Uncle Bill’s Practical Jokes II--Aeronca Champ

     It was (is) a “tail-dragger.”  “It” is an airplane, an old one.  I think ours was a 1946 edition.  This all began when four or five of us decided we wanted a fun airplane.  A fun airplane is one we would mostly fly “around the Patch”, airplaneese for staying with the range of the landing strip.    

     Airplanes are expensive, expensive to buy, to own, to maintain.  Bill found us a bargain.  Bill spent a lot of time perusing Trade-A-Plane, not to mention Hemmings Motor News and other publications filled with ads, depending on what he was looking for.

     This one was in Glenwood Springs.  It was a Taylorcraft that had been used as a reconnaissance plane in World War II.  The back seat had no back and could rotate so that an agile rear seat occupant could look all ways.   Price: $1500, I think. 

     Two of our number took a trailer and a pickup to Glenwood Springs.  One of the guys thought he was going to Idaho Springs, a difference of 125 miles with the Continental Divide in between.  He had cattle to feed back home.  Too bad.  They made the trip anyway.

      They brought back the T-Craft.  In pieces.  The wings were still covered with ratty fabric.  The fuselage was pipe frame, pretty much gutted, no control wires or anything.  The motor was in pieces, the crankshaft under the couch of the seller’s trailer house, the prop hanging on a wall.

     We had good intentions of restoring the thing to flying status, but like a lot of Bill’s projects, this one died a slow death.  We tried to set up an assembly line to manufacture the wing ribs made of some kind of wood.  It was too big a job for us, even though we turned the job over to a couple of students studying aircraft mechanics in Salina.  They weren’t students long enough to finish the job, so Bill had a bunch of ribs hanging from the walls of his garage for a few years.

      The Taylorcraft reached its height of usefulness when a high school class used the fuselage on a homecoming float representing the Red Barron’s demise at the hands of Snoopy, Charlie Brown’s WWI Ace.  They propped the tail end up so it looked like it had crashed nose down.  A couple of our wives saw the float, and when they were informed it was our pride and joy, they both cussed.  “You paid $1500 for that?!”    

      Anyway, when the Aeronca Champ came up for sale for $5000, and only 60 miles away, five of us coughed up $1000 apiece and brought a flying airplane back to our local airport.  One of our number actually bought a cheap hangar at the airport to house it.

      The Champ, like the T-Craft, is a “two-place” plane, seats in tandem, front and back.  A more famous relative would be the Piper Cub, both high wing aircraft, meaning the wing is over the fuselage, rather than under it.  Both can be flown from front or back seat.

       The flight controls, rudder pedals, ailerons, and elevator (horizontal, movable wing surface on the tail), are all dual, front and back, as is the throttle.  But there is only one ignition switch in the Champ, on the left side.  It is inconveniently located behind the front pilot and inconveniently forward of the back seat.

      The first time I tried flying the Champ, Bill insisted I take the front seat, which he nearly always did when we flew it together.  I was unsure of myself, never having flown a tail dragger.  Bill was sure he could rescue me from the rear seat if I got into trouble.

     Takeoff and flying around, no problem.  Landing, a problem.  I got too slow too high off the landing strip.  The Champ dropped out of the sky, hit the ground, bounced, and took a sharp left turn.  Fortunately, there was plenty of grass beside the landing strip.  When the plane hit the ground the second time, I was able to keep it there and come to a stop.

      Unfortunately, the collision with the ground broke the tail wheel off the frame, necessitating removal of some of the fabric and rewelding some pipe and installing a new spring piece that connected the tail wheel to the frame.  It took a week or two to have it done by a local guy who was certifying as an aircraft mechanic.

     The “tail” numbers of the Champ were 3584E, “three-five-eight-four-echo” in international alphabet lingo.  After the fractured tail wheel episode, we replaced “Echo” with “Enema”.  No one needed any help moving the bowels after an episode in the Enema, its nickname ever after.

      We did have a lot of fun with the Champ.  One of our guys was a crack pilot.  He would take the thing up and do a loop with it.  He could also put it into a tailspin, and, more importantly, get it out of the tailspin.   

       Ordinarily, Bill was very careful when it came to flying.  Quite different from when he was driving a car.  There was one time when his driving habits and his penchant for practical jokes merged while we were flying the Enema, much to my discomfort.  

       After my initial experience flying the Champ, I was a bit ill at ease when flying it.  But gradually, I developed some confidence and had a good time flying round, checking out what was going on in the community.

     Bill was in the back seat, again.  I was gawking out the window as we flew about a thousand feet above the ground, not paying much attention to flying.  Suddenly, the engine sputtered.  That had my attention immediately.

      In a split second, I scanned the control panel, pulled on the carb heat, checked the throttle, started looking out the window for a place to make an emergency landing.   It seemed an eternity, but it was two or three seconds at the most. 

       Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a hand reaching for the ignition switch.  In another split second, the truth of the situation became perfectly clear.

     Bill had flipped the ignition switch off and then back on.

     He probably switched it off and back on that quick.  It was plenty enough to alarm me.    

      I slapped his had away the best I could and called him every vile name I could think of.

     And he laughed.  And laughed.  And laughed.

      Every time he thought of that moment ever after, he guffawed and enjoyed himself immensely.  He never let me forget that incident.  I guess it goes without saying:  with friends like Bill, who needed an enema?