces fell off both wings.  The second man ejected
as the pilot brought the aircraft level over the coast.  The pilot was
able to eject just before the Phantom dived into the sea.
 
Both men were located and picked up by the Coast Guard helicopter and
returned to the base, unhurt.  The condition of the LSO is not known.
 
 
    
================================================================================
Note 427.3                 Partially amphibious F-4??                     3 of 3
KGB::TAYLOR                                           6 lines  17-MAY-1988 13:36
                   -< It was a normal day in Gotham City... >-
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
 
    As a kid, I was always told, 
    
    	"If at first you don't succeed, try, try and try again..."
    
    but this was taking it a bit too far...
    

    i have to quickly describe the practical(?) joke played on the
    attendees of the decrcm meeting last night.  great fun!
    
    2 weekends ago i finally creamed in the pee47.  was practicing
    my ultra low rolls when the tail hit while inverted and the plane
    skidded on its back across the asphalt at orange (60 to 0 in about
    5 seconds).  needless to say the tail and canopy were ripped off
    and the rest of the plane wasnt in great shape either ( i was not
    exactly heartbroken).  as we stood around the mess we started to
    think about what to do with it.  zap it together and fly it again?
    nah.  instead we got sort of reassembled the poor thing as best
    as possible and parked it next to the other planes.  then with
    the videocamera we recorded dan's friend  hogan (about 
    180 pounds and wearing steel toed shoes) attempting to hand launch
    his electric glider.  as he ran by the pee-47 he steps smack on
    the wing.  CRUNCH!  looked and sounded great on big color tv.
    so without saying anything we brought the film to the meeting and
    showed it.  15 mins into it there was the "wing walk".  i wish
    i had a camera on the 15 or so faces when they saw that "tragic
    accident"!  gotcha!  good job dan and kay and sean for keeping
    the secret!
             
    kevin

Little item from Bill Warner's column in the Feb 89 MA.  Quoted
by Bill from the MAIMA Hangar Pilot:

Matthiew Boya, who lives in the small West African country of
Benin, was practicing golf adjacent to that country's prime
military airfield.

One of his drives hit a bird, which then smashed into the
windshield of a jet in mid-takeoff.  The pilot lost control of
the plane, which then careened off the runway and crashed into
the remaining four planes in Benin's air force!

The Benin government held Boya responsible to the tune of 44
million bucks, and charged him with 'hooliganism,' an offense
punishable by a six-month prison term.

Good news: Boya received only a seven-day suspended jail
sentence.  His fine was reduced to $45.

Bad news: Boya makes only $325 a year.

More bad news: Benin still doesn't have an air force.

I was reminded, off-line by Bernie Breault, that I haven't posted any yarns in
Rambling for quite some time.  There're a coupla' reasons for this: first, I've
just about run the well dry of yarns and, second, I've been a lot busier lately.

But, lemme' try to post a quick story on ol' Dan'l Parsons and hope I haven't
told it before.  Way back when, when reed-type, non-proportional radios still
dominated the R/C scene, Dan was gutsy enough to design a stand-off scale model
of the Messerschmitt Me-210/410.  A big bird [for its day] with about a 75" 
wingspan, the twin-engined German fighter was powered by a pair of Super Tigre 
.60's and had sparkling performance, to say the least, particularly on the awk-
ward reed-radio.  But Dan was up to the task and had many, many successful and
spectacular flights with his model.

Dan had rigged the greenhouse canopy to come off as a unit, providing additional
access to the radio compartment and the radio gear within.  You see, reed sets
required frequent tuning, right at the field, so such a hatch, enabling one to
access and tune the radio without disassembling the aircraft was a tremendous 
asset.  The receiver was mounted directly beneath the removeable canopy unit and
its antenna was threaded up through the canopy and out a scale mast mounted atop
same.  At its end, the antenna was knotted and a small rubberband, tied around 
the antenna ahead of the knot, then looped under tension over a pin in the ver-
tical stab completed the installation, a method that remains common today.  The
canopy/hatch was held in place by a coupla' small screws, as I recall.

