From Awe To Tragedy

By Rob Finfrock

“It’s aviation mecca,” I wrote in an email several days ago, while trying in vain to explain to a friend the appeal of spending eight days at Wittman Field under alternating blistering sun and drenching rain. The appeal of slogging down endless miles of dirt paths and hard blacktop roads, while in the process developing a rather impressive sunburn and blisters in areas you’d probably just as soon not read about. All in the name of seeing a bunch of airplanes.

It’s not just about the airplanes. They’re a big part of it, of course, but it’s more… it’s also about the 750,000 attendees who so love flying, regardless of whether they actually partake of the act or not. There is something deeply moving, even spiritual, in seeing a gangly AirBorne trike rotate off of 36L, followed fifteen seconds later by a C-54 that flew in the Berlin Airlift, followed ten seconds after that by a Cirrus SR22-G2. And dozens more after that.

Some people just don’t get that, and that’s okay. Just as long as I get to spend my time around those who do.

Being a correspondent for Aero-News this year was an incredible opportunity, especially for someone who is fairly new to flying. I didn’t truly discover the joy of it until three years ago. I realize, though, that flying has called to me for many years now. I remember when I was eight years old, watching the Air Force Thunderbirds perform at my first air show, and having tears come to my eyes but not knowing why. I know now.

That is one reason why it’s hard for me to quantify what was “best” about this year’s Oshkosh. It’s easy to say what was worst, and I’ll get to that soon enough. But there are just so many fantastic parts of experiencing a show such as Oshkosh for the first time. 

I do have to pick just one, though, and here it is:

BEST OSHKOSH MOMENT: Walking back to the office Tuesday morning, after photographing several RVs (the airplanes, of course, not Winnebagos) parked together at the northwest end of the field, I suddenly hear a distinctive roar overhead. I look up, only half-interested, and for at least the tenth time since I got to Oshkosh I see a B-17 flying over the field, giving rides.

Not really thinking, I quickly focus back to the scene ahead of me… but then I paused at what I had just done. ‘A B-17 is flying over you, Rob!’ I thought to myself. ‘There aren’t very many of those around anymore… and there are six of them here!’

Thinking about my grandfather who flew in Flying Fortresses during WWII, I looked back up at the lumbering aircraft overhead. I loved that I was witnessing a 60 year-old piece of aviation history, here and now, in its natural element versus being museum-bound. And I also loved that here at Oshkosh, that scene had become almost routine.

Almost. For the rest of the week, I never failed to pause and watch, at least for a few seconds, every time that a B-17 flew overhead… sometimes, with a tear in my eye.

WORST OSHKOSH MOMENT: Later that day. At 2247 to be exact.

It had been a good day, and everyone at Aero-News had settled into our traditional routine of checking facts, posting our articles, and cracking wise on a multitude of topics. The mood was light and jovial, and we were all looking forward to what stories and sights the upcoming days would bring.

And then Jim got the email. A warbird had gone down near Fond du Lac. The crash was fatal.

All other topics of conversation were dropped instantly, and we went to work. Who was it? What plane was it? Was it part of Oshkosh? Was it one of the aircraft that some of us had watched take off earlier that day? What happened? It’s our job, after all, to find the answers to questions like those.

As the facts became available, it was clear that discretion was a must. We soon knew things that the pilot’s family didn’t yet. No doubt that this was news… but where was the line between reporting the news, and balancing the reality and emotion of a moment like this?

The loss of pilot Richard James, in the crash of the P-51 “Donna-Mite,” was the moment where I first truly experienced what it’s like to be a member of “the media,” covering an event that no sane person would ever, ever want to.

It is a horrific experience, especially when you’re a part of such a tightly-knit group as the aviation community. We all take an event like this personally, even if we’ve never met the person involved. This is true for those who have been covering the news for 30 years, as much as for those who have been doing it for five days.

Aviation consists of so many moments of pure and complete happiness, counterbalanced with times of loss. It has always been that way and will continue to be so… what keeps us coming back, is that the scales inevitably tip on the side of joy.

That is the lesson I am taking from my time covering AirVenture 2005.

FMI: www.aero-news.net