Back in 1973 I struggled to make a living flying airplanes. I had been involved with skydiving since my discharge from the Air Force (I was a medic for four long years.) in 1969. We were operating a Lockheed Lodestar and two Beech 18s for the experienced jumpers, but we needed a single engine Cessna for training students. In this business, the income from the experienced jumpers barely paid for gas and maintenance. We couldn't afford insurance so we didn't have any. Money made in skydiving was from training new students at $65.00 for their first jump. We would canvas Arizona State University and U of A every couple of weeks and usually train 25 or 30 new jumpers a weekend. We were training them to jump from the Twin Beech, but that was expensive and less than ideal. I knew of a Cessna 195 for sale in Eloy, Arizona, about 20 miles from our drop zone in Casa Grande. The airplane had been for sale for more than a year and I thought it could be had for less than $4000.00. That was a lot of money in the 70’s but we managed to save most of it in a few weeks and I caught a ride over to Eloy to make the offer. After only a few minutes, we settled on a price of $3400, and I pulled the cash out of my pocket and handed it to the broker.

I’ll never forget Bob Haskins throwing the keys to N3451V and telling me how much I was going to like this airplane. It didn’t start out that way! I had been flying C-180’s and always prided myself in being able to start the Continental 0470 engine hot or cold. The key was knowing how much fuel you wanted to give her by pumping the throttle just the right number of times. The same goes for the 985 Pratts on the Twin Beech so why should a 195 be any different? I climbed in between the two front seats, made myself comfortable, noted how bad the visibility was to the right of the nose and switched on the master switch. I pushed in the mixture and as soon as I could find the starter button I yelled, "Clear Prop". I knew enough to let the prop turn several blades before turning on the mags (I didn’t even know it didn’t have two of them) so I took the opportunity to pump the throttle a couple of times to prime the engine. I quickly turned the ignition switch to both, but the engine didn’t even cough. Maybe, I thought, it needed a couple more pumps of the throttle. That’s when I heard that awful sound, "Kawumpf!". It was a terrible sound. It sounded like a muffled explosion… and that’s just what it was. I had caught radial engines on fire before and I knew all I needed to do was keep turning the engine until it started and that would blow out the fire, but this engine wasn’t showing any signs of starting. Worse yet, the battery was beginning to give up and I had no idea if there was a fire extinguisher to be found in all of Eloy, Arizona. Just as I was thinking I needed to bail out of this thing and watch it burn to the ground, Bob rushed in and sprayed CO2 into the cowling and the fire was out. I looked at Bob stupidly through the open window and he shook his head and said: "By the way Mike, you have to use the primer to start the engine, and… whatever you do… don’t pump the throttle or it’ll catch fire." I thought, "Good advice Bob, Thanks for having a fire extinguisher handy." Then he told me I should initially start the engine on battery then switch to both after it fired. OK, easy enough. I primed it two strokes, yelled "Clear" and after a few blades I turned the switch to battery. The old jake fired right up.

I had heard the term "Shaky Jake" before so I wasn’t concerned with the way she idled as I taxied to the end of the runway. Taxiing was no surprise, actually it seemed easier than the Beech but only slightly trickier than the 180. Not being able to see over the right side of the nose was uncomfortable at first but a few S-turns quickly returned my confidence that the 195 and I could get along. I soon found out that we would indeed be able to get along. Once I brought the power up on take-off and 51V started revealing her secrets to me, my love affair with the 195 began to blossom. Only a Jake or Continental radial can create this unique sensation. The vibration, the torque, the acceleration, even the visual sensation as you bring the throttle slowly up to full power will grab all of your senses and tell you to hold on tight, this is going to be one heck of a ride.

We flew 51V more than three years and could always rely on her to climb with 4 or 5 jumpers, descend empty all weekend long and then fly us home every night. Once in a while we’d give her some fresh oil but that was about all she required between annual inspections. The 195 is the most reliable airplane I have ever owned.