So, one day, we're out at the old Albuquerque super-modified racetrack where we
flew off a large open patch of dirt just east of the track compound.  Dan'd had
a coupla' good flights on the Me-210 which was, by now, about 8-years old and 
had survived countless flights with the reed system, having been, only recently,
converted to a new F&M proportional radio.  Dan then proceeded to test hop a 
brand new Aeromaster, the first, no, the second one in Albuquerque.  (The year
was 1968 so you get some idea as to the Aeromaster's longevity.)

Following a successful test-hop, Dan once again put the Me-210 up and was having
a blast with it until, diving in towards another maneuver pass, we saw something
fly off the airplane, after which, it dropped its nose sharply and went in at 
about a 45-degree angle, both engines screaming wide-open.  Dan says, "What the
hell?  I didn't have a thing...couldn't even get the throttles to come back."

While we gathered up the splinters (it was a total write-off), someone wandered
off and came back, after a time, with the unscathed canopy/hatch unit.  It be-
came instantly clear what'd happened as the antenna wire still hung from the 
mast atop the canopy.  The screws holding the canopy'd come loose and when the
canopy departed, it slid to the knot in the end of the antenna with sufficient 
force to rip the antenna right out of the receiver.

Well, Dan subsequently built a second Me-210 which enjoyed a long life too, but
he omitted the antenna-thru-the-canopy feature of the lamented first model, 
though he retained the removeable canopy feature.  For myself, since Dan's ex-
perience,  I've never again put a knot in the end of my Rx antenna, regardless 
of where/how it exits the airplane.  I find that a rubberband can still be tied
around the wire and will hold fine under normal circumstances, yet slide loose
should the antenna receive a substantial yank such as someone hooking their hand
or foot in it while reaching or stepping over your plane.

H'lo, fellow Ramblers,

Recently, I've had some off-line communications with John Nataloni.  John
sent me a vintage (1943) aviation mag with a segment, including a pic I'd
not yet run across, on the MiG-3.  Then, to top that, John sent me some great
photos from a plane-spotter photo-pack he'd obtained during WW-II and, you
guessed it, included was a great shot of MiG-3's in winter camouflage, the 
foreground ship being the _very_ one I plan to model if I do another MiG or
decide to completely re-do the old one some day.

John also mentions his experiences in Korea during the [so-called] police action
and I thought his descriptions of ground-support op's with aircraft most of us
have only seen making "heavy metal" fly-by's at airshows (if that) would be of
common interest to many of us WW-II fighter devotees.  Therefore, with John's
gracious permission, I've reprinted below the great stories he shared with me;
ENJOY.............
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

"I am also pleased that you gave me a little about your background
regarding Korea.  To reciprocate, let me give you a short bio. on
my stay there.  I'll refrain from war stories, I promise !  Except
as pertains to Aircraft of course, as I know that you will appreciate
those kind of tales."

"I arrived in "Chosen" in the fall of '51 (I think-not sure) and was
hustled, without delay, to the top of "Heartbreak Ridge".  The 7th Inf.
(My unit) was relieving the 3rd Div. which had been cut up pretty 
badly in taking, and retaking, the ridgeline.  From this position 
we sortied out daily, usually in platoon size patrols (I was Plt Ldr)
back and forth to other nearby hills and ridges in front of us.
The type of operations were such that "Air Cover" was very beneficial
to those of us on the ground. (Who were lucky enough to get it)."

"We (or other nearby units) were calling in "Strikes" every few days
for the period of about 3 months while we were in this sector.
The exact nature of the strike was unpredictable since we never knew
ahead of time which of the 3 services (AF, Navy, Marines) would 
answer the call.  We got 3 distinctly different styles of action
depending on which of these arrived."

"First of all, the cast of "Aircraft" characters:"

1. AIR FORCE   -  Mustangs
2. MARINE CORP -  Corsairs
3. NAVY        -  Skyraiders (Near as I could tell)
4. ARMY        -  T-6, L-19, and the ubiquitous Bell Choppers.

