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| Fokker D-7, flying condition, photo by Julian Herzog, (Wiki.) |
Louis Shalako
When my dad went into the old age home, I had to clean
out his house. Part of the job involved packing up all of his radio control aircraft
and equipment. I burned a bunch of planes out behind the garage after removing
motors, fuel tanks, hardware, servos and radio equipment. My sister has a plane
in her basement. I have a plane, my brother ended up with a couple of planes.
The real problem is, or was, that I also had a dozen
boxes of tools, spares, electronic equipment, hardware, fasteners, engines,
fuel tanks and wheels. Everything, in fact, to get started in radio control.
There’s enough stuff there to keep a small air force in action for quite some
time, if you had any idea of what you were doing…
And I moved that stuff four times in four or five
years. Every time I opened it up, my heart kind of sank and I closed the boxes
up again. I just couldn’t deal with it.
My dad taught me to fly, and he also taught me how to
build an airplane. One thing my old man could do was build an airplane. Anyhow,
it was something we did together much of the time, for about seventeen years,
longer for him as he started first. He was in his fifties. He’d built rubber-band
and free-flight aircraft starting at about ten years of age—in 1942, with WW II
all over the front pages.
It was something he’d always wanted to do. The last
time we flew was in 2006. He had the training box and I had the kill-switch.
When he lost it, I simply let go of the spring-loaded switch and took over. His
Parkinson’s had
progressed to the point where he was unable to fly on his own.
(I’m sort of emotional writing that, but not crying or
anything. It’s just a heavy, emotional feeling, ah, grief, loss, regret.
Something like that…)
When my brother started asking about that equipment, I
had my reservations. The trouble is, that I’m not likely to do anything with
it. My nephews are thirteen and sixteen. It’s now or never, most likely, for
boys like that to really get interested in flying…
Shit.
But flying really is a good thing—I can’t stress that enough.
So. Why the fuck not, eh?
I do have some concerns.
The transmitters are old. They wouldn’t be allowed at
the club field now. Setting up an electric airplane for radio control has its
dangers. A banger engine won’t fire itself up at top revs. An electric plane,
if the servo switches on the transmitter are set up wrong, ‘off’ might in
effect be full-throttle. They don’t know a damn thing about battery charging,
not walking away and burning down the friggin’ house…all the same damn worries
the old man probably had. In the end I guess we did all right.
If my brother really thinks radio control is cheap,
he’s probably mistaken. It takes, time, money, commitment, and knowledge. You
only get that knowledge from learning—training, practice, reading, listening,
and really thinking shit out on your own.
Let’s hope the fuckers can learn it.
So basically, I’m going to dump all of that stuff on
him!
I have my own radio, my own Fokker D-7, my own
charger, batteries, transmitter and receivers.
I hope they have some fun with it, and get some good
results with it.
Otherwise, as far as I’m concerned, he can go through
the boxes and see if he can get a buck for this and a five-dollar bill for
that.
Because frankly, that’s about all most of that stuff
is worth.
As far as me teaching my brother and the two nephews
to fly, yeah, sure.
That sort of depends on you—whether you’re capable of
being taught or not.
I had lessons. I had to put up with it! That was the
price of admission, submitting to the notion that someone else might know a bit
more than I did. I was also bankrolled to a certain extent, and I always
appreciated that.
I crashed, sooner or later, every aircraft I ever
flew. It took a good two dozen real flying lessons, out at the club field,
before I was competent enough to go solo—and ultimately, to go flying on my
own, no instructor, no father there to save my ass if I got into trouble.
That’s not to say I didn’t have fun, and make some
great memories, because I did.
We did.
Maybe that’s why I gave it to them.
Hopefully, they will get something out of it.
Because otherwise it’s kind of a waste.
END
