A Field by Any Other Name
People lucky enough to have their very own airstrip are a vain bunch. How do I know? I am one. You’re probably thinking, what a louse and you’d be half right. It can devolve into a vain matter of pride. For example, many name the field after themselves. No way. Not me. Most if not all major airports are named after dead folk. What a stigma. O’Hare International, Navy pilot Butch O’Hare – Dead in combat WW II. Louis Armstrong International or what used to be New Orleans Moisant, either way – Dead guys on both counts; Wiley Post – Same. Only one off the top of my head is still alive and that is George H.W. Bush Intercontinental in Houston. Most grass strip guys are at least still breathing. So this bit of vanity is acceptable if you and not the State or County own the field, mow your own runway, and kill your own groundhogs. Then by federal regulation you are entitled to be as vain as Narcissus and name the place after yourself or anything else your little heart desires. In my case, I named the place Donner Field after my beloved wife and flying buddy Donna, whose name my late father forever mutilated as Donner. We thought it not only a tribute to dad but kind of humorous. Thus, not only am I not a vain person or a louse – I am a good son and a very wise husband. Yet there are just as many sod strip friends of mine that seek fame or in some cases, notoriety. They’ll call it Fred’s place, Smith Field, John’s landing, what have you. Now, in my neck of the woods I particularly enjoy the creative of the lot. A friend of mine has a 2100 ft west/east strip not unlike mine. He not only loves planes but raises burros, which for some odd reason seems proper in its context. The name of his place, what else: “Half Ass Acres”. Vera’s Strip should have been more aptly named Vera’s Field since Vera is nigh on 350 lbs and the thought of her strutting her stuff on a lighted stage quite frankly makes me shudder. When you name your place Bandit Field, don’t be surprised if the Feds’ frequent it unannounced. A pal of mine doesn’t own a strip but has a clubhouse inside his hangar at the municipal airport which he named the “Auger Inn”. I like it. Dude’s is creative, especially if someone asks where you’re off to in your Cub, as in “Dude where ya’ bound”, Answer – Obvious. A guy in the Carolinas named his strip after himself but had his own custom (and unofficial) airport identifier painted on the roof of the hangar in big 12 foot letters: “BFE”, and in smaller letters, “You know where you’re at!” I flew at a Drop Zone strip called “Astroid” because the owner was some geometry wiz and knew what a hypocycloid with four cusps was, although with all of the falling bodies coming down under canopy it was easy to justify the astronomical title. One strip that taildragger students at Red Stewart Field (not Rod Stewart) had to master had no name whatsoever. It was a nondescript 800 foot long piece of sod located in the middle of a stinking pig farm. It was a badge of honor to successfully takeoff and land there, especially since there were high tension lines 1,000 feet off one end. You had to prove your mettle and the most common question of new students was, “did you ever do the pig?’ If it weren’t for Ed’s last name being Crater it would have still been apropos since at least three guys I know cratered a landing at his place. “One Shot” was a confined little one way in and one way out affair and also a good way of letting the uninitiated know that a go-around was not an option. Jim and Dondi Miller are great folk and known here and wide as aircraft fabric gurus but their dual grass strip near Orient, Ohio has to be on the top ten list: You’ve got to love a place called Millertime. Just don’t let the folks up in Milwaukee hear about it. Nearby is a guy named Jordan and wouldn’t you know Michael might have something to say about a strip called “Air Jordan”. For the biblically minded Paul Ritchey named his strip “Hallelujah” and no surprise it’s located in the land o’ Goshen, as in Goshen, Ohio. And if you just can’t stand Star Wars you better not fly over to Obi One near Delaware. Now a few big city airports are known as an international ports and operated by a port authority such as Port Columbus International even though the place is hundreds of miles from the ocean, so when John planted his 2,500 ft runway he naturally cobbed’ onto the idea and officially titled his strip – Port o’ John. Don’t laugh I think there is a green one holer next to the barn that passes for a passenger terminal. Believe it or not, there are a fat lot of Sunset Strips’ and a good many named for the fact that they reside down low on the river bottom, hence the ever popular Lee’s Bottom Flying Field across the river in Indiana. However, as I advance on in years and face the weekly tasks of rolling, mowing, and patching my runway, I have decided to beg my wife’s indulgence and rename our place “Sagging Bottom” because after 3 hours of chugging on a Ford 900 tractor…mine’s a draggin’.
By Steve Bill Hanshew