"I think what you would appreciate most is a dissertation on the varied 
flying styles of each service.  Let me qualify my remarks first off
by saying that my observations are flavored in their description
by the things one looks for as a seasoned "Air Show" spectator.  I
do not wish to minimize the tremendous job, and tough times, that 
those Throttle-Jockeys had in the performance of their duty.  They
weren't just puttin' on a show for spectators, but lets face it, when
your're on the ground with no place to go, and you've got 5 hot fighters
loaded with armament and spoiling to get rid of it, and they're in your
piece of sky - you'd better pay attention.  For me, it was indeed an
exciting show !"


"The Mustangs performance (Air Force) was, Hands Down, Outstanding!
Normally they would arrive rather quietly, in a string of 5, from a
shallow dive, get down to deck level, do their thing, then pull up 
briskly and smoothly for repeated passes.  Sometimes in a steep
climbing turn, sometimes straight up and over in a huge loop.
First pass would be Napalm (2 tip tanks), 2nd pass, bombs ( 2-500's)
3rd pass, rockets (usually 6), then 4th, fifth, sixth etc, Strafing."

"We all know how smooth and sweet the Mustang fly's, but I would add
that this was an aerial "Ballet", complete with the beautiful music
of those singing Merlins.  Punctuated by staccato gunfire and the
occasional "Boom-Boom", all colors of smoke, and once in a while, 2
streaming wingtip contrails during a steep pull up.  About 20 minutes
over target then they would disappear as quickly as they arrived,
leaving behind a large sector of totally punished ground for us to
tend to."

"In every case the enemy would be panicked at the sight of an L-19
or a T-6 laying down their smoke target markers.  They would 
visibly scatter, and understandably so, realizing that some heavy
duty mayhem was quickly about to arrive.  Movies don't justify
the terror of being on the receiving end of Napalm.  I was shocked
myself the first time I saw that ball of fire, and the continued
burning of the target area.."


"The Corsair show was equally exciting, but for different reasons.
Those Marines were, how shall I say ? - - CRAZY - - ! !
We seldom saw THEM coming, but rather, we would feel it first in the
balls of our feet as the earth was set to vibrating from those
magnificent howling R-2800's.  The script was the same as regards
sequence of armament delivery, except I think they threw in a little
unofficial "Propellor Chopping".  They came in "On the deck", stayed
right down, and left "On the deck".  The scuttlebutt that we heard was
that most of the pilots (All services) were retreads from WWII, and
thus quite experienced, and it showed.  Those Corsairs seldom pulled
up.  They would go around, hugging the terrain, in vertical turns.
Sometimes we would get nothing but a "Top View" as they went around.
I even saw them pulling contrails (Tip vortices) "On the Deck", Now
that's something to see !  Imagine the "G" forces."

"Hey !, I think I'm ramblin' too much here.  There's more, but I'd
better cut it for now."

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

I'm hopeful John will follow-up with more of these stories.  I'll share 'em
with y'all as I get 'em, OK?	

Help guys - I need a glider related rambling anecdote to submit to Dodgson 
for a discount coupon.

To get things started - here is one copied from his newsletter.

A FIERY PASSION FOR SOARING

   by Bob Dodgson

Randy and Dan Vermullem were resourceful, young brothers who, with
their Maestros, flew up a storm in the mid 1970s.  Randy needed an hour-
long thermal flight for LSF level III, but he had a busy work schedule, on
the family dairy farm, and did not have much opportunity to pick his times
to fly.  On one occasion though, Randy saw his opportunity and seized the
moment.  He noticed that his neighbor's barn had caught on fire and that
people were running to help battle the blaze.  Well, Randy was on the move
also ... to grab his Maestro for a quick launch over the burning barn.
Yes, Randy got his hour LSF flight and he even had the aplomb to get two
of the firemen to sign his LSF form, as witnesses to his flight.  HE just said
"what the heck, the barn was a goner anyway."

Bye          --+--
Kay R. Fisher  |
---------------O---------------
================================================================================

Here's one dug out of the European Flying notes file.
Note 58.1 in RDGENG::EURO_FLYING for those who care.

