Flying in a Stearman

While I was taking pictures of the Huey, my cell phone vibrator went off. At first, I ignored it, thinking it was my ankle bracelet and my pesky parole officer was attempting to get my attention. But, with the third shake, I realized it was the cell phone.

My wife, sitting in the air-conditioned comfort of the museum's break room, was calling to tell me that the Stearman pilot was looking for me. So, I hustled over to the ramp where the Stearman had just dropped off its previous passenger.

Kyle, a museum volunteer, was there to greet me. In accordance with museum policy -- and in my case, I suppose, to keep me from getting lost -- Kyle guided me the entire fifty feet to where the Stearman was parked.

The Stearman's pilot, Kevin Raulie, was standing near the plane and in what I thought was a strategically smart geographic selection. He had chosen the shade of the Stearman's wing in which to do his standing.

It was a smart decision, not only because it was cooler in the shade but also because Kevin has a shaved head and, as a person of few follicles myself, I know from experience what the sun can do to an undraped pate. (In Kevin's case, he purposely shaved his locks; my shiny crown comes more naturally.)

In addition to being a Stearman and AT-6 chauffeur, Kevin is also the museum's assistant director. We chatted a while about the Stearman, about the new Huey, about the museum, and about flying stuff in general.

Kevin is a happy guy with a ready laugh. And why shouldn't he be happy? He's got about the best job in the entire world: talking about, and flying, classic airplanes.

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