Lee High School - Huntsville Alabama Alumni

Airport Memories

From Your Classmates

Eddie Sykes, Class of '66

My first time to fly was in fall of 1966. I flew on Southwest from Memphis to Huntsville on 4 engine prop airplane. I was living in Memphis and going to college at Memphis State and returning to Huntsville to visit during a fall break. I don't remember anything about the visit, who I saw, or what I did. But I remember the flight ! I flew on a student discount. Show your ID and fly for half-price. We flew into the old airport out off the Parkway. I remember seeing the golf course on our landing approach and hoping that we didn't land in a sand trap.

In fact I prayed on take-off and landing on that first flight, but on the way back, I was a little more confident, being an experienced air traveller. My comfort level changed quickly as I saw smoke coming out of one of the engines. I didn't think it was a problem, but my eyes stayed glued to the engine -- watching to make sure there wasn't a fire. About ten minutes into the hour-plus flight the seat belt light came on and the plane started loosing altitude. Now, I was only 19 and had no idea what was going on. I though surly they would tell us if we were crashing ? My heart was pounding as we heading right for a mountain. Then the Captain said

"prepare for landing". I had flown on a nonstop going, but the return flight stopped in the Tri-cities.

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Carole Bradshaw Choomack, Class of '65

During the 50's and 60's my dad, Charles Bradshaw, worked for the Army Missle Command and then NASA at Redstone. He traveled often to Florida, Louisiana and California - and other places I'm sure. I remember seeing him off at the airport several times. There was a sidewalk leading from the terminal to a chain link fence. Passengers would walk through the gate at the end of the sidewalk onto the tarmac and up the stairs onto the plane. We would all stand at the fence, waiting for the plane to taxi away. It was always exciting when the plane turned and we got "blown away". In 1956, my

dad took me with him to California. He was going for two weeks TDY and I stayed with one of my mother's sisters in the San Diego area. I spoke with my Dad this morning and he said we flew Eastern Airlines from Huntsville to Memphis to El Paso to San Diego. The first leg of the trip was on a Martin 404. The rest of the trip was on a Constellation. He also said when we got

to El Paso, late at night, the pilot had to circle the field while the air traffic controllers (or somebody) looked up to see if the landing gear was down. Evidently there was some malfunction in the cockpit and the pilots weren't sure. Of course, I don't remember any of that. This was back when I was young enough to actually sleep on an airplane!

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Skip Cook, Class of '64

I can't remember the date in 1959 (late fall sometime) when we flew into Huntsville from Norfolk, Va. My dad had retired from the Navy and found a job in Huntsville with Chrysler Aerospace. He drove down before us and

found a house in Lakewood while mother sold the house in Virginia. We flew to Atlanta and changed planes. We were on a Southern Airways DC-3. It was my first real experience crossing the time zone from eastern to central and I was amazed that the flight could leave Atlanta at 1:00 and be in Huntsville at 1:05. Simple things for simple minds. I remember circling the airport and seeing those red clay fields. Living on the east coast I was used to looking at sand. I started at Lee Jr. High on the following Monday meeting Mr. Fain and Mr. Jones. What a contrast in individuals. That contrast was as startling as the difference between the sand and the red clay.

I can't tell you how much I look forward to the weekly publication. Thanks for all of your effort.

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Paula Spencer Kephart, Class of '66

I flew by my lonesome from the old Huntsville Airport when I was thirteen. Flew to Detroit to visit my grandparents and cousins. I flew the first time when I was ten with my parents, but by myself when I was thirteen. Had to make connections thru Atlanta--back then one had to go to Atlanta before they went to Heaven or hell. I marched through that huge airport like I had good sense and made my connection. Oh, for the fearlessness of children. I believe we flew DC-3 to Atlanta and DC-7 to Detroit. On one flight I sat with my Dad by the window and saw oil flying back off the wing of the big plane. I asked him what it was ( he was an airplane mechanic during part of WWII) and he told me to ask the stewardess. I did and she went and got the captain. He told me it was a small oil leak and posed no danger. Daddy said, "yes, but if were moving any other direction, we would be history." Strangely

enough, it did not scare me. I trusted what they said, and oddly enough, I still enjoy flying!

