NOTE: Eventually we
may be adding a bulletin board feature so you can
tell me I'm full of crap and argue with one another. In the
mean time SEND COMMENTS
TO webmaster@airbum.com :
We're still not yet sure if this thing is a good idea or not.
NOTE: THINKING
OUT LOUD IS
GOING TO BE UP DATED SPORADICALLY THIS SUMMER AS I'M ON THE
ROAD A LOT. IT'LL HAPPEN ABOUT EVERY TEN DAYS THROUGH AUGUST
28
Jun
08—Stephen
Stills
and
me
(and
Nash
and
that
other
guy)
Geezer Rock? No Damn Way!
As a charter member of the Buffalo Springfield
fan club (not really, but close), last night I fulfilled a
forty-plus year dream and sang For
What it’s
Worth with Stephen Stills. The fact that 5,500 others
decided to join in didn’t diminish the duet
moment one damn bit. It was still magic for me and I didn’t
care about the others.
When I bought tickets for us to see Crosby, Stills and Nash it was with more
than a little trepidation: the group, which for most of us in the day it was
a fluid follow-on to Buffalo Springfield (named after a steam roller company,
by the way), redefined musicianship and through their harmony and musical choices,
had set a helluva standard. Their harmonies were so tight and complex, even at
their peak, if they were having a slightly off night, the music suffered horribly.
They took a risk every time they opened their mouths at missing some of the split
intervals their music depended on.
As I plunked down more than I thought I would ever pay for
a concert ticket, I knew I too was taking a risk: these guys
are all collecting social security and have been together for
forty years. How good can they possibly still be? Was I going
back and looking for my high school prom queen only to be crushed
by the toll time has taken? I had only to look in the mirror
on the way out the door to the concert to know none of us has
improved with age.
The Dodge Theater in Phoenix, is a great venue. Good acoustics
and huge jumbotron TV screens on both sides of the stage.
Plus, we had good seats. When they came on stage, I immediately
wished they didn’t have the jumbotrons because
you saw too much of the performers. You could, for instance, clearly see the
damage David Crosby’s self-destructive past has carved into his face and
body. Balding, with his signature mustache and flowing white hair, his 67 years
have been hard ones and and each had left their mark. Graham Nash, looked good
for 65 and Stephen Stills, the kid of the group at 63, also had held up well,
considering his background. Still, you were looking at guys like me standing
on stage and we’d paid more than I’d paid for
my first three cars combined to see them. My heroes were
becoming wizen caricatures of their former selves. What did
I expect?
 |
A little
beat-up looking, yes, but as the evening rolled
on, your eyes adjusted and you saw past the appearance
to the music and he seemed to lose years, at least
in my eyes the more they sang. A great evening! |
Then, David Crosby played a surprisingly
nimble, and very familiar riff on a mid-70’s Martin D-45, barely opened his mouth, his eyes mostly shut, and
my night was absolutely made. It wasn’t David Crosby the old guy singing.
It was David Crosby the musician I’d always known. Ditto for the rest.
And with only few minor exceptions, the harmonies reached inside me and reminded
me that it’s about what’s inside the album, not what’s
on the cover. These guys were past being great. They were
wonderful! They did a couple of near a cappella pieces that
actually put tears in my eyes they were so tight and delicate.
Thanks to them, I was once again reminded that gray does not mean you are no
longer the person you once were. It just means the album sleeve is showing some
wear, and in their case, some abuse, but, if you've been true to your craft,
the tracks will still run clean and true.
Most of us have spent a lifetime honing our skills and there’s no reason
to believe that because you’ve reached an age society has arbitrarily decreed
as “old” that you have to either accept, or act, that label. My attitude,
and apparently that of Crosby, Stills and Nash, is screw ‘em all. If some
young punk of twenty, thirty or forty, thinks they’re better than you are
at what you do, tell ‘em
to bring it on. When it comes to applying what a long lifetime has taught us,
they'll find that kickin’ butt
is NOT an ability possessed by only the young. And we should teach our children
well,
so they understand that.