Bye          --+--
Kay R. Fisher  |
---------------O---------------
================================================================================

	I'm assured that this story is true :-) ....

	Back in the days of old before the CAA was invented, a two seat
biplane took off one day. Unfortunately, just as it left the ground, the
left wheel detached from the axle, and remained on the ground. Naturally,
the crew were unaware of this, and it was deemed prudent by those witnesses
on the ground to somehow inform the crew of the problem in the hope that
the knowledge would reduce the risk of damage to a/c and crew on landing.
Of course, there was no radio in the a/c in those dark and distant days,
and so, after some discussion, it was agreed that another a/c would take
off with the observer holding a spare wheel drawn from the stores. The idea
was that the second aircraft would fly alongside the first and, by pointing
to first the spare wheel and second the first a/c's undercarriage, the observer
could make the first pilot aware of the problem. A spare wheel, a/c, pilot
and observer were duly found, and they took off. Of course, it was "one
of those days", and as the second a/c left the ground, its left wheel detached
from the axle and remained on the ground. The crew were, of course, unaware
of this. The second aircraft duly flew alongside the first a/c, and the
observer pointed to the spare wheel, then the first a/c undercarriage,
then the spare wheel again. Rumour has it that the pilot of the first aircraft
turned to his observer and said,

"That's bloody clever, let's see him put it back on again!"

I guess its time I came clean and told you guys about the embarassing moment
I had Saturday at the Scale Masters. I had dragged my wife and kids along to
the Masters. During the lunch break they had a number of flying displays amoung
which was a fellow named Dan Melnick (sp) strutting his stuff with a pod and
boom helicopter. The gentleman is sharp and was putiing the chopper thru such
things as backwards loops and rolls. I was standing outside the crowd barrier
watching this with my 9 year old son. Close by were a number of people from
my local club and several interested spectators. My son looks up at me with
adoring eyes and says, "Gee dad, you fly as good as that guy." My fellow club
members are giving me that "go on Dad, lie to your son, we've seen you fly"
look. I humbly answered my son with "No son, the gentleman flys much better
than I". Where upon my son stuck it to me. With everybody now watching my son
says, "But Dad, I've seen you fly just like that lot'sa times right before
you crash." I wrote the little sucker out of the will that night. 8^)

                                                        /     \ /
Dan Eaton - Demented                                   /      / \ 
            Dragonfly                                 /       #  
            Pilot                                    /        #
                                                    /        #
                                                   \       # 
                                                  //@@@ #
                                                 / l @##  .  
                                                /   #@   .
                                               /        .
                           @                  /       \.
                          _/\
                            /\_
                            l 
                                                       

    I like to get my planes real high up, then put 'em right over the center
    of the field, nose 'em over, and fly 'em straight into the ground.  It
    always makes for a landing that really gets the attention of the other
    flyers at the field.  Frequently there'll be a lot of shouting of
    exclamatory words of praise, like "Wow" and "Jesus" and "Holy sh*t, did
    you see that?".  People often come up to me afterwards, to comment on my
    unique style, which they apparantly wish to emulate, since they usually
    ask "Hey Buddy! Just where in the h*ll did you learn to fly like that?".
    I've always considered this to be quite complementary, an acknowledgemnt
    by my fellow peers of my special flying prowess.  Usually they even give
    me the pieces that come to rest in their field boxes, or in the open
    hatches of their cars.  Of course I just throw the parts away, but it's
    their thoughts that're important to me.

    For this reason, I'm proud to annouce the establishment of the "Randy
    Cohen School of Model Aircraft Control", affectionately known as RC
    SMAC.  I'm accepting applications for students immediately.  The only
    prerequisite is that you have at least two airplanes.  One for me to
    show you how it's done, and one for you to show me that you've learned
    how to do it.  There is no tuition fee for accepted applicants.  I am
    also making a few spots available for those students without the two
    plane minimum.  Although they will not be permitted to fly, they can
    audit the course.  Tuition for students wishing to audit will be $10 a
    day, saftey helmet and goggles not included.

