June 11, 2012 Forty-Seven Years in Aviation: A Memoir; Chapter 14: The Ohio State University Airport

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by	Richard L. Taylor

About the Author ... Richard "Dick" Taylor began his aviation career in 1955 as a 2nd Lt. in the U.S. Air Force, and flew B-29s and KC-97 tankers. Dick left active duty in 1959 and returned to civilian life in Ohio, although he continued to fly with the Air National Guard, Army National Guard and Air Force Reserve in several different aircraft. Dick retired from the Air Force in 1979 as a Major and Command Pilot. In 1966 he joined the faculty of the Department of Aviation at The Ohio State University. He was the department's Director of Operations and Training from 1981 until his retirement as Associate Professor in 1988. Dick's total flight time over 47 years was almost 12,000 hours, acquired in a wide variety of military and civilian aircraft. His civilian pilot credentials include ATP, Commercial and CFI; he was also a designated pilot examiner. He began an aviation writing career in 1971 that includes 20 books. He is the founder, editor and a regular contributor to The Pilot's Audio Update; the Update has been in continuous publication since 1978. In 1975 Dick began another career as a consultant and expert witness in litigation involving pilots and is still active in that capacity; he has consulted or testified in 550 mishap investigations. Dick and his wife live in Dublin, Ohio, a suburb of Columbus. Flying the 140 As all tail-dragger pilots know, the first skill that must be acquired is a deft touch on the rudder pedals. Before we bought the little rag-winged Cessna I flew a couple of hours with each of my new students in a conventional-gear airplane to familiarize them with the nuances of directional control. I felt obligated to convince them that a tail-dragger likes to swap ends on the ground and that once a swerve is begun they must take immediate action to stop it from developing into a major problem. One of them encountered more than a little difficulty with this part of our training program; he would see a swerve begin, then slam the rudder to the stops followed by a full-travel pedal deflection in the opposite direction. This exercise proceeded through several cycles with me reminding him that a few gentle corrections get much better results than one huge input, but my comments apparently went in one ear and out the other. Further discussion of how to handle this problem had no effect on his performance; he figured that if some was good, more was better. Most of his taxiing went from one edge of the taxiway to the other and his takeoffs were even more frightening. In a desperate search for a solution, I suggested "Dave, you need to operate the rudder pedals with the same gentle touch you use when you're making love to a woman"—to which he replied in a loud voice "I am! I am!" Dave was one of the Ajax Flying Club members who elected to discontinue pilot training. Boeing Skyfox ... and Cessna Tweety Bird Those of you who flew the T-33 and lamented its lack of power would have been delighted with the Boeing Skyfox, one of the contenders to replace the Shooting Star. The Skyfox was a converted T-33 airframe with a new wing, no tip tanks, a new empennage and a pair of fuselage-mounted Garrett turbofan engines that produced a total of 7,400 pounds of thrust. The only recognizable feature descended from the T-bird was the canopy, and that was improved significantly with a one-piece windshield. As one would expect, the increase in the Skyfox's performance was dramatic when compared to the T-33; takeoff distance was cut nearly in half, rate of climb was about 20 percent better and endurance jumped from the T-bird's two hours to more than five hours. But alas, the Air Force decided to buy Cessna's "Tweety Bird" twin-jet trainer: Cessna T-37 Trainer Independence-Day Visitor The Fourth of July 1967 was a unique day for the OSU Airport, featuring an unexpected visitor that was a first—and most likely the last—event of its kind. Ken, our airport manager, was at work late that night in his office, the windows of which provided an unobstructed view of the main ramp. Ken was doing his thing "...when what to his wondering eyes should appear..." but a huge white airplane with a red arrow on its side and TWA on the tail, taxiing to a stop on the ramp (apologies to Clement C. Moore). It was indeed a TWA Boeing 707 that had been cleared for an approach and landing at Port Columbus International Airport, 11 miles southeast of OSU. The runway configurations at these two airports are similar; each has parallel east-west runways with the longer one on the south side of the field. The flight broke out of an overcast layer about 2,000 feet AGL and several miles from the runway. The captain acquired the airport visually, completed the final-approach checklist and just before touchdown, realized he was landing at the wrong airport. With great presence of mind he continued the landing on our 5,000-foot Runway 28L and got the airplane stopped about 1,000 feet from the end. He taxied the airliner to the OSU ramp and shut down the engines; I don't know what the captain said to his passengers, but it must have been the most embarrassing moment of his career. Ken was not fazed; he picked up the phone, called the tower at Port Columbus and asked if there was an inbound TWA flight about to land. The controller replied that the flight had been cleared to land, whereupon Ken said "it's going to be little late...he just landed here at OSU." Long story short, the passengers were disembarked and loaded on buses that took them to Port Columbus. The Aviation Department chairman was notified, showed up a short time later and flew the TWA crew to Port Columbus in his own airplane...he said it was the most nervous flight he had ever undertaken. A TWA contingent removed the seats and galleys to lighten the airplane so it could take off safely from our 5,000-foot runway. The departure took place early the following morning and I have a hunch they tried to get the airplane out of there before the news media showed up, but that didn't work. To this day, the photograph of the 707 on the ramp occupies a prominent place in the OSU Airport restaurant for all to see: TWA Boeing 707 at the OSU Airport, July 4, 1967