Now....where did I put my finger picks?
PS
For What It’s Worth was part of their encore set and I made it
a point to look around at the audience, which was surprisingly young. It was
gratifying to see hundreds and hundreds, possibly thousands, of twenty-something
guys and gals all singing along and not missing a word. I guess classic is classic
and good music knows no age boundaries.
21
Jun
08—Warning:
Computers
are
Harmful
to your
Health
I think I now have a very clear picture
of how I'm going to die: I'm going to be sitting at my computer,
clutching my chest while my body vascillates between having a
stroke and a heart attack. This will be after I've emptied an
entire magazine of 9mm into my monitor. I HATE FRIGGING COMPUTERS!
Today is a classic example of why generations that followed my
father's, the computer generation that includes even us baby
boomers (actually, I'm a pre-boomer, but close) will not live
as long as his did. Our computers are going to kill us. I'll
shorten this up as much as I can, but it'll still drag on so
be patient.
First, Thinking Outloud didn't get updated last week
because I was in Oregon playing with tanks and I came back with
some photos and videos I couldn't wait to share. But I've spent
most of the last week trying to figure out how to do that. The
stills coming out of the new cameras, were easy enough to sort
out, but my super-sophisticated little hard drive
camcorder has absolutely defied easy understanding.
JVC must stand for
"Jerk! it's Very Complex" because, after probably ten hours of
screwing around, I still haven't gotten it to talk to my computer
without hours and hours of file manipulation. Then, this morning
I noticd in teeny-tiny mouse type at the bottom of a manual page
it says,
"to connect to computer use cable PNxxxx, which is optional
and must be purchased." YOU HAVE TO BE SH*TTING ME!
First, what kind of computerized anything, especially something
with a hard drive, doesn't talk to a computer through a USB cable
(it has a USB port right on the camera)? It uses a funky looking
cable that plugs into its charging dock, not the camera itself.
And what kind of idiot company comes out with a digital anything
and doesn't supply the cable necessary to transfer the files
right to the computer in a useful form? Sounds like I need to
pay a visit to a JVC product planner and put my rectal cranial
crowbar to use.
I
ponied up the forty bucks for the cable and two-day freight,
but it won't show up until Tuesday so I still don't know if
it'll solve the problem. I'm so damn frustrated I can't stand
it! I have the files on my hard drive, but the amount of manipulation
and new software it has taken to make them even remotely useful
is outrageous.
Yeah,
I know, this is just me venting about a problem most folks
don't have, so they can't identify. But, how about this
one:
I'd loaded the Browning
in preparation for an iExecution and couldn't wait to blow
off the steam by writing this blog. Then, there I am
with my brain bulging from excess computer crap and Microsoft
Word won't open! GIVE ME A DAMN BREAK! For about 20 minutes
it kept telling me that this font and that font were corrupt,
and I kept clicking "OK." Then I shut down and
went through a bunch of fix-me-ups and it still doesn't work
so I'm writing this right in the web software. Damn! That's
not the way life is supposed to work!
WHAT GOOD IS A COMPUTER WITH A DEAD WORD PROCESSING PROGRAM?
Espcially to a quasi-writer?
Alright, enough cyber-whining! When I get the videos worked out,
we're putting them up on the Armor Journal web page. They're
really fun. In the meantime, here's some armored eye-candy.
