For all my life, my relationship with aviation has been one of the most consistently powerful factors in my personal growth, as well a constant source of satisfaction, and an aid in my search for enlightenment. No matter what form it took… hard aerobatics, silent soaring, simple cross-countries, bug-busting ultralight jaunts, solid IFR down to 200' and a quarter-mile viz, the giving and receiving of flight instruction, touch and goes in the pattern, or pure sightseeing and the occasional bout of cloud chasing  --  it has always embodied, most of all, the very nature of freedom, to me.

But times have changed.

I miss freedom. There was a time when I could visit my nation’s capital, quite conveniently, and enjoy the sight of the Washington Monument as I negotiated the pattern on the way into Washington National and the fine service at Signature Flight Support… even in my little Mooney.

I miss freedom. There was a time when I could pop off on a quick 200 mile cross-country without having to spend as much as an hour on the phone to find out what airspace and facilities were being denied me (and to keep my bretheren from blowing me out of the sky) and my small aircraft... the one that proudly wore the US flag on her cowl.

I miss freedom. There was a time when I could proudly proclaim my love for, and reliance on, general aviation without having to wonder if my right to fly were going to be so severely restricted as to make it nearly worthless for any purpose… or worse, legislated to a point where it simply couldn’t be pursued any longer.

I miss freedom. There was a time when I spent a wonderful summer earning my early commercial flight experience towing banners over the Jersey shore and near various sporting events, flogging a Citabria along at all of 70 mph, with the occasional wave to a person at the beach who looked up at my leisurely efforts and waved back. Being a good citizen, I operated my aircraft far enough off the beach to keep from being a hazard and called in more than one traffic accident, vehicle fire, or other worrisome situation to a local base so that the law enforcement and emergency folks could get an early alert from my lofty post. It was a lovely way to spend a few hours each day, and I’ve oft wanted to take a few weeks, and go back for a week or so to work such a job to relive a bit of my youth, and enjoy the simple pleasure of being a part of a favored American way of life….

I miss freedom. There was a time when I could save precious time and resources on trips into the Windy City to do so much of the business I used to do there. Meigs Field presented an oasis of convenience that allowed me access to what used to be one of America’s most dynamic cities… a place where my business and my interest was once so welcome and so desired.

I miss freedom. There was a time when distance and weather prevented me from doing my own flying… so a quick trip on a commercial airliner got me to where I wanted to be -- safe, sound and with a minimum of hassle. It was a time when air travel was the ultimate expression of being an American… when one could go anywhere, at anytime, because our founding Fathers made the sacrifices necessary to empower my life with such freedoms and the constitutionally protected riches of life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. Commercial flying had a sense of glamour, and the industry was proud to ply its trade with a sense of public service and a willingness to make sure that every flight was a special event to all those who chose to fly.

I miss freedom. There was a time when I could proclaim my status as a pilot and point to my accomplishments in aviation with pride and satisfaction… and feel that people would look at me as a person of accomplishment… instead of someone to be viewed suspicion and mistrust—especially by those in my government.

I miss freedom. There was a time when I could look back on my days as a kid hugging the airport fence, hoping against hope that some kindly aviator would take pity on me and give me a ride. I was incredibly successful in those days and developed a well-deserved reputation as an accomplished scammer of airplane rides… a rep that I not only deserved, but of which I was was immensely proud. For years thereafter, though, I paid back the kindnesses shown me as an early teen by giving hundreds of rides to the next generation of airport fence-huggers. But now the airport fences are made of tall, heavy steel instead of waist high wooden posts. There is concertina wire over the top, and locks on all the gates… with cold, vicious, NO TRESPASSING signs every few feet… killing off the dreams and fondest desires of many a kindred soul… some of whom may never get their own chance to see why the birds still sing.

Damn, I miss freedom.

--Jim Campbell,
Aero-News Network, working under Condition Orange… again