    Saw the damndest thing at the Sedona May-Fly last weekend.  Before I
    tell ya's what it wuz', lemme' tell ya' how it came to pass.
    
    A young fellow from eastern Az, namely the town of Snowflake (where he 
    runs a pig-ranch...if I'm lyin', I'm dyin'!) flies the pee-water out'n
    a Byron Corsair.  His name's Dave Smith and, yes Kay and Kevin, he's
    the same guy you watched in March at the 1/8 AF Fly-In...come to think
    of it, I bet Dan Miner saw him last October as he won Best Military
    Flight with the same ship at that meet.  Anyhoo, Dave's one helluva R/C
    pilot and he's particular to loooow, barely more than rudder-high inverted 
    passes.  Taking his lead, I proceeded to make lower and lower inverted 
    passes with the ol" Yeller' Peril during my first flight (in the
    heavy/gusty wind).  Normally, I'm fairly conservative with these
    passes, staying 6' or higher and, honestly, that's all I _meant_ to do
    this time.  However, on one (the final) pass, I hit another of those
    "holes" in the air and the big yeller' bipe sank towards the ground
    while I tightened my pucker-string to the breaking point and pushed
    full forward on the elevator stick.  My teeth were gritted together to
    the point of pain as I grimaced, expecting to hear that obscene "thud"
    any micro-second.  But I lucked out and, while it was close, I climbed
    away clean, though several onlookers swore I dragged the fin/rudder
    just as the nose finally came up but I can't swear to it one way or the
    other.
    
    I said all that to say that, from that time on, every capable pilot
    and/or those that "thought" they were, took up the gauntlet and began
    doing inverted pass after pass after pass, frequently to all our
    amusement when a pilot'd "flinch" and dork it into the red dirt in a
    cloud of red dust.  No one really got hurt but many a filthy engine had
    to be fire-hosed out following these episodes!
    
    So, as we were preparing to pack up Sunday, we were standing under the
    awning of my mini-motorhome watching a rather colorful Ugly-Stik make
    repeated inverted passes, trying to get lower each pass.  Chuck's and
    my RV's blocked peripheral view and we only saw the plane briefly as it
    passed directly in front so we saw nothing of the approach or
    climb-out.  All at once, we hear this paper-fluttering-in-the-wind
    noise and look up to see the Stik, right-side-up, sinking rapidly to
    the ground from maybe 25' altitude with the top-covering of the wing
    shredded and streaming in the breeze.  
    
    It was the funniest thing we'd seen all weekend; the engine was screaming 
    wide open but no lift was to be had from the tattered upper-surface of the 
    wing so it settled rather rapidly and a bit roughly to the ground then 
    started to tear around on the ground 'til the battle-rattled pilot regained
    his composure and pulled the throttle.  We initially thought we'd
    witnessed one of those cases where the resonant frequency of the
    plastic-film covered wing reaches just the right resonance to explode
    the covering, wing, et al.  What'd actually happened was the guy'd hit
    another of those sneaky little downdrafts and pancaked inverted onto
    the ground, shattering the covering...he'd reacted with full down
    elevator and, somehow avoiding breaking the prop, zoomed up after
    impact, rolling to upright as he went.  It was from this point we saw
    the bird vainly trying to fly away with the whole upper surface
    covering functioning as a turbulator.  Luckily, the plane was barely
    damaged, needing, mainly, just the top of the wing recovered to make it
    good as new.  That was fortunate as the entire field had a great laugh
    at this guys misque and, by the way, so did _he_!
						 __
				|      |        / |\	   	       
      	         \|/		|______|__(o/--/  | \	   	       
      | |        00	       <|  ~~~  ____ 04 ---- | --------------------
    |_|_|        (O>o		|\)____/___|\_____|_/	   Adios amigos, Al
      |     \__(O_\_	        |	  |___/	 o	   (The Desert Rat)

    Re: last couple,
    
    Hah!  Guess I started the misnomering here when I thought I saw the
    basenote signed Phil but it was really Bob (in Phila.)  Oh well, I'll
    blame it on my current visual situation, i.e. wrong/old prescription
    eyeglasses fighting with new bionic eye = less than great vision with
    glasses on or off.  Sorry 'bout that Ph....er, ah, Bob.
                                                                      