 |
 |
| The only running Type 95 Japanese
tank that we know of. |
The armor was easily punched
through by a 20mm and it used an aircooled, inline
diesel. |
 |
| M3A1 Stuart light tanks are
my all around favorite. Its about the size of a full-size
van and uses a Continental W-670 radial engine exactly
as used in the Stearman. I'd LOVE to own one of these
and it would clear my garage door by two inches. |
 |
| 1943 M-18 Hellcat tank
destroyer. Lightly armored, heavily gunned, faster
'n snot. |
 |
 |
top: M18 Hellcat was
the fastest tracked vehicle of WWII: 65 mph
Bottom: The ever-present M4 Sherman. The Sherman
and the Hellcat both used Wright R-975 radial engines. |
|
7
Jun
08—A
Blog
in Two
Parts:
Digitals and
D-Day
When I sat down to write this, I intended
to do a light piece about this being the first day in my
digital life, so-to-speak, as I’ll be shooting my first all-digital air-to-air
mission this afternoon (B-25H and TBM). Then I typed the
date and noted it was D-Day Plus One and other thoughts,
more serious ones, crowded into my head. So, if you don’t
mind, I’m going to do a short brain dump on both. Baby
blogs. Blogettes. Whatever.
A Digital Weekend:
If you scroll back to the March 22nd ‘08 installation
of my rants, you’ll see my misgivings about going all-digital.
But, the publishing world being what it is, and the incredible
convenience digital photography (and everything else digital)
offers, I had to give in and I spent more than I had invested
in my first airplane (a Cessna 195 in 1965) on some of Canon’s
not-quite-best (a couple of 40d’s–I can’t
afford the really good stuff). And this weekend, I get serious
about digitalizing new additions to Davisson’s on-going
archive of neat mechanical stuff.
 |
The day
was rough as blazes and I nearly chipped a tooth
on my shiny new Canon. Got nothing Earth shaking,
but had a good time and met some really fine people. |
This afternoon I’m doing an air-to-air mission on a
B-25H, which, if you don’t recognize the significance
of the “H”, it could stand for “hard hitting” as
it has a 75 mm howitzer in the nose in addition to eight fixed,
forward firing .50 calibers. I haven’t had the opportunity
to shoot much air-to-air lately so I’m looking forward
to this.
Another thing I’m looking
forward to, which is definitely courtesy of the digital age,
is employing the stitching software I mentioned in a blog a
while back. This airplane is completely restored inside, so
I’m going to do a series of panoramas
and see how they work out.
 |
This is three shots stitched |
Then, tomorrow, I have an
appointment at the Arizona Military History museum where, among
other things, I’m hoping
to shoot some interiors (panoramas) of their Russian T-55 tank
that was captured in Iraq. Since a closed up tank in Arizona
has to be the most perfect incubator for black widows, scorpions
and rattlers that has ever existed, this may not happen. But
I’m going to try. The AZ Mil. Museum has to be the best
kept secret in the Southwest. It has a terrific series of chronological
displays of every weapon and every uniform used by every combatant
in every war from 1840 to Iraq. Amazing stuff all put in historical
contest. They also have some really neat Russian fighting vehicles,
you aren't likely to see elsewhere.
 |
This Russian
T-55 was captured in Iraq. The amazing thing is that
the interior is exactly as captured and everything
about the tank is live, including the machine gun
on top. We didn't have time to shoot interiors, but
that'll happen soon. |
One of the coolest things
about digital in this situation is the immediacy attached to
the photos: I not only see them as I shoot them, but I’ll
put some up in this space this evening and tomorrow for all
to see.
You can’t imagine
what a huge difference this is to the professional shooter.
It not only eliminates the three days of dead time waiting
for the film to be processed but saves wear and tear on my
nervous system. “Did I have a camera failure? Was the
exposure right? Did I capture the color in the background?” and
on and on. Even after well over a thousand such missions, my
inherent self-doubt always made that a helluva nerve wracking
period. The photos will never be as crisp or satisfying as
Kodachrome, but the process and the experience is light years
better. Too bad they won’t last long enough for my grand
kids to see them. But…..that’s another argument.
D-Day Plus One:
I absolutely cannot live through this period of June without
having a mental movie playing in my mind that is a combination
of “The Longest Day” and the thousands of pages
of text and photos I’ve read about it.
