I'll tell you what - there is definitely something to be said for living life to the fullest.
Leaving Cape Girardeau is always a difficult thing to do. I never like to say goodbye to friends, and this visit was no exception. I always learn something new; I always hear a fresh story. I always leave with a smile on my face, whenever I bid adieu to my friend John in Cape Girardeau, Missouri.
John is a man who has patently lived life to its fullest. He was too young to serve during World War II, but old enough to have worked closely with the men who did, "I had a buddy who flew fighter planes over Europe. They'd have to get up early in the morning to fly a mission, but would be so hung-over that they'd crawl out of bed, climb up into the cockpit and suck on the oxygen mask for a bit to sober up. Hell, he never missed a mission by doing that."
John, a lifelong aviation enthusiast, has flown "everything short of jets." He gave a ride to John Ashcroft, back when he was Governor of Missouri, in an open-cockpit World War II trainer. For a time, my friend flew a DC-3, and rubbed elbows with the likes of the CEO of Coca-Cola. On this most recent trip to Cape Girardeau, I learned that John personally knows a former B-29 crewmember, a man who flew over Japan and actually witnessed the atomic bombing of Nagasaki.
One of his more publishable stories involves flying commercial aviation into Mexico. "Boy, we had some rough nights down there." Depending on how rough, a pharmacist friend would distribute medication the next morning during breakfast.
More incredible than the stories, more admirable than his expertise, is that John is of a humble, subdued generation. He does not brag about himself, nor does he preemptively blow his own horn. As incredible as these conversations are, I practically have to beat them out of him.
On one of my trips to Cape Girardeau he casually remarked, "Back when I used to own a radio station." Me, somewhat incredulous, shot back, "You used to own a radio station? When was this?"
John: "Quite a few years ago. I actually worked briefly with Rush Limbaugh, back toward the beginning of his career. He's a nice guy."
Me: "What made you get out of the radio business?"
John: "I was sick of getting sued. People will sue you for anything. I had the chance to sell the station and jumped on it."
For quite a few years, John was involved with the automotive industry. He owned a garage, which is partially to thank for his mechanical dexterity. Coupled with his love of aviation, John stumbled upon a Fairchild PT-19, a popular trainer used during World War II, which had been sitting abandoned in a barn for decades. It had been there for so long, he said, "We had to cut down a tree in order to roll it out the door."
John set about restoring the old bird to flight and rebuilt the 200-horsepower Ranger engine as per Army guidelines. He reminisced, "I followed the book. I did everything exactly the way they said I should." But, something was wrong. The engine ran all right, but burned way too much oil. The original World War II specs called for loose-fitting bearings and sloppy tolerances. He described, "You have to understand, they were plucking every Joe off the street back then in order to build these things. They were throw-away engines, and had to be easy to assemble."
Using his own ingenuity, John improved the design. He used tighter bearings and introduced a chokebore to the cylinders to prevent oil from slipping past the piston rings. By this time, John was living comfortably in retirement and decided to rebuild aircraft engines in his spare time. He has since overhauled Rangers for museums and sent them to customers all over the United States, as well as overseas.
John's garage is now wholly dedicated to Ranger engines. His inventory includes enough parts to build several engines of his own - parts that have not been manufactured in decades, but most importantly, he possesses the hands-on knowledge of the intricacies of how a Ranger works. To my understanding, John is one of three people left in the United States who still specialize in overhauling Ranger Aircraft Engines.
And this is where our paths crossed. In July 2012, my Ranger threw a piston and punched several holes through the engine block while on takeoff. For more than two years, John has continued to help me answer questions and address issues with my hobby. I have one of his overhauled engines of my own, and even a spare. His expertise, his lifetime of experience, and his unending knowledge are trumped only by his friendship.
As Paul, Stewbert, and I sped out of Cape Girardeau and headed east toward the Appalachians, I once again had to smile at John's stories. He is of the old school. He does not have a website. He does not have a Facebook profile or Twitter account, because John does not suffer fools. He has earned the right to be who he is, and at age 80, still likes to go out and have a beer with his friends.
I can see him now, shaking his head over barbecue at Port Cape and speaking in his Missouri drawl, "It's hell to grow old."
- Dan Wegmueller of Monroe writes a column for the Times each Tuesday. He can be reached at dwegs@tds.net.