    BTW, even further off the subject, we have a local RC'er who's been and
    remains very active in warbird racing who went from Mike-to-Michelle
    virtually overnight.  He's...er, ah, she's about halfway through a
    mandatory 2-year adjustment (OJT?) period during which h/she must dress, 
    act, etc. female while taking hormone shots for breast enlargement, getting
    rid of unfeminine hair, etc., etc.  (Michelle's older brother, Bernie,
    an avid RC'er from way back calls Michelle his "brister!" :B^) He's not
    thrilled at it all!!)  Only after successfully completing the 2-year 
    probation(?) can h/she get the surgical procedure and "cut" the
    reaining red tape to become _really_ female.  Ouuuuuuuuch!!!
    
    Whatta' fiasco.  This poor slob was a fair looking guy but is one UGLY
    woman.  H/she shows up at the field dressed in a short skirt with an
    almost terminal case of VPL (Visible Panty Line: a popular phrase prior
    to the advent of pantyhose), manicured/painted nails, coiffed hairdo, etc.
    fires up a fire-breathing Super Corsair and proceeds to kick butt racing...
    h/she always was a good RC pilot.  My buddy, Bob Frey, can't hardly
    stand it; he tries to treat Michelle like just another person but
    "something" always sets him off and he has to find a hiding place 'til
    he's over the giggles.  Last time this happened, it was Michelle's
    lacy, see-through blouse and visible bra (a'la Madonna) that got to him
    ...Bob was borderline hysterical for almost a week after that one!  :B^)
    Maybe Michelle thinks dressing like an LA hooker gains some sort'a
    advantage racing?  H/she wins frequently so, perhaps it does.........
						 __
				|      |        / |\	   	       
      	         \|/		|______|__(o/--/  | \	   	       
      | |        00	       <|  ~~~  ____ 04 ---- | --------------------
    |_|_|        (O>o		|\)____/___|\_____|_/	   Adios amigos, Al
      |     \__(O_\_	        |	  |___/	 o	   (The Desert Rat)

   Gotta get this one in because of the family connection.

   Bell P59A prototype with the two Whittle engines was built in Bell's
Niagara Falls NY plant and shipped cross-country by truck to a test
site in the Mojave Desert (now Edwards AFB) for ground and flight
testing.

   To maintain secrecy during the transcontinental truck trip, the
prototype not only had an armed military escort but also had a propeller
temporarily bolted on and was then padded randomly and wrapped up in tarps
so the shape of the craft looked pretty vague.

  Bell sent three of their test pilots to the Mojave to wring it out:
Bob Stanley, their chief test pilot, and two others, Bill Ryan and Bob
O'Gorman, who happens to be my uncle.  After successful initial flight 
testing the aircraft was publicly announced and a few pictures released
to the press of our latest "supersecret fighter" in flight.  (Actually, 
it never had any armamament installed).  The plane was then was flown 
back across the country to Niagara, where flight testing testing continued.

   I happened to be at my grandparents' home in Niagara a few days
after the plane returned when Bob phoned from the plant and asked to talk
to me.  He instructed me to be out in the back yard in twenty minutes,
but wouldn't say why.  Twenty minutes later I learned why: my own
personal flyby (well, I guess I shared it with half of the northern
part of the town, but what the hell - I knew it was for ME!) of our
very first jet aircraft.  Quite a thrill for a 14-year old.

  I believe one more prototype was built and is now at the Smithsonian's
hangar in Maryland, but I'm not sure - maybe there was just the one and
that's what they've got gathering dust.  Anyway, the type never went into 
production.  It was really just an American testbed for the British
engines.

  A funny add-on to the story is that after the war my uncle became
a captain Colonial Airlines, which was then absorbed by Eastern, putting
him all the way back down at the bottom of the seniority list.  After
a number of years (about ten or twelxe, I think) he worked back up to
a captaincy and shortly afterward was sent by the airline to their
jet training course, preparatory to checking out in those newfangled
airline types.  Kinda ironic, one of the nation's first three jet
pilots being sent to school on jets after all those years, but of
course the state of the art had advanced by (quantum) leaps and bounds
by then...