One week we had to go to Los Angeles for a day and then fly up to San Francisco to see about a business opportunity. We spent the first night in L.A. then headed north to San Fran along the coast at 500ft. The weather was gorgeous all the way until we ran into fog just south of SFO. I tried circling around until I could find a way across the bridge but we barely had a brief glimpse of the Golden Gate Bridge and decided to turn around. You couldn’t do this today with the bay area traffic, but it was still legal then. We circled south of SJC and tried to go north across Oakland but the fog was not going to let us through. We landed at Alemeda and found a place for lunch and checked weather. It wasn’t going to cooperate so we called off our business and decided to head back to Arizona. The first leg got us to Palm Springs just after sunset and I wasn’t looking forward to the night flight through the desert to Phoenix but my passengers insisted that we press on since we didn’t have the money for a motel. In fact, as we counted out how much money we had between the three of us, there was only $20.00 for gas and that would barely buy enough to reach Glendale just west of Phoenix.

Once again I made the case to stay the night rather than try a mininum fuel night desert crossing. I won’t say I was overruled; let’s just say there was a convincing reason for us to get back that night.

If we weren’t at the parachute center the next morning to fly the week-end business, we might not have much to eat that next week. The gas truck showed up and I told the line boy how much money we had but that we could really use an extra 5 gallons to get across the vast stretch of the Sonora Desert. He wasn’t impressed, he said something like, "This ain’t no charitable organization!" Well, that was the last card I had to play so I gathered up all of our cash and headed to the FBO to check weather and my fuel calculation. When I paid the bill it was right to the penny and I walked out of there with nothing in my pockets except a pilot’s license and I wasn’t too happy to have that at the moment. I had refigured the distance and harbored even less confidence about our range, we decided if it started looking too close we would drop into Buckeye, AZ and borrow a couple gallons from them when they opened in the morning. I crawled into old 51V with an ominous feeling about this flight and I hate to start out like that but we strapped in anyway. I turned on the master and started to prime the engine and checked the fuel gauges. Darn, the line boy didn’t give us that extra five gallons I had begged for; in fact, we found there was at least 10 gallons more fuel than we had paid for. We all broke into smiles of relief and looked around for the line boy, to at least say thanks, but he was nowhere in sight. It was a beautiful night desert crossing after all and my faith in mankind was given another boost that magical evening.

Many of you know it’s not easy to keep food on the table and work in general aviation. The early 70’s were good times for small airplanes. The factories were manufacturing record numbers of new airplanes and having very little problems getting rid of them. The used market was good for airplanes with Continental and Lycoming engines, but radial engines were out of favor with the general public, which made it possible for guys like us to afford our Beech 18’s, Lockheed Lodestar, and Cessna 195. We bought the Lodestar for about $5000.00. Sure it was expensive to run but gas was only 35 or 40 cants a gallon so it was pretty much a break-even airplane for us. Not the 195 though. That old work horse actually kept making money every week. Granted, we weren’t buying insurance and we were doing all of our own maintenance, but 51V never failed to pay her own way.

I think it was a Wednesday morning when 3 guys showed up asking about filming in the desert. These guys smelled of Hollywood; they all wore expensive clothes and sunglasses and you could sure tell who was the boss and who was a lackey. Two of the guys were so attentive to the boss’s needs it made you sick. Being a so-called entrepreneur and my own boss, I thanked my lucky stars that I didn’t have to do that myself. Turns out these guys were indeed from Hollywood and they needed a desert landscape to film a commercial and they wanted to charter a plane to scout around in. The dollar signs flashed in my eyes as I told them I was their man if they could just give us an hour to reinstall the seats and door on that old reliable Cessna 195. They agreed to wait and actually agreed to the hourly charge of $50.00 for the plane and pilot. I looked at my smiling partner, Bob Schaffer, and gave him the thumbs up and we both knew we were going to eat well tonight. Bob kept smiling until he realized he would be doing all the wrenching on the Lodestar for the next couple of hours, as somebody had to be smoozing with the Hollywood types up in the 195. When you have partners in the airplane business, it’s good to be the pilot, it gives you more flexibility.