Leaving Cape Girardeau is always a difficult thing to do. I never like to say goodbye to friends, and this visit was no exception. I always learn something new; I always hear a fresh story. I always leave with a smile on my face, whenever I bid adieu to my friend John in Cape Girardeau, Missouri.
John is a man who has patently lived life to its fullest. He was too young to serve during World War II, but old enough to have worked closely with the men who did, "I had a buddy who flew fighter planes over Europe. They'd have to get up early in the morning to fly a mission, but would be so hung-over that they'd crawl out of bed, climb up into the cockpit and suck on the oxygen mask for a bit to sober up. Hell, he never missed a mission by doing that."
John, a lifelong aviation enthusiast, has flown "everything short of jets." He gave a ride to John Ashcroft, back when he was Governor of Missouri, in an open-cockpit World War II trainer. For a time, my friend flew a DC-3, and rubbed elbows with the likes of the CEO of Coca-Cola. On this most recent trip to Cape Girardeau, I learned that John personally knows a former B-29 crewmember, a man who flew over Japan and actually witnessed the atomic bombing of Nagasaki.
One of his more publishable stories involves flying commercial aviation into Mexico. "Boy, we had some rough nights down there." Depending on how rough, a pharmacist friend would distribute medication the next morning during breakfast.
More incredible than the stories, more admirable than his expertise, is that John is of a humble, subdued generation. He does not brag about himself, nor does he preemptively blow his own horn. As incredible as these conversations are, I practically have to beat them out of him.
On one of my trips to Cape Girardeau he casually remarked, "Back when I used to own a radio station." Me, somewhat incredulous, shot back, "You used to own a radio station? When was this?"
John: "Quite a few years ago. I actually worked briefly with Rush Limbaugh, back toward the beginning of his career. He's a nice guy."
Me: "What made you get out of the radio business?"
John: "I was sick of getting sued. People will sue you for anything. I had the chance to sell the station and jumped on it."
For quite a few years, John was involved with the automotive industry. He owned a garage, which is partially to thank for his mechanical dexterity. Coupled with his love of aviation, John stumbled upon a Fairchild PT-19, a popular trainer used during World War II, which had been sitting abandoned in a barn for decades. It had been there for so long, he said, "We had to cut down a tree in order to roll it out the door."
John set about restoring the old bird to flight and rebuilt the 200-horsepower Ranger engine as per Army guidelines. He reminisced, "I followed the book. I did everything exactly the way they said I should." But, something was wrong. The engine ran all right, but burned way too much oil. The original World War II specs called for loose-fitting bearings and sloppy tolerances. He described, "You have to understand, they were plucking every Joe off the street back then in order to build these things. They were throw-away engines, and had to be easy to assemble."
Using his own ingenuity, John improved the design. He used tighter bearings and introduced a chokebore to the cylinders to prevent oil from slipping past the piston rings. By this time, John was living comfortably in retirement and decided to rebuild aircraft engines in his spare time. He has since overhauled Rangers for museums and sent them to customers all over the United States, as well as overseas.
John's garage is now wholly dedicated to Ranger engines. His inventory includes enough parts to build several engines of his own - parts that have not been manufactured in decades, but most importantly, he possesses the hands-on knowledge of the intricacies of how a Ranger works. To my understanding, John is one of three people left in the United States who still specialize in overhauling Ranger Aircraft Engines.
And this is where our paths crossed. In July 2012, my Ranger threw a piston and punched several holes through the engine block while on takeoff. For more than two years, John has continued to help me answer questions and address issues with my hobby. I have one of his overhauled engines of my own, and even a spare. His expertise, his lifetime of experience, and his unending knowledge are trumped only by his friendship.
As Paul, Stewbert, and I sped out of Cape Girardeau and headed east toward the Appalachians, I once again had to smile at John's stories. He is of the old school. He does not have a website. He does not have a Facebook profile or Twitter account, because John does not suffer fools. He has earned the right to be who he is, and at age 80, still likes to go out and have a beer with his friends.
I can see him now, shaking his head over barbecue at Port Cape and speaking in his Missouri drawl, "It's hell to grow old."
- Dan Wegmueller of Monroe writes a column for the Times each Tuesday. He can be reached at dwegs@tds.net.
