“We don’t remember days, we remember moments.”
- Popular saying, author unknown, but they could have been a pilot.
It had many years since I thought about her. Even longer since I had seen any pictures. All I had was fond memories about mostly good times together.
Then there she was one day last week, her photo in an old edition of The Light and Champion. In an ad seeking a new place to work.
“For Sale” the large type declared. “Cabin Class Twin Aircraft.” The Cessna was a step up for Shelby Newspapers, Inc. in the early 1980s; the second aircraft Jim Chionsini purchased to access newspapers from Kansas to South Texas.
The first was a single-engine Piper, a larger and faster version of an aircraft in which I was a partner and flew regularly at the time. Center native Jonathan McDonald was the pilot for the company’s first plane. By the time the Cessna replaced it, Jonathan had acquired newspaper skills that earned him a publisher’s job, and C.A. Samford, another Center guy, became chief pilot for the Cessna.
The perk for me was that as a licensed pilot, I got to enjoy right-seat time flying with both Jonathan and C.A. In addition to serving as editor and publisher of The Light and Champion in those days, my duties often entailed helping Jim with new acquisitions. So, I was usually along for the ride anyway.
To me, the heavens and the earth viewed from the cockpit of an airplane is the “catbird seat” for some breathtaking views and life-long memories. One, in particular, was a trip over to Selma, Alabama in the 80s to meet with Jim’s long-time friend and then publisher of the Selma Times Journal, Shelton Prince. A trip to see Shelton was typically a little bit of business and a lot of story swapping and laughter.
On the flight home that night “flying” right seat in the cockpit with C.A., I watched growing thunderheads off the right wing at a comfortable distance while Jim snoozed in the back. Frequent flashes of lightning illuminated the massive clouds that were otherwise invisible in the darkness. Closer, the mesmerizing red glow from the right engine’s exhaust just outside the cockpit complimented the peaceful feeling of making our way home in the darkness at a just over 200 miles per hour and more than two miles high.
Coincidentally, that same right engine produced something less than peaceful moments on another trip, one down to South Texas. I wasn’t on board for that trip, but Jim’s colorful account is a great memory.
The flight was taking a friend to inspect a newspaper for sale. I dropped off everyone at the airport on an overcast morning and returned to the office. A short time later, Jim was calling. “Can you pick us up at the Lufkin airport? Long story.”
Recounting the short flight on the long drive back, Jim began, “We took off and punched through 5,000 feet of overcast popping out on top in the sunshine when I noticed oil coming out of the cowling on the right engine. Knowing my friend hated flying to begin with, I calmly got up, stepped to the cockpit, and tapped C.A. on the shoulder. Before I could say anything, he said, ‘I know boss, I’m watching it.’”
Jim said he had just sat down in his seat when the engine let go with a loud noise and literally blew up. “I went straight back to the cockpit, but C.A. cut me off with, ‘Boss, I’m really busy right now.’ And he closed the cockpit door.”
“I sat down and tried to console my friend who was about to have a nervous breakdown,” Jim always told the story. “I looked out the window as we descended back into the 5,000-foot overcast. When we popped out the bottom, we were looking straight down the runway at the Lufkin airport.”
According to Jim’s oft-repeated account, C.A. guided the wounded airplane with only one engine to a gentle landing and taxied to the terminal. “As the good engine shut down,” Jim concluded, “The cockpit door opened, C.A. stepped out and asked, ‘Now what was that you wanted to talk to me about boss. I’m not quite as busy now.’”
I smiled reading the newspaper ad last week. Whether good memories or tense times, the Cessna was apparently up for sale when she was repaired and flying again.
And that’s just a hunch, based on details in the ad. “… 880 hours since left engine overhaul, zero hours since right engine overhaul.”