We had the plane ready when our marks came back from lunch and we loaded up. I was going to be the best desert guide that you ever met. Immediately, I headed north to a secluded area not far from the airport. It wasn’t really what they described to me what they were looking for, but I didn’t want them to find the perfect place for at least an hour so I could get my 50 bucks. No problem, our talented film maker informed me and his two hangers-on that he thought the best location would be north of Scottsdale and we should head up there. My grin started to exceed the breaking point, Scottsdale and back would be at least an hour and a half, wow, 75 bucks. We started scouting around the area but nothing was quite right. The hour turned into two hours and still they hadn’t found the right place. We would circle an area and the three marks would yell back and forth about the attributes of the landscape’s "personality" and how it would look when framed properly and which filter would be required for the camera. No kidding, all three of them would look out the window and actually frame the area with their thumbs and fore fingers to form a square simulating the camera frame. In the meantime, I’m watching the tach time steadily rolling over and using my thumb and forefingers practicing my multiplication tables.

Lets see, $50.00 X 1.8 is... I found myself hanging on every word boss was saying and if he said, "Go North boy", I said, "Yessir, I can go north!". I was willing to comply with any request because he had the money, "for now". I was now certainly more sympathetic with my two fellow lackeys.

After a couple of hours the boss wanted to take a break, so we dropped into Scottsdale for a snack and to ask the locals about the ideal location in the desert. I taxied up to the FBO and kept a weary eye out for a certain FAA inspector that was an acquaintance of mine and might be at work in the FSDO office next door. I herded everyone inside as inconspicuously as I could. Boss went to the restroom and one of the lackeys couldn’t wait to tell me about him. It turned out that boss was the guy who coined the slogan, "You’ll wonder where the yellow went when you brush your teeth with Pepsodent". I was duly impressed. I had grown up listening to that on television. He had made a bundle on that advertising campaign and this was going to be his next big commercial. That’s why they were so particular about the location. They were going to do a commercial for Ray-O-Vac batteries and the desolate location would emphasize the reliability of their batteries. I, of course, understood immediately the importance of our business now, all I could hear was a cash register going "Kaching". After another hour and a half in the 195, we headed back to Casa Grande, bitterly disappointed (not) that we had failed to find our perfect location for the commercial. On the ground, I could hardly believe my eyes as the boss started peeling off those beautiful one hundred dollar bills. He gave me two of them. I looked at Bob grinning from ear-to-ear through his grease covered face and we both headed for the best steak in Casa Grande. We knew we could afford a good dinner because Mr. "you wonder where the yellow went" made us promise to be ready, bright and early tomorrow at 11 AM. Yes sir. We were in the money.

I am sad to say we had another tough day finding that perfect location. I flew to Cave Creek, Gila Bend, Picacho Peak, and even to Oracle. No place was good enough for the bosses comeback commercial. Again it started to get late and I could see the stress building as the marks confided to me that a whole film crew and actors would be heading for their site Saturday morning and they still hadn’t found the site yet. It was time to head back to Casa Grande while they discussed what they were going to do, all the time they looked desperately at the passing landscape. I started to slow the 195 as we neared the airport and climbed to pattern altitude. On downwind, while I was concentrating on where the runway might be, I heard a loud exclamation, "LOOK!" from the right seat. All three passengers became instantly excited and asked me to turn the plane around and take them back where we had just passed. I did a grand 360 and watched in amazement as all three filmmakers congratulated each other because they had finally found the perfect location to film their Ray-O-Vac commercial. Right there below us, not 1000 feet north of the runway of the Casa Grande Airport was their spot. After landing they borrowed my old F-150 pick up and rushed to the site. Bob and I started pulling the seats out and the door off the 195, since a few hard core jumpers always showed up on Friday. Our heroes returned from the desert still excited about their success and again Bob and I grinned while two more big beautiful one hundred dollar bills found their way into our pockets. Man! Steak! Two nights in a row!!

