Flying Into the Past

Wednesday, October 7, 1998

Flying Into the Past

A reporter and a photographer from the Daily Bruin got the
thrill of their lives as they soared through the air in a rare
1930’s biplane.

By Trina Enriquez

Daily Bruin Contributor

It was an opportunity that dropped out of the sky.

The last place on earth I imagined myself on a grey Friday
morning was on a biplane.

Yet there I was, waiting at the Corona Airport with photographer
Genevieve Liang for our turn to experience some old-fashioned
barnstorming.

I eyed the foggy, overcast skies suspiciously. Something would
prevent us from going up. I just knew it.

"Do you remember Snoopy?" Genevieve said. "We’d be like…"

"Snoopy as the World War I flying ace evading the Red Baron?" I
finished, laughing.

As we stood there on the sidelines, awaiting our turn, we
watched the pilots escort an elderly couple from the biplanes.

"The visibility is pretty low – only about a mile or two," said
pilot Steve Elm as he approached us. "We’ll only be able to take
you for a lap around."

Crestfallen, I looked at Genevieve.

"We might as well (fly the lap) – at least we’ll be able to go
up," I said.

Next thing I knew, I was climbing into the front open-air
cockpit of an antique biplane.

These Stearman model A-75s were created by aircraft designer
Lloyd Stearman as primary trainers for U.S. Army and Navy pilots,
who would later fly faster, more advanced aircraft in combat.

Though first manufactured by the Stearman Aircraft Company in
the late 1930s, the Boeing Aircraft Company assumed production of
the biplanes in the 1940s in order to meet wartime demand.

After the war, many of the estimated 10,500 biplanes built were
used as crop dusters, while others were purchased for private
use.

As the decades passed, however, biplanes became rare as aircraft
became modernized.

During the last twenty years, the Red Baron Frozen Pizza company
slowly acquired several of the antique planes, which presently
comprise the Red Baron Stearman Squadron.

After strapping me in, pilot Patrick Rediker affixed an
old-fashioned leather helmet – complete with intercom – and a pair
of huge goggles on my head.

All we needed to complete the nostalgic image was a scarf tied
around our necks to billow out in the wind behind us.

"Sorry this looks kind of dorky," he said, grinning.

I just shook my head and grinned back, counting the seconds
before lift-off. Giddy excitement was already bubbling through
me.

We taxied down the runway and I reveled in the G-forces pushing
me back in my seat as we accelerated. A moment passed before I
realized we were airborne.

We soared over groves and buildings, but it quickly became
evident that the fog was hindering our flight.

Patrick’s voice came over the intercom. "See what we meant about
the fog?" he asked. "It’s like skim milk."

I smiled ruefully in response, but soon became engrossed in the
view I could see beyond the shrouding mists.

We flew low over the land when compared to the heights achieved
by modern airplanes. Our relative proximity allowed me to see the
city of Corona as a model train set, complete with moving cars on
the roadways and trains on the tracks.

I could hardly keep from grinning as I looked over my shoulder
at Genevieve, who was snapping photographs in the other biplane
flying just yards away from mine.

I strained against my shoulder harness for a better view as we
flew over Corona’s industrial complexes, which admittedly isn’t the
most romantic scenery in the world.

Yet as we began to circle smoothly over buildings and ponds, my
mind wandered briefly, first to the plane’s days as a primary
trainer in the 1940s, and then to its current use by the Red Baron
Stearman Squadron.

Squadron pilots clock in with at least 20 years of flying
experience. They tour more than 200 U.S. cities, executing
precision aerobatics in air shows whose proceeds are donated to
charity.

Alternately, pilots may showcase their biplanes for free in
various cities to the general public.

Instead of merely studying the biplanes and asking the pilots
questions, however, Genevieve and I were fortunate to go for a ride
in two biplanes preserved, not as museum artifacts, but as
functional ones.

Our flight was shot, though, by the mist shrouding the
cityscape.

Patrick cut a hard left back to the small airport, ending any
hope that he might execute stunts like barrel rolls or Cuban Eights
before landing.

As we approached the runway, my stomach dropped and my ears
popped as the biplane swiftly descended, then came to a halt at the
waiting area.

I shook my head to clear the lightheadness, unlocking the
shoulder harness and relinquishing the "dorky" helmet and goggles
to Patrick, who was already standing on the plane’s wing beside me.
Then I scrambled out of the open-air cockpit and jumped off the
plane’s wing, grinning with exhilaration.

I met Genevieve, and Patrick offered to take one last photograph
of us posing with this piece of aviation history. And as we headed
back to the parking lot, I marveled at the chance we’d been given
to taste the barnstorming that had thrilled communities of a bygone
era.

GENEVIEVE LIANG/Daily Bruin

Red Baron squadron pilot Steve Elm performs routine maintenance
on his biplane while on tour with the vintage planes at the Corona
Airport.

Photos by GENEVIEVE LIANG/Daily Bruin

These Stearman model A-75 biplanes were originally built to
train Army and Navy pilots during World War II. Now, many of these
vintage craft perform acrobatic wonders in air shows across the
country.

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