Airshow

Tailhook. (The tailhook has red-and-white paint, and would snag a cable on the aircraft-carrier deck, to keep the airplane from going into the sea after landing.) (Photo by BobbaLew.)

On Saturday, July 12th, I and a friend, Jim LePore (“luh-POOR”), also a widower like me, attended the Geneseo Airshow (“jen-uh-SEE-oh;” as in “Jell-o”).
It was probably a mistake for oldsters like us, since it involved lots of walking over poor footing under beating sun. We’re both 70, Jim slightly older than me.


(Photo by BobbaLew.)


(Photo by BobbaLew.)

The Geneseo Airshow is probably the premier airshow in the area, especially if you like old propeller airplanes.
It’s put on by 1941 Historical Aircraft Group (HAG; National Warplane Museum), a club that restores old airplanes.
They’re based at Geneseo Airport, which is only a grass strip.
Geneseo Airport is next to the Town of Geneseo, essentially a university town in western New York. Geneseo has a college, a branch of the state university system.
I’ve been to the Geneseo Airshow a few times, and I’d say it’s no longer what it was.
The Airshow would attract WWII warbirds from all over, many Mustangs, usually a B-17 or two, even a B-24 once, and there are only three still airworthy.
The Geneseo Airshow was always a bit frustrating. Too many Stearman and Texan trainers! And old Piper Cubs painted olive-drab.
But the good stuff made it worth going to.
One time a DC-4 came, and supposedly a Lockheed Constellation, although I’ve never seen one. (What I’d give to see one; the Connie was the best-looking airplane of all time.)
Last time I went, about 10 years ago on my motorcycle, a P-38 Lightning was gonna show.
It did, and was badly in need of restoration, but airworthy.
But not much was there this time. Stearmans and Texans galore, but only one B-25.


The one-and-only B-25. (Photo by BobbaLew.)

Once there were at least five or six.
And it was dreadfully hot. The only shade was under an aircraft-wing. I remember once riding out a downpour under the wing of a B-17.
But there were no B-17s, and I think Historical Aircraft Group (HAG) used to have one.
I saw three Douglas DC-3s — the Army Air-Corps called ‘em C-47s — including “Whiskey-Seven,” the HAG C-47 that flew all the way to Normandy for the 70-year D-Day remembrance.


Two of the C-47s. That’s “Whiskey-Seven” behind. (Photo by BobbaLew.)

Quite a few paratroopers parachuted out of C-47s behind enemy lines; parachute-jumps out of “Whiskey-Seven” might have been re-enacted.
The conventional wisdom is that three things won WWII for the Allies: the Jeep, the GMC six-by (a truck), and the C-47.
But essentially that’s all the WWII warbirds there were, three C-47s.
Although there were two P-51 Mustangs, and a single Corsair, the inverted gull-wing Navy fighter pictured on top.


The Mustangs. (Photo by BobbaLew.)


The Corsair. (Photo by BobbaLew.)

But it wasn’t the maximum Corsair, only a three-bladed propeller, instead of four.
There also was a P-38 Lightning, but I never saw it running.
It was being towed when I saw it.
In order to do this, I had to get up at 5:30 in the morning. It takes an hour and 20 minutes just to get around to eating breakfast. That’s making my bed, getting dressed, unloading my dishwasher, and making coffee and opening gates outside.
Breakfast to departure-time is another hour and 20 minutes, which includes morning ablutions.
So I was leaving my house at 8:10, headed toward my old friend in Canandaigua who daycares my dog at their grooming-shop.
Getting to that shop takes 20-25 minutes, followed by 5-10 minutes jawing at the shop, and then 5-15 minutes over to Jim’s house, which is on the other side of Canandaigua.
Jim would drive his truck to the airshow, but over roads I’m not familiar with.
Fabulous vistas of beautiful rural western New York opened before us, and then it was a straight shot to Geneseo.
Amidst heavy stop-and-go traffic we drove in, and headed for handicap-parking. Jim has a handicap tag.
But we missed it, and parked far from handicap parking, which was poorly signed.
Thus began our long hike over poor footing, lumpy pasture.
A jitney for handicappers passed, so we got on. It took us toward the flight-line, which was parallel to the grass strip.
We got off next to a Douglas A-26 HAG has restored. It looked pretty good.