64 years ago today, 24 hours after the
landing, the outcome is still in doubt, and Allied troops
are scrambling like crazy to maintain the tenuous foothold
they hammered out yesterday. Paratroopers are still doing
their best to regroup behind the lines and the surf still
surges red. Bodies caught in the ebb and flow are beginning
to swell and putrefy. Their buddies had to forge on and maintaining
the invasion’s inertia
takes temporary precedence over recovering sons, brothers,
fathers and friends.
But, they would understand. They were
soldiers and they would have no doubt that they’d eventually be given the respect
they deserved. What they couldn’t imagine is that they
would become part of an immense field of white crosses in a
country whose friendship has since soured. But, for the most
part, the French people remember, even if the government doesn’t.
Even those poor souls who were never
found, or lay under crosses marked “unknown,” can
rest easy. They have not been forgotten.
Increasingly, as I work on our new special issue, Armor
Journal, I’m immersing myself even deeper into
the ground combat that has always been scattered through
out my thoughts. And, what has been an enormous (and often
emotional) connection with those warriors and those times,
has become even tighter. It saddens me that I’m going
to watch as that generation fades away. What a helpless feeling
of loss. My generation will remember, venerate and thank
them to the end of our days. I only hope that following generations
do that same.
An Anniversary Missed: Thinking Out
Loud is a year old
Somehow I failed to note that a couple weeks ago, this long-winded
stream of semi-conscious thoughts was a year old. Thanks to those
who meet with me over cyber-coffee every Saturday morning to
listen to me ramble on. And how are we doing so far?
31
May
08—A
Dog that
Sits
I have to be honest about it. Between the
politics, the oil situation, the hassle of making a living, and
a basically dreary looking future in which too many people, including
the candidates, don’t really “understand,” I’ve
been close to having an anxiety attack of late. However,
just as I was contemplating the end of days, Sháhn-deen
came scampering into the room and pawed at my legs to get
in my lap and, without thinking, I said “sit” and
she sat. Right then I realized everything was going to work
out because I have a puppy that will sit, when asked. So,
life is good.
A word about the world situation:
it’s understandable
that people want their short term problems to go away, bills
being what they are, but it’s amazing they are so myopic.
China/India demands and a shortfall in production (85 billion
barrels produced, 86.5 bb barrels demanded) are at the root
of high fuel prices and everything else that’s skyrocketing.
I’m as green as you can get and still have a logical
outlook and even I know something has to give. We need to drill.
And we need more serious research. But, do you think China
or India is worrying about being green while they kick our
financial butts?
And don’t think pulling
out of Iraq is going to be anything but a longterm disaster.
As Iran moves in and takes over the area, their first move
will be a tightening, then a total cut-off of oil. Period.
Think it’s
bad now? Ha! Wait until the people who absolutely hate our
guts, radical Jihadists, control our oil jugular. And we're
going to lose a lot more boys trying to straighten it out
going back in than staying.
Kennedy put us on the moon
with a presidential proclamation that said we’d do it
in a decade and, in so doing, pumped life and enthusiasm into
our technological soul. What I want the next president to say
is, we’re going to hold them
at the gate by gunpoint until we’re no longer energy
dependent on ANYBODY and that includes developing alternate
sources that make sense (repeat, make sense). Someone has to
stop political posturing, draw a line in the damn sand and
get on with saving America.
 |
With a
face like that, how can you worry about trivialities,
like the end of the world as we know it? |
As I’m writing this
with foam coming out of my mouth, however,
Sháhn-deen is circling
around under me looking for the nutritional
flotsam and jetsam that cascades down while I’m
munching my way through work. As I look down at her, I know
all I have to do is say “sit” and she’ll
plop her butt down and look at me with her head cocked waiting
for the next command. Her look is that of the cutest, most
intelligent dog (I hate to use that word because it sounds
so trivial) we’ve ever had. If I say “lay down” I
know she’ll lay down. Then, if I drop to one knee, she’ll
automatically roll over on her back asking for a tummy rub.