  Sadly, my uncle is now grounded, dying of cancer on Long Island...

                                                       Herb
                 
                

    How about this one I heard from a collegue who was on vacation in
    Italy. On a field some model airplane pilot was flying his glider and
    needed a bit of assistance to hand launch the plane.
    
    So some other guy from the camping, let's call him Fred (to protect the
    innocent) offered some help on launching the plane. Unfortunately Fred
    held the plane a bit too long and launched it straight into the ground.
    
    Luckily there was only little damage and no hard feelings... :-)
    
    
    The next day the plane was flying again high in the sky and everything
    went smooth until... some radio problem occurred and the plane was
    spiralling down.
    
    Everybody runs to the place of impact.... which...
    turned out to be: Fred's car.

    Luckily there was only little damage and no hard feelings... :-(
    
    Cheers Johan

    We had a fellow who shall remain nameless but his initials were AJ who
    did the same "spike it in" hand launch on a skootah.  Everyone but the
    pilot was rolling on the ground in laughter.  He has never lived it
    down and noone else ever asked him for a launch.
    
    Charlie
    

    Tonight, ESPN will be showing the latest RC event that was held at the
    new Muncie field awhile back. Not sure of the time, so check your local
    listings, but they will be showing either Top Gun or the Scale Masters
    whichever one was held there last.
    
    I think it's quite a feat to have a major RC event make ESPN. Should be
    interesting to watch.

We've had a death caused by an accident at a contest so there's "sports" appeal
now 8^(

Thanks for the pointer

    Could someone record this?  I don't have ESPN, but would like to see it
    if it is interesting.
    
    Andy
    

    
    I believe it was called "Great American Events" or something of that
    nature. Since I was watching Seinfeld I did tape it (thanks to my Dad
    calling me) and can make it available to those who didn't see it.
    
    I'll bring it to the next CMRCM meeting for you Andy.
    
    George

    Thanks a mill George.  I've only ever seen full-scale pylon racing on
    TV.  RC should be interesting.  I have a short story for you too,
    witnessed by a flying friend of mine.  He was out at an Airborne
    express airport or something for a small airshow.  Well, one of the
    pilots for the company happened to be a pylon racer.  His plane was
    very small though, so I'm not sure what class it was.  Anyways, he
    offered to do a couple demo laps for the people there.  Well, after his
    two or three blood sucking, hair raising, laps, he slowed down a bit
    and came down the runway when his engine quit running.  My friend said
    that the runway was plenty long enough for him to land even though he
    was going quite fast.  But he doesn't land.  He kept going down the
    runway like nothing happened.  Next thing you know he banks sharp to
    the left and pulls back.  Sorta like a crop duster would do at the end
    of the field I guess.  Well, he didn't have enough airspeed for it and
    the plane dived for the ground.  The plane itself bounced of the grass
    back up about 40 feet into the air and then crashed again.  The pilot
    died on the way to the hospital.  I guess even the pros make mistakes,
    but it costs them their lives.
    
    andy
    

    
    
================================================================================
Note 1407.0               AMA NATS on Discovery Channel               No replies
::Mark Hoverson "markh@lanl.gov (Mark Hoverson)"     24 lines  25-OCT-1994 14:52
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Discovery Channel is supposed to have a program on the NATS held this past 
summer. The note I recieved from the AMA said that it is supposed to be shown 
on Thursday the 27th. I went through the TV Guide and a few other sources for 
what is going to be on and didn't see anything on it. If anyone out there gets 
the Discovery Channel Magazine could you please look through it and find out 
if it is going to be on and post the time(s).

Thanks in advance.



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From: markh@lanl.gov (Mark Hoverson)
Newsgroups: rec.models.rc
Subject: AMA NATS on Discovery Channel
Date: Tue, 25 Oct 1994 08:03:56
Organization: Los Alamos National Lab
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