[AVweb's reprint of Dick's memoir began with the Introduction.]

Skywritings

Welcome to The Ohio State University Airport (Courtesy of Mike Eppley)

In 1942, The Ohio State University purchased 1,412 acres of flat farmland and forest 10 miles north of campus, the purpose of which was to develop an airport. Only those administrators with expansive imaginations could have envisioned that parcel of land becoming a significant part of the air transportation system serving central Ohio.

OSU Airport 1947 (Courtesy of Mike Eppley)

From two hangars (still in use today) and two runways the OSU Airport has grown into a four-runway facility (longest runway 5,000 feet) with several instrument approaches and a full range of services for local and transient aircraft. As general aviation activity peaked in the late '70s and early '80s, the airport became the third-busiest airport in Ohio; it currently ranks among the state's top 10 busiest airports.

OSU Airport 2010 (Courtesy of Google Earth)

Much of the airport traffic is generated by the OSU flight training program, which has been in continuous operation since 1945. The current fleet includes Cessna 152s and 172s, several complex singles, a state-of-the art Cirrus SR20 and a Cessna 310 for multi-engine training. One of two training devices is used primarily for instrument training, the other is a full-motion simulator with the capability to portray a Cessna 172, a Piper Arrow with a glass cockpit, or a Beechcraft Baron equipped with a G1000 avionics suite.

Redbird FMX Simulator (Courtesy of Mike Eppley)

To date, over 5000 students have earned pilot certificates and ratings through the flight-training program. The airport has functioned as an aviation laboratory since its inception: Students who acquire flight-instructor certificates may choose to enhance their knowledge and experience by taking jobs as CFIs working with student pilots. By any measure, the most important achievement for these young people is a degree from The Ohio State University; aviation students can earn BS and BA degrees with an aviation specialization in the Engineering, Social & Behavioral Sciences or Business Colleges.

1967 was a busy, satisfying year for me. In addition to teaching several classroom courses I was flying on a near-daily basis in a challenging variety of civilian and military aircraft.

Piper Aztec (exemplar) (Courtesy of Mike Pasqualino)

The Piper Aztec accounted for most of my pilot time that year, with various single-engine OSU trainers not far behind; I also flew the Air National Guard C-54 and the Helio Courier on frequent, if irregular, schedules. Three of my weekends were spent "on the road" for the Aircraft Owners and Pilots Association (AOPA) conducting flight training for general aviation pilots. I acquired a flight instructor certificate with ratings for single- and multi-engine airplanes, instrument instruction and advanced ground instruction; I also upgraded to instructor pilot status in the C-54.

When we moved back to Columbus from the Pacific Northwest in 1965 we bought a home located near the OSU Airport (at the time I had no idea I'd be working there a year later). In August 1967, a year into my tenure at the university, several neighbors and friends expressed interest in learning to fly; we formed a small group (after a few beers and much discussion regarding combinations of names and initials, we named it simply "The Ajax Flying Club") and subsequently purchased a Cessna 140, well-used but in good condition. (See "Flying the 140" at right.)

Cessna 140 (exemplar) (Courtesy of Mark Pasqualino)

At the end of our aerial adventure three Ajax members went on to become pilots; mission accomplished, we sold the Cessna in 1969. My investment was pro bono flight instruction, making the 140 the first and only airplane in which I have had a financial interest, so to speak; there were always friends' airplanes available to me for personal use.

As 1967 entered its final quarter I experienced yet another aviation adventure, this time something that had lived in the recesses of my mind for 14 years with no reasonable expectation that it would ever be realized. In the summer of 1953, during ROTC summer camp at Turner AFB in Albany, Georgia, I was strapped into the back seat of a Lockheed T-33 for a familiarization ride; it was short and sweet but left me with the strong impression that this was something I would like to do by myself someday. At that time an Air Force career was not a serious consideration, but I thought there might be a way to retain the skills and knowledge I would acquire in flight training. Perhaps when I finished my active duty commitment following flight school I could join an Air Force Reserve or Air National Guard unit with a T-bird that I could learn to fly.