How can you worry about oil prices and Jihadists rampaging
through the neighborhood, when a trusting soul is offering
you her pink belly to rub (we’re talking about the puppy
here, folks).
God knows we loved Nizhoni and practically
died right along with her, but Sháhn-deen truly is the ray of light her
name stands for (Navajo). And, as we’re sitting in the
backyard throwing a squeaky ball across the pool to send her
racing after it and she excitedly returns it to our waiting
hands, the problems of the world seem far away.
I have very bad feelings about the next few years, but we
have water in the swimming pool, the Winchesters and Colts
are loaded, and our puppy loves us. And on top of that, Hank
was absolutely right: country boys will survive.
24
May
08—Ice
Ages,
Sweat
and
Logic
I hereby want to be the first to notify the world that Arizona
has officially gone nuts. Barely 48 hours ago the
official high was 109 degrees. 109!!!! In May yet!! Global
Warming is upon us. Al Gore is finally right about something:
we’re all going to become carbon footprints. Then,
this morning, when I dialed in ATIS getting ready to fly, the
recorded voice said it was 9 degrees celsius. I called ground
control and asked for that in real degrees: it was 49 freaking
degrees! In May yet! Global warming, meet the new ice age!
I would like to make some profound remark
about how we’ve
brought such weather patterns on ourselves by firing so many
rockets through the ozone layer that we’re letting the
air leak out. Or maybe prove that it’s the net result
of too many Nathan’s hotdogs being cooked at Coney Island.
However, speaking as an engineer and someone who used to subscribe
to Popular Mechanics, which gives me at least as many credentials
as the media “experts” who keep explaining the
world to us, I’d like to let you know that my considered
opinion is that I have no damn idea what’s going on. And
neither does anyone else.
I know that there are scientists all around the world who
have measured the polar ice and the polar bear population and
point out that their reduction proves conclusively that the
ice caps are going to move to Long Island and melt. Or something
like that.
I also know there are scientists all around the world who have
done the same measurements and say the polar bear population
has been expanding steadily for over forty years (they now
upset garbage cans here in Phoenix) and there’s more
new ice than in any recent year. Both groups insist they can
prove that Elvis is still alive and living in Secaucus, NJ.
Which, of course, is silly: Elvis wouldn’t be caught
dead in Secaucus even if he were dead.
I don’t have any answers, but, if I were to put this
whole global warming thing into my mental computer and insist
on a conclusion it would be something simple like, “I
don’t know if it’s real or not, but why don’t
we act as if it is real just as insurance. That can’t
be a wrong decision, but ignoring it might be.”
At the same time, let’s get the media and pseudo-science
out of the whole thing and look at the big picture, not focusing
on our own little pet projects. Folks focused on ethanol not
realizing we’re giving up our food supply to produce
fuel that eats parts of most fuel systems and isn’t that
clean anyway. We’re producing green cars like the Prius,
not doing the entire equation: the additional energy required
to produce short production run cars is going to be more than
they save simply because the economy of scale isn’t there.
Okay, so those are ideas that don’t work, but, if we
keep trying, sooner or later we’ll hit the right combination.
It’s the effort that counts.
Me? I’m still driving my 18 year old Honda Civic that
gets a steady 32.6 mpg IN THE CITY with the A/C on. It
has 214,000 miles, runs like a top and courtesy of a new performance
exhaust and cat converter whizzes right though emission testing.
I’m not going to replace it, EVER, because, in the big
scheme of things, it would take more energy and resources to
replace than I could ever save with even the most efficient
vehicle.
And as for the super-greenies who are
willing to sacrifice our economy and world market position
by slamming the lid on stuff like drilling in ANWR and off
shore to protect a pitifully small number of species that
will just move someplace else, they haven’t looked
at the entire equation either.