The A-26. (Photo by BobbaLew.)


The Twin-Beech is at right; all the rest are Texan trainers, except for that lone Beechcraft T-34. (Photo by BobbaLew.)

Next to it was a Twin-Beech, painted as a Marine C-45.
It too looked pretty good.
I eventually wandered away from Jim, because it looked like the Mustangs, etc. were far away.
Flyovers were beginning; it was the Stearmans.
Then the small tiddlers.
The one-and-only B-25 then landed. I was about to cross a taxiway, but an army of security-personnel prevented me. The B-25 would use that taxiway to get to its parking-spot.
The B-25 pulled in with me behind the prop-wash.
Oh what a relief it was to feel wind, but it almost knocked me to the ground.
The B-25’s engines stopped — in a cloud of oil-smoke — the security-personnel let us cross the taxiway.
I hobbled slowly across. I’m lame; I have a problem with my left knee. It’s swollen and hurts.
I hobbled slowly toward the Mustangs. At first I only saw one, but then I saw two.
And they were both two-seaters.
The Corsair was also there, and the so-called “star of the show,” a deHavilland Mosquito. Two Merlin V12 engines.
By then I decided to try to locate Jim. We were both carrying cellphones. But his was off.
I hobbled around some more, and after a half-hour or so, I got him.
We talked about where we were, with no knowledge by either party of anything.
So we agreed we’d head for the giant hanger HAG has.
The hanger was open, so I hobbled inside.
Still no Jim, but interesting stuff was in there.
A wingless airplane fuselage was off to the side; unpainted aluminum.
What appeared to be a short twin-engine wing-section was beside it, also unpainted aluminum.
I have no idea what it was.
Various complete airplanes were parked here-and-there, mainly biplanes.
A short section of an Ercoupe fuselage stood at one side, complete with wings, but devoid of cockpit and dashboard and engine.
It was also devoid of the trademark Ercoupe double-rudders.
I wouldn’t have known what it was, had I not overheard an enthusiast talking: “the Ercoupe was supposed to put Americans in the air. It steered like a car.”
I’ve heard this before. So was the Piper TriPacer, and the early Cessna 172s.
Uh, sure; Granny in an airplane. She has a hard enough time driving a car.
And if your Ercoupe cripples, you fall from the sky, and crash in flames. —And probably die.
Thankfully, Granny in an airplane didn’t happen.
My brother in northern Delaware, who once had his private pilot’s license for a Piper Cherokee he co-owned with his father-in-law, tells me how frightening it was to land.
I then hobbled back out of the hanger and called Jim.
He was at the “crew-tent” waiting for me.
No idea what the “crew-tent” was, but I could see tents, so off I went again.
Another long-ass hike across lumpy pasture in the hot sun.
It took at least 20 minutes to get to the first tent; without hobbling it might have taken 5-10.
It just so happened the first tent was the “crew-tent,” so I found Jim sitting outside under an awning at a table.
Finally, off my feet!
“Did you find a food-tent?” I asked. Jim had been looking for a food-tent.
“No,” but there was a line of food-concessions we headed toward.
Jim had a better idea. “How about we head out, and stop at a Kentucky Fried-Chicken?”
Great idea. Better than waiting in line in the hot sun.
So we headed back toward the parking-area, hoping we’d see a jitney.
One appeared, so off we went in search of Jim’s truck.
Jim tried the horn-blow on his radio-key, but nothing.
We wandered around. By then we were the only two on the jitney. It had a capacity of about 20.
“I think I see it,” I said. It was the Harley decal on his rear window.
We then drove out, air-conditioning on full-blast.
On the way home we stopped at a combination Kentucky Fried-Chicken/Taco Bell.
Was the airshow worth going to?
We were both bushed from so much walking, and it wasn’t as good as it has been sometimes.

• My beloved wife of over 44 years died of cancer April 17th, 2012. Jim’s wife died about a year later, also of cancer. He had been married 51 years.