He Personified Aviation In Great Barrington Since 1945
By ANN Contributor William J "Bill" Schulz
Walking into the office at Great Barrington, MA, airport (GBR)
on this spring day in 1988 is a daunting experience for me: I feel
I am entering the temple of some secret society, a place where I
just don’t belong.
The airport itself is so archetypical that it could be the set
for a movie. Rows of aircraft sit at tiedowns in several acres of
lush green grass, their tails to the South Egremont Road, looking
for all the world like resting birds facing "their" road, the
runway, just waiting for their turn to fly. The grass runs from
state highway to runway with no fence of any sort.
The southwest corner of the field is dominated by a grouping of
big old hangars which house the maintenance operation and, in the
sole open-fronted one, some eight or so aircraft lucky enough to be
spared the worst of New England’s weather. A sister hangar is
across the runway with another half-dozen planes.
Mere steps from the highway is what looks like a modest white
‘50s ranch house. A small green sign announces "Office." This
is the office and pilot lounge and was also the home of the owner
and his wife for many years. Directly opposite as I step in is a
large picture window with a view out over the ramp, the runway, the
far-side black and yellow checker-board roofed hangar, and behind
it all, a stand of trees.
Several people sit on a well-worn green vinyl sofa which faces a
huge table dominating the small room with the green vinyl flooring.
And the table is "guarded" by a large model of a Navy blue Corsair,
gear-down and in a carrier-landing descending left turn, hanging
above it.
A display counter is on the right manned by a trim young man-- I
am already fifty-three years old, so lots of people look "young."
This fellow behind the counter, who I later will come to know as a
most imaginative flight instructor, is a pilot with one of
America’s oldest air carriers.
Conversation briefly pauses to assess the intruder-- me-- but
resumes when I approach the counter and ask a few questions about
how to become a member of the flying community.
With questions answered and a mimeographed brief of process and
prices, I turn to leave, noting a small office to my left with an
older gentleman on the phone…. I say "gentleman" because
he’s wearing a bow tie.
I have just seen "Great Barrington Airport, Walter Koladza
speaking," the personification of Berkshire Aviation Enterprises
and Great Barrington Airport since 1945.
Today, I can safely say that this man was so loved, revered, and
respected in the Northeast aviation community that the local Flight
Standards District Office used to send examiners on a two hour
drive out to GBR to give Walt his check ride, the equivalent of
bringing the mountain to Mohammed!
Walt was an imposing person despite his somewhat less than
average height and his slightly stocky structure. Maybe it was the
bow tie…
Walter Koladza was a no-nonsense businessman and pilot. A former
test pilot of fresh-off-the line Corsairs built in Stratford (CT)
during World War II, his oneness with an aircraft, any aircraft,
was brought home to me during my flight exam when Walt said, "Here,
let me show you" and the Piper Tomahawk in which I had trained
literally became an extension of his mind and body, almost a living
thing.
Walt ran his fixed base operation as a public service. It was a
no-frills operation-- one of several Piper Cherokees in his flock
had better than thirteen thousand hours on it and I referred to it,
lovingly, as "Three three Ugly."
At GBR, safety was paramount, a point which was borne home to me
when I saw one of the Pipers undergoing a hundred hour inspection.
I had flown the plane a week or so previously and had noted about a
sixteenth of an inch play in the stabilator when I did the
pre-flight. While paying my tab after that flight, I made casual
mention of what I had found and at the next inspection the
stabilator was re-bushed. And, despite the hours flown and
weathering which 33U had suffered, it was one of the tightest,
truest, and sweetest flying PA-28s I ever experienced.
And with only a 2700 foot runway and sometimes squirrelly
Berkshire Hills winds, touch-and-goes were discouraged and, with
their rental aircraft, one-notch-of-flaps takeoffs and full-stall
landings on the numbers were emphatically encouraged.
Walter Koladza was a big-hearted and fun-loving guy, evidenced
by the monthly "KB" dinner meetings where there were roasts, toasts
and much merriment. I believe Walt always had a designated driver.
He was always in control of himself but truly enjoyed his monthly
outting with "Koladza’s Boys." Though his wife of many years,
Louise, had been an early-day female pilot, Walt said that women in
attendance at these KB gatherings would change the whole complexion
of the "boys’ night out." And, although it seems sexist to
say, I agree; it would be like putting a man into the middle of an
afternoon tea or a sorority party; testosterone would overcome
avgas.
I have the feeling that Walter Koladza ran his business at a
minimal profit with an eye to providing a comfortable environment
in which all things aviation flourished at minimum cost. Aircraft
tie-down, rental, fuel, and maintenance costs were the lowest in
the western New England/Hudson Valley area. What Walt saved on not
painting "33U" was reflected in what it cost to fly at GBR. And his
employees were literally his family.
Walter Koladza was GBR.
Maybe it was the bow tie which, come to think of it, looked very
much like a propeller.
I last spoke with Walt in late August of this year in a
telephone call to the airport. Walter Koladza died on September
first at age 86.
Yes, it was the bow tie. Blue skies and tailwinds, Walt.