There’s no doubt that we desperately need to streamline
ourselves as a nation, but “efficiency” should
be the by-word, not an attitude that says we’ll lower
our standard of living to that which makes it easier for those
coming across our borders to meet it. Tony Blair once said
you can judge the quality of a nation by whether people are
trying to get into, or out of it. And I guess that says something
very clear about America. So, let’s hold on to that.
Let’s do the entire energy equation and make sure, when
we’re saving a gallon of gas, we aren’t spending
more energy to do it than we’re saving. Simple as that.
At the same time, let’s take a look around us and do
the simple things: turn off the lights, turn up the A/C. Keep
looking for energy sources that actually do make sense. Even
modern nuclear sources now make sense, although everyone’s
perception is tainted by old school technology and they haven’t
caught up. And wind. Maybe sea surge. I don’t know, but
there is something out there that works. We just have to make
sure we’re looking at the big picture, not a snapshot
we’re carrying in our own wallet.
17
May 08—Tanks
for the Vacation
Memories
Okay, the die has been cast: Marlene and
I have committed to a vacation. An honest-to-God, screw-off-for-days-on-end
vacation. And we’ll be gone twelve days! In the sixteen years we’ve
been together, this will be a first. An absolute first! And
to make it even more special, it’ll be the honeymoon
trip to England we were supposed to take ten years ago. But,
of course, there will be the Tiger tank!
First, about the vacation:
all of Marlene’s family is
from England, so we have someone to break us in on the driving-on-the-wrong-side-of-the-road
thing. That really has me worried. And being from Nebraska,
I hope I can pick up on enough of the language to make myself
understood. Our goal is to do all of the touristy things,
from castles to museums, to London hotspots. I’m looking
forward to the castles and museums, but I’ve never been
a hotspot kind of guy. Oh, well.
Incidentally, this is being financed
by my daughter repaying a major debt she has owned us in
conjunction with the Social Security Administration and Frequent
Fliers. We’re shooting
our wad all at one time.
Now, about the high point
(for me, obviously): the possibility of driving a Tiger tank.
One of the projects we have on a front burner here is the trial
issue of a new magazine entitled Armor
Journal. If you read Flight Journa, our other
mag, Armor Journal be an exact parallel to that, but
the emphasis is on ground combat, specifically AFV’s
(armored fighting vehicles). If you don’t read Flight
Journal, you should.
As with Flight Journal,
AJ will have hardware oriented articles built around the personal
experiences of tankers and soldiers in combat. This is combined
with lots of modern and vintage photography of tanks and
I’m doing something
I’ve always wanted to try: panoramic shots of the insides
of famous tanks so you see the entire interior in a single
frame. To that end, I bought some high end stitching
software that seamlessly stitiches multiple shots together.
It’s an amazing piece of the software designer’s
art.
 |
This is
my office shot in six separate shots. I dare you
to find the seams. There aren't any! I wish you could
see this in high-res: you can read the stickie notes
on my computer. This covers about 120 degrees. Simply
amazing! |
Armor Journal is
my personal brainchild and is built basically upon those interests
that have been burning in my brain since I was a kid. In fact,
owning a Stuart light tank is the only goal I set when I
was fourteen that I haven’t
yet satisfied, and given their prices, probably won’t.
But in a week or two, I get to drive one of those, so at least
I’m making progress in that direction. The first issue
goes out in October, newsstands and bookstores only, no subs
at first.
 |
A WWII
German Tiger E. I have a chance of driving one. How
very cool! Photo: Jim Brown |
And then there’s the England vacation connection: one
of the world’s largest collection of operational tanks
is in Bovington, England, and they’ve been amazingly
cooperative on the AJ project. And there’s the possibility,
when I’m spending two days there photographing their
hardware, that I’m going to get a go at a German Tiger
I. How cool is that!? Even as a kid, that possibility
never entered my mind.
Anyway, just thought I’d share some of what’s
happening at the Davisson’s. Gotta go fly. See ‘ya.