The details that surround the eventual accomplishment of that dream are somewhat hazy but a logbook entry in mid-September '67 records my first ride in the T-33 that belonged to the 121st Tactical Fighter Group, owner of the C-54 I had been flying for the past 18 months. The T-bird was the Group's utility airplane, used for pilot proficiency training and the occasional miscellaneous mission that didn't require firing up an F-100—I was added to the list of pilots who were available for those missions.

In the competent hands of several high-time fighter-pilot IPs I embarked on a training program in the T-33. You must understand I had neither the time nor the inclination to become a fighter pilot; given my multi-engine background, a lot of training would have been required to make me competent and safe in a combat airplane. I would be satisfied with nothing more than expanding my aviation experience to get a taste of jet propulsion, and the T-33 was the vehicle that could make it happen.

Lockheed T-33 in the National Museum of the United States Air Force

The Shooting Star completed its first flight in 1948 with legendary Lockheed test pilot Tony Levier at the controls. It was a direct descendant of the F-80 (one of America's early jet fighters) with the fuselage stretched three feet to accommodate two pilots; it was the airplane chosen to train USAF pilots in the nuances of flying jet-powered airplanes until the Cessna T-37 came along (many of my mates in Class 56-I flew the T-bird in basic flight training). The US Air Force was not the only military component that thought well of this airplane; for almost 40 years the T-33 served the air forces of more than 20 different countries.

Given its takeoff weight of 15,000 pounds and one Allison J-33 centrifugal-flow turbine engine that generates 5,400 pounds of thrust, the T-bird qualifies as a dirt-sniffer...its takeoff and climb performance is well short of skyrocket quality. If you're not in a hurry to get there, the T-33 can climb to more than 40,000 feet; its maximum speed is limited to about 500 miles per hour or the onset of "aileron buzz" (an aerodynamic phenomenon that causes the ailerons to flutter rapidly), whichever comes first.

There was no one-button, computerized "auto-start" procedure for the T-33's Allison J-33 engine; working with the fuel switches and the throttle and keeping a close eye on turbine RPM and temperature, you had to supply fuel and air to the engine in the proper proportions and at the proper time to make everything work—hot starts and no-starts were potential results of mismanagement. An airborne flameout was even more critical; several airstart procedures relating to airspeed and altitude at the time of the flameout were printed in red placards on the canopy rails, and if the final procedure produced no fire in the engine room it was time to think seriously about using the ejection seat.

T-33 Front Cockpit

Thanks to some high-quality instruction, I was able to solo the T-33 after 16 hours of dual. A checkride was required, and I was sent aloft with a feisty, gray-haired F-100 jock whose first request at altitude was "show me a Lazy Eight." I hadn't done one of those for years, let alone in a jet trainer, so I dug deep into my memory bank and performed what I thought was a reasonable facsimile of that elementary maneuver. When I finished he asked rather sarcastically "Taylor, I presume those were your clearing turns?" followed by "I've got it." I'm not quite sure what he did with that airplane in the next few minutes, but it was a far cry from any Lazy Eight with which I was familiar. However, knowing I would never be required to perform air combat maneuvers, he signed me off to fly the airplane on more normal missions.

Following that checkout I flew the airplane at every opportunity; some were local proficiency flights, some were cross-country trips. To be sure, the T-bird was a slow mover during takeoff and climb, but when it reached cruise altitude it motored along at a reasonable speed. One memorable December trip from Columbus, Ohio to Tampa, Florida required only 2 hours and 48 minutes...not too shabby for an old airplane. It was a great way to trade a couple of winter days in Ohio for some Florida sunshine—and get paid for it in the bargain.

I had flown 600 hours in nineteen different kinds of airplanes in 1967, had acquired several additional pilot certificates and ratings and had sharpened my skills as a classroom instructor. Like most young men, I had often pondered the question "What do I want to be when I grow up?" I was 34 years old when I joined the aviation faculty and from the first day on the job I realized the combination of flying and teaching aviation answered that question. I considered 1967 a successful year and looked forward to more of the same for years to come.

However, there was a situation brewing in the Far East that would explode in late January 1968 and change the lives of thousands of reservists; my involvement in that situation and its aftermath will be related in the next chapter of this memoir.

[Continued with Chapter 15.]