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Ronnie Hornbuckle, Class of '66

There are two memories that hold with me about the old Huntsville airport on Airport Road and S. Parkway. The first was landing. The landing pattern was from the South and the runway ran right up to a limestone quarry so when coming in for a landing you were looking dead ahead at a massive stone wall created by the quarrying. The plains would soon touch down and the quarry was out of sight and mind until your next trip home. Leaving, it seemed to me the wheels of the plain would barley clear the Montgomery Wards building at Parkway

City; and it was only one story high. To this day besides take-off and landing I usually enjoy flying. Maybe childhood psychologists know more about me than I give them credit.

By the way for those that have not been back for awhile. After a 1989 Tornado that ripped the area asunder South Parkway and Airport Road to Whitesburg has become a community into itself. 30 or so restaurants, many more shops, a hospital, a 100 medical offices, at least four stockbrokers and dozens of churches, banks, fast food, convince stores etc. etc. etc. There are many more businesses in this area today than there ever were in downtown Huntsville 60’s or today. The old Airport property itself has become a huge municipal park

with features and event to numerous to mention.

Note: Does any one remember when there was a mail box on every corner and a few banks in Huntsville. Nowadays , as elsewhere, there is a bank on every corner and a few mailboxes -I hear, personally I have not seen one in some time.

Feel certain the editor-in-chief will cut this as being to long to publish; but I enjoyed the writing. Tommy, you have my blessing to chop away and thanks for the work, every week ! You are still moving at your ol' "fast-clip."

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Tom Gilbert, Class of '6?

I flew from Huntsville on a commercial flight to bootcamp (reserve training) for the Navy in June 1966 and back in August to finish my senior year.

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City County Airport in Huntsville

Leaving on a Jet Plane

by Barbara Wilkerson Donnelly

Class of ‘64

I went up in a Piper Cub when I was very young, and my brother took Ed and me up again in my early twenties. But in the spring of ’73, I left Huntsville for my first commercial flight. It was an Eastern Airlines jet, and it was certainly one huge, imposing plane for someone who had never flown. Ed had just finished his stint in the Army and was interviewing for his first position as an engineer with Dow Badische (later to become Badische, then BASF, then Honeywell) here in Anderson, South Carolina. I was very apprehensive but totally excited. The rides at the Madison County Fair were always a high point of the year for me, so I assumed that this would be similar to one loooong ride. Right!

The flight to Anderson was uneventful and pleasant. I couldn’t stop looking out the window and checking out the magazines, pillow, blanket, etc. I was so impressed that they gave me food and something to drink! Smoking was still allowed on flights at that time, and quite a few people were already creating their own personal clouds the moment the “No Smoking” sign went off. I even watched the “stewardess” (I know it’s not politically correct now, but back then that’s what they were called . . . and there were no men!) do her entire little routine because I felt bad that no one was paying any attention to her except for me.

We made it to Anderson, checked out the town, and Ed interviewed for the job all within a three-day period, if I remember correctly. My mother-in-law was keeping our son, Chris, who was two years old. It was very early in the afternoon when we climbed into the rental car and headed back to the airport at Greenville-Spartanburg. Even though I was homesick for my son and for familiar Huntsville landmarks, it was exciting to fly again. Besides, I was a seasoned traveler now, right? Wrong.

I should have known something was up when we left Anderson and were pelted with hailstones half the size of golf-balls! The sun was shining brightly, and it was a perfect spring afternoon. There was no warning whatsoever. All of a sudden, as Emeril would say, “Bam!” There they were. Of course, I was still young enough to simply say, “Wow! Hailstones!” Ed, of course, being the more grounded of the two of us, was worried that the rental car would be dented!

We had eaten lunch at noon while checking out Anderson, but had decided to wait until we landed in Atlanta to grab a bite to eat that evening. I was looking out the window, avidly commenting on every cloud formation and the way that the earth looked as if it were one gigantic jig-saw puzzle. I noticed that there were a lot of lakes down there that looked exactly alike, and made this remark to Ed. Finally, his attention turned to the view I’d been describing.

