MARLBORO MEMORIES
It must be one of those inevitabilities attendant to aging: the older one gets, the larger the memory bank grows to flood one’s thoughts. I’ve been on the sidelines of General Aviation for more than thirty years now, but the wonderful, funny, delicious recollections are still there.
My aviation career stated in the early ‘60s with a flying lesson from Don Lacouture, owner of Don’s Flying Service at Marlboro (MA) Airport, in the front seat of one his J-3 Cubs. It’s a small intimate airport and friendships with common interests were easy to come by. After soloing in the Cub a bunch of us went on to earn our Private and Commercial licenses together at Marlboro. We even logged some instrument time on Don’s old Link Trainer, a remnant from his WWII instructor days. My first big cross country was to pick up a new 1967 C-150 at the factory in Wichita and deliver it back to Don; that flight has its own backstory. The practice of night flying out of Marlboro, I suspect, has long been discontinued. But back in the sixties it was not uncommon to take off at 11pm on a clear summer night in one of the 150s, fly around the country side for awhile, land at Boston Logan, taxi over to Butler Aviation for coffee and a chat with the FSS guys, then fly back to Marlboro. To find the airport we looked for the single red rotating beacon on the roof of the old house (I also suspect it’s been torn down) directly across the street from the end of RW 14…what a hoot!
If Don (or the FAA!) ever got wind of some of the fate-tempting stunts my best flying buddy and I pulled with his aircraft..skimming the surface of Wachusett Reservoir in one of the Cubs…just enough to get the wheels wet, or flying over to Fitchburg Airport, turning the 150’s ignition off at 5,000 ft, taking the key out, pulling the nose up till engine compression stops the prop, and truly dead-sticking a landing at Fitchburg…just for fun!.
Late Saturday afternoons in the summer were magical times. Flying was pretty much over for the day so out would come the chairs and 15-20 of us would sit in a semi-circle just inside Don’s hangar for a true “hangar talk” session. Pilots and plane buffs would come by just for the stories. A number WWII pilots were still around then and their recounted tales of combat, heroism, and tragedy, told with humor were simply riveting. I wish I appreciated their exploits then as much as I do now.
One Saturday about five in the afternoon when the wind sock was absolutely limp, a Ford station wagon drove into the parking lot. The driver walked up and told us that he had just finished building a radio controlled airplane and asked if he could test fly it off our runway. Since there was no reported air traffic in the vicinity, and the hanger gang was looking for some diversion, he got Don’s OK. He then proceeded to drag out an enormous scale model of a P-51 Mustang; wing-span maybe five feet. It must have taken 30 minutes just to assemble this machine. I think it had at least five channels of control: flight surfaces, throttle, brakes, flaps and lights. He fired it up, taxied it out to the end of 14, did a couple of clearing turns and sent it off on its maiden flight. If you squinted your eyes, you were looking at the real thing! The guy was good and put on a great show for us. Prior to landing he set it up for a high speed pass over the runway, heading northwest to southeast, at maybe 150-200 feet. Over the end of 32 just as he was about to bring her around the controls locked up or he lost the signal or something…and this beautiful plane, which must have taken well over a year of loving labor to build, all trimmed for straight and level flight, just disappeared over the horizon.
Four of us jumped into a couple of Don’s 150s and took off after it. We never found it, so we flew back and told the builder-owner. He just shrugged dejectedly, whispered something like “Oh, well!”, thanked us, and drove off.
I started working full time for Mel Dorr in the mid-60’s just after I got my Commercial license. Dorr Aviation, Inc. was in the business of buying and selling new and used aircraft and our base of operation was Marlboro Airport. All to Mel’s credit and business acumen, it was a very successful operation. At one time in terms of unit sales we were the leading Cessna, Piper and Bellanca dealer in New England. Mel had a outstanding reputation in the industry and we sold product all over North American.
As much as the two of us enjoyed new aircraft sales, the profits came from buying and selling used units. One of my responsibilities was to make the purchase decisions out in the field, which carried with it no small amount of accountability. We paid in the equivalency of cash and you knew the seller would tell you anything you wanted to hear about his plane to get his hands on that check. Also flying home on instruments in an aircraft you’ve never flown before (sometimes in a model you’re never flown before!) could be quite daunting. If landing a C-172 or Cherokee 180 at Marlboro gets your heart rate up, try it in a Twin Comanche or a Beach Baron or a C-210 with a 20kt crosswind!
In the mid ‘70s Mel decided that we needed a new company runabout: a custom-painted, very nicely equipped Cessna Centurion (N210MD), and I traveled to the factory to pick her up. I remember well the flight back to Marlboro: the weather was CAVU, I was at altitude, the jet stream right on my tail, and just cruising along on autopilot with a ground speed around 260kts! I also recall the thought while looking down on a passing large factory complex with its overflowing parking lot from this perch in this brand new, multi-thousand dollar airplane: I have the best job ever!
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I suspect today the FAA wouldn’t even consider issuing a commercial operating license to any airport with a runway under 2000 feet. That makes Marlboro Airport, even with its ultra short, narrow runway and its landing obstructions and limited amenities, a special place to learn to fly and to call home base.
I’m proud to be a Marlboro grad.
By Ted Keene
New London, NH