The next hurdle was to get permission from the city manager to film on the airport, and I was asked to make those arrangements. I agreed to talk to the bureaucrats on their behalf. Notice I didn’t say I would get permission. My relations with the city manager were less than cordial. In fact, I wasn’t even sure he would let me in his office, but I felt obligated to try because of those hundred dollar bills in my pocket. There wasn’t much else that could get me to do it. And I did try, but the butthead wouldn’t even consider it. Perhaps it was due to our past dealing that he didn’t believe my story about the famous Hollywood producer wanting to shoot a movie at the Casa Grande Airport, he sent me packing. I know he was hoping we would be out of business soon and get off of his precious airport.

Fat chance though, I still had two hundred bucks in my pocket. I called Hollywood and told them the bad news, and reminded them we could put the seats back in the 195 if they needed, but boss graciously declined and said he would call the studio and make the arrangements. I don’t know what they did, but early Saturday morning here came the cameras, actors, horses and a helicopter and they filmed that commercial all day. About 4 months later I saw the commercial on TV and I was disappointed that there were no credits for the flight crew. Actually, they don’t do credits on commercials, do they.

I got to thinking about this experience. The passenger business wasn’t all that bad. Maybe I ought to get an instrument rating and do some charter flying. Heck, if it weren’t for the fact that I had to wear these darn glasses, maybe even an airline job. The last couple of days beat the crap out of sitting on top of that old Lodestar with a hammer (I mean monkey wrench) trying to keep it flying for another couple days. Corporate might be an option but then I’d have to kiss up to some boss like I saw (did) this week. No, I can’t afford, nor do I need an instrument ticket to fly skydivers. And how could I keep flying these old round engine birds if I had to go to work flying for someone else. Not a chance.

In the summer of 1977 we were pretty disillusioned about the future of our skydiving center so we began selling off the airplanes. That’s really the only time we had any money. Bob was going to start flying south and I had a job in a Pawnee as soon as the cotton was tall enough, so we split the proceeds and went our separate ways. Bob got his multi rating and was killed in a Lodestar accident a couple years later, I miss him dearly. I sprayed cotton for three years and made enough money to get that instrument rating and did eventually start flying passengers. For 22 years I flew only big airplanes until Charmian and I decided we had enough money to buy another airplane for ourselves and there was never a question about which kind of airplane we would buy.

It is a beautifully polished silver and red Cessna 195. Over the years we have been privileged to fly 66R to many fly-ins around the country. In 2003 we enjoyed the 195 fly-in at Dayton, Ohio sponsored by Jack and Karen Jackowski. As usual we had a wonderful time and after the fly-in we flew to Tullahoma, Tennessee to visit the Beech 18 museum, then to Alabama for some family time. The next week end would be Jim and Val Slocum’s fly-in so we took all week in the 195 to get there. On Thursday we stopped in at Tupelo, Mississippi to visit with Aubie and Leslie Pearman before we would all head up to Jim and Val’s on Friday in Aubie’s Lodestar then come back to pick up the 195s. I spent the day at Tupelo Aviation where Aubie has the FBO and wandered around the facilities looking at the various projects being worked on. There was a lonely Cessna 195 in the back of the hangar. The wings were off and the paint had been stripped so I thought I’d take a look at some of the systems inside the airframe that you don’t usually get to check out on a completed airplane. I was wondering about where this old girl came from and what stories she might be able to tell. After looking at the gear box and the door posts the control wheel caught my eye. It wasn’t the stock wheel but a rams horn type with the aircraft registration number written in the center. When I saw the number a chill ran down my spine and I had to hold back the strong emotions rising inside of me. It was her, N3451V. The very airplane I had flown so much back at the parachute center. I couldn’t be more pleased to know that 51V is in such good hands and that someday Aubie will return her to service in the best shape she’s ever been in.

As I reflect back on the old days and remember how much fun we had, it’s hard to remember how hungry we were sometimes. If I had it to do it all over again, I’d probably still be sitting in old 51V looking for that perfect spot in the desert and saying…"Yes sir Boss, we can go a little further North!" … "KACHING!"