“Uh, oh! We’re in a holding pattern,” he said.

We watched the same lake appear several more times, before the captain came over the intercom to tell us that we were, in fact, in a holding pattern. It seems that there was a bad storm involving a tornado down below us. As if on cue, the skies darkened, thunder rumbled, and the plane hit some turbulence you wouldn’t believe! It was really something, and again, I was too young and naïve to even get worried. I just thought that, since we were already flying above the storm, we’d just stay there awhile. I learned what airsick bags were during this flight, and even found it fascinating that people were getting so ill from bouncing around – and bounce, we did! Eventually, the captain informed us that he was going to try to approach Atlanta from the opposite direction, which didn’t work out either.

The flight from GSP to Atlanta is short – 40 minutes or so. We had left somewhere after 7:00 PM and our flight to Huntsville was due to leave in the neighborhood of 8:30 PM. Needless to say, we were still holding when the flight to Huntsville would have taken off. I was getting very hungry about this time, but assumed that we’d be in Atlanta pretty soon. Wrong, again! The storm was worse than we’d suspected, and we were forced to land in Columbus, Georgia. The runway must have been about the length of our plane, because when we landed, the captain immediately stood up on the brakes, and I felt my backbone smack my belly-button. I think more people were shaken up by the landing than the tornado. That was probably the only time I got really worried during the flight.

We sat . . . and sat . . . and sat some more. It was getting hot in the cabin, and people were getting cranky and hungry. The captain got the bright idea to hand out unlimited peanuts and DRINKS at this point. So, shortly thereafter, the cabin was full of cranky, hungry, thirsty-from-peanuts drunks. If memory serves, it was at least 10:45 PM when we finally left the airstrip to try for Atlanta again. After we had successfully landed, we immediately rushed to the counter to see if we could get a flight to Huntsville that evening, but that was not in the cards. The airport was literally packed with people who could not make their flights out for the same reason.

We were given vouchers for meals and a free night at a hotel at the airport.

By the time we found a place to eat (which was a Waffle House-type establishment) in the airport, it was approaching midnight. I do not behave well on an empty stomach, to put it as nicely as possible. We each ordered a steak, and I asked for hashbrowns. Our waitress pushed my button immediately when she told me that the steak didn’t come with hashbrowns. Ed told her to put them on the side, and she looked at me as if I were a crazy person. Then I ordered soup, because I was ready to eat the napkins off the counter. She brought the soup, but neglected to bring a spoon (probably because she was too busy flirting with an off-duty pilot), and my temper was slowly flaring. I couldn’t get her attention for several minutes until I got a wee bit loud, and when I asked for a spoon, she looked dismissingly over her shoulder at me and continued flirting. Enough was enough, so I went into the kitchen and got a spoon out of a drawer – much to Ed’s embarrassment, I might add!

When the steaks arrived, the waitress got on my last remaining nerve, of course, by bringing me a dirty fork. I went through the same procedure again, first requesting a fork nicely (well . . . sort of) and then basically resorting to childishly throwing the fork into the floor, accompanied by some rather loud expletives. I finally got her attention, and she grudgingly brought me a clean fork. We finished the meal, which was surprisingly good, and checked into our room for a short few hours. Even though I regretted behaving badly in the restaurant, the food had done wonders for my temperament, and I was back to “What-an-adventure!” mode. The rest of the flight was uneventful, but I don’t even think I looked out the window the entire trip back to Huntsville!

The one thing I would never do on all the flights we made was to use the airplane bathroom, even when we flew to Hawaii. I’m not sure, but I think I objected to using a bathroom with a man possibly waiting outside the door! However, I had to rethink my priorities when we flew to Europe a few years ago, and there was just no way around it! We were fortunate enough to be in first-class for that trip, which was about a nine-hour flight. It turned out to be not as bad as I’d imagined. Certainly, it did not compare to the French custom of men and women using the same restroom! I’ll never forget the time I came out of a stall in Paris to find a man washing his hands at the sink! In the same restroom!!! I adjusted to this practice pretty easily, however, and noted that the public restrooms in Europe were kept much cleaner than most of the ones in the States. I’m certain that it was due to the fact that they kept an attendant on duty at all times, and you had to pay to use the facilities.