10
May
08—Magazines, Memories
and
Storage
Recently,
courtesy
of
a
friend
who
is
moving,
I
became
the proud owner of about seventy pounds of old Air Progress magazines.
They spanned back from its demise, around 1993, to the late 1950’s. He
knew I was desperately looking for old mags in which my pireps had been printed
so I could scan them and get them up on Airbum.com. And these moldy
old pages were a veritable treasure trove of pireps. In cruising
through those old mags, however, I found both fun and funny
things, as well as discovering a few sad facts.
 |
Smoki-Jo
The Cat stands guard over a magazine treasure trove.
Anyone who wants the 100 or so extras going back
to the late 1950's drop me a note. |
Magazines have always
been the central core around which my life has been built.
As a kid, I couldn’t wait for the
next hotrod, gun or airplane magazine to hit the stands. In
what laughingly passes for adulthood, a good percentage of
my income has always been derived from writing for them and
much of my pleasure comes from reading narrow-niche magazines
for which I don’t write. The stack in the bathroom is
heavy in Street Rodder, Rod & Custom, Wooden Boat and Archeology
back issues and through those, I get to vicariously build and
experience things, I know I’ll probably never get around
to. That’s the goal of magazines, to entertain and educate
and I never truly finish reading any particular issue because
every time I flip one open that I’ve read ten times,
I discover something I missed before.
When I started digging
through the incredible pile of mags Ed Wischmeyer sent
me, for one thing, it was as if I were reliving parts of
my life. When reading the articles that came out of those
periods, I came to realize/remember how much I was enjoying
myself then. I found pireps from 65 hp SE5a replicas to 2100
hp Bearcats, and columns that dealt with the silly and the
serious. Every so often a picture of me would pop up and
I was reminded that yes, once upon a time I was young. I
was also reminded that, when younger, I had more of a tendency
to call a spade a spade and challenged the government and the
industry on a regular basis pulling no punches in the process.
I found my very first column and my very first cover, both
published in 1969. So we’re talking just shy of four
decades between then and how. Who’d a thunk?
 |
One of
the more fun pix I ran across. That's the actual
French registration number on the CAP-10 I was evaluating.
The caption on the picture by the Air Progress staff
reads, "We couldn't have said it better ourselves."
Don't you love the hair! Nov. 1974. |
At the same time, I
couldn’t escape the melancholy feeling
that I had experienced a golden age of aviation that wasn’t
likely to come again. I can’t explain that, since part
of that comment makes absolutely no sense because, courtesy
of the EAA, we’ve never seen such a powerful, alive period
in sport aviation as we are experiencing today. But it is somehow
different. Through the pages of those magazines, most of which
were printed before Jim Bede ushered in the concept of the
kit-built airplane, there was a warmer, closer feeling to the
pages. Possibly because every homebuilt of any kind, was scratchbuilt
and that said a huge amount about the population that was building
those airplanes. There was more grease under more fingernails
and fewer signatures on large checks. Although sport aviation
was much smaller, there was a more down home feeling to the
movement.
What I may have also
been reacting to was the way the magazine business has changed.
In those days, it was all sunshine and hope. Everything was
increasing, both in market size and publishing technology.
We felt as if we were really building something. Today, any
hope among magazines is them hoping they are going to survive.
It’s a very grim time in the magazine community.
In the next few years
the magazine business, especially the narrow-niche mags like
aviation, guns, etc., is going to have to be overhauled or
disappear. Part of it is the simple fact that narrow niche
interests are “graying out.” The
readers are dying off and there are no young readers. Go to
any fly-in or hotrod meet and see how grey hair dominates the
landscape. Exactly what ARE kids interested in today? Computers?
Hanging out at the mall?
And then there’s the
problem of the internet and advertisers who have many more
ways to get their messages out than in the past. Although,
the word is that increasingly they are realizing banner ads
aren’t working for them either, there’s
no clear way they are going to go with their dollars and magazines
are scrambling.
And then t