There I was ...

One of the things that dad was good at was finagling good deals from his associates, whether at work, church, or elsewhere. Some of the computers used in the testing of the minuteman missile needed some refurbishment and rather than ship these computers from Hill AFB to the various sites, dad arranged to deliver this himself--not by car but by plane. I guess dad was able to show that it would save the AF money if he rented a plane and did the delivery (but it was also a great deal for dad in getting some cross-country flying hours under his own belt at minimal cost).

I was excited about the prospects as well, because dad invited me along for the journey too. (It would have been difficult to stop me at that age for I was hooked on flying!) Mom came along as well. Our trusty steed on this mission was to be a 4-seat Cessna 182 Skylane with retractable gear. I had never flown one of these before and I was very anxious to try. Here's a picture of a 1980 model that is probably very close to the one we flew.

On one of our legs across the mid-west we decided to stop and stay the night at North Platte, NE, Dad was flying left seat and I was trying my best to be a good navigator in the right seat. Mom was in the back reading. Now you should recall that dad loved gadgets, especially tools, and when it came to flying, dad had a good share of them.

One of the gadgets that we employed on this hop was a runway computer. It looked more like a circular slide rule than anything else I can think of at the moment. It allowed you to dial in both your aircraft's heading and that of the runway. Then with a little imagination you could picture where you were in relation to the airfield and what kind of entry you would need to make into the traffic pattern for your desired runway. I thought it was cool, but wasn't very proficient at using it. I guess I lacked a little of the situational awareness that I later developed as pilot in the Air Force.

So, there we were, approaching North Platte Regional Airport. Dad contacted the flight service station for an update on the weather and the current runway in use. Dad told me to get out the runway computer and figure out which way we needed to turn to enter the pattern for the current runway.

Here's a picture of airport as it exists today. It's pretty close to what we were heading for back then.

As you can plainly see, there are two runways, a north-south runway and an east-west taxi-way, that I believe back then was a shorter east-west runway. At the top right of the picture is a new longer runway that runs northwest-southeast. (I don't think it existed back then)

As requested, I dialed in our aircraft heading and the current runway heading into the computer. I told dad where we needed to go and he followed my instructions dutifully. He contacted the tower and reported our approach to the runway. The acknowledged our call but did not have us in sight. It wasn't until dad reported a short final that they spotted us ... heading for the WRONG runway! Tower immediately told us to abort our approach and reenter. With some embarrassment, dad aborted the approach and headed out away from the airfield to reenter the correct traffic pattern.

Dad was a little flustered, and so was I. This was not to be my first flying mistake. I began recomputing and dad was now looking over my shoulder and flying. He wanted to do it right the next time. We again reported final approach and again the tower reported that we were not in sight. Oh no, I thought, not again! Sure enough, tower again aborted our approach to the WRONG runway. Time was running out and so were the number of runways that we could mistakenly line up on.

This time we are both flustered and doubly embarrassed. Dad abandoned the computer and I stopped trying to use it. I was lost and didn't have any clue as to how to make things right. Dad maneuvers us again to final approach on the runway and reports our position to the tower. They acknowledge and immediately tell us to break off the approach, we were lined up with WRONG runway again. Tower was now watching us very closely. I'm just glad we couldn't hear what they were saying about us.

Arrrgggghhh! With only one more runway to try, dad made the approach and finally got clearance from tower to land. We landed, but we were not happy campers. Mom was listening and watching during the shenanigans and decided it was best not to interject into the already tense atmosphere in the cockpit.

By the time we taxied to our position on the tarmac, tempers had cooled a little, and we were just very grateful to be down safely and in one piece. We gathered up our belongings, secured the plane, picked up our rental car, and headed for the hotel. As we discussed the flight over dinner, we begin to realize how comical the situation was and could finally start to laugh at our buffoonery. Dad was a good sport about the whole affair, and especially about my part in the incidents. We thought a good night's rest would erase this from our memory and perhaps even allow us to walk with our heads held high, as respected, adventurous, and heroic pilots.

Not so fast buck-wheat! When we arrived at the airport the next day we stopped into the flight service station for a weather briefing. The attendants asked us for our aircraft call sign, but when we told them, something suddenly became very funny and the men began to chuckle. Then one of the guys said, "here they are, the guys who couldn't find the right runway yesterday!" We were famous! Not as heroes but as buffoons. Our heads and halos drooped visibly as we left the station and headed out to our plane.

Neither dad nor I have ever forgotten this experience. It was embarrassing to the max. Sometimes when situations got tense and were in need of a little humor, it was not unthinkable to utter the words, "remember North Platte." Magically, smiles eased themselves into the corners of our mouths, spirits lifted, and even a chuckle born of memories long since passed could well up in the throat and find expression.

Thanks dad for the good times ... and even the tough and embarrassing times too.