The worst part of the trip to Europe was that I couldn’t sleep. I had always been able to sleep for a couple of hours on a plane with no trouble. I believe it must have been because the flight was in the evening, and it was so quiet that I heard every movement inside the cabin. I was amazed at the things people requested from the flight attendants, and it’s my personal opinion that they should just hand out sleeping pills as you board! I slept really well on the return trip, though, which was during the daylight hours. Go figure.

Ed did get the engineering job in August, 1973 upon his discharge from the Army and officially “retired” from BASF on May 1 of this year. Honeywell bought the BASF nylon operation, and he assumed the position of Vice-President of Operations for Honeywell Nylon, Inc. on May 2. His office is located in Charlotte, and so after 30 years in Anderson, we are once again relocating until the next “retirement.” Believe it or not, he’s trying to get me to fly to China with him on his next trip. Oh, yeah . . . hold me back!

I have enjoyed every flight we’ve made through the years, and have spent several nights in airport hotels due to mechanical problems, overbooking, etc. I will say, however, that no flight has ever made an impression on me such as my first return flight from Anderson, South Carolina to Huntsville, Alabama. The best news is that, as much as I love the airport, Charlotte is only a couple of hours away by auto from Anderson, one of the most wonderful cities in the world.

Yep . . . definitely gonna drive!

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My Most Memorable

Madison County Airport

Memory

by Tommy Towery

Class of '64

When I first offered the subject of Madison County Airport memories to you readers, I knew that I had a "sleeper" that I could use. I had already recorded one of my own favorite memories in the pages of my book "A Million Tomorrows - Memories of the Class of '64." I found them and attached them below. This memory involved two of our classmates that had taken a car and run away to Florida? I changed the names in the book, but I know that a few of you remember the event. They ended up wrecking the car and the final outcome was one of them was sent away and never allowed to graduate from Lee.

Here is the memory as recorded in the book. The italic passage is what was written in the journal that day, and the rest is the commentary in the book on that entry.

Tuesday, April 14, 1964

105th Day - 261 days to follow

Clear

Bob drove today. We checked out at 8:30 A.M. and went to the airport. Mary S. was being sent to school in Texas. Found out she was going to leave on the 10:15 A.M. plane. We rode around until 10:00 A.M. then went back to the airport. Mary was there and so were 8 other kids from Lee. Her step-dad is a dratsab, a DBB. Bob and I ran inside the plane before it left. That's the first time I've been on a large plane.

The saga of our local high school Bonnie and Clyde was coming to its end. Mary's release from the hospital was being quickly followed by her banishment to Texas by her mother. She would not be allowed to return to her friends or her school. It seemed a little ironic that she was running away from home and was caught and brought back to Huntsville. That was her crime, and for her punishment, she was sent off to Texas. Perhaps in the end, she attained her ultimate goal. She escaped from whatever it was that she was running from. Whatever it was in her home life that made her think she had to steal her parent's car and head for Florida would no longer be a threat to her. To finally get away from her problems, it took a wrecked Cadillac and a trip to the hospital, by way of Florida. Not only was she escaping from her problems, she also was leaving all her friends behind. I was losing one of my favorite dance partners to an unknown land and destiny.

I wrote "Dratsab" in the journal using the reverse code to describe Mary's stepfather who I had never met. "DBB" was in the other code. The first two words were "damn" and "big." The third word related to "dratsab."

Even though she was leaving town on a school day and during school hours, that didn't stop ten of her friends from showing up to bid her goodbye. The reason used for checking out of school was not recorded, but it was insignificant to the event. We had failed in all our attempts to see Mary at the hospital after her accident. On that day we would see her and bid her farewell at the airport.

One of the events at the airport seems strange in today's world. Mary had not been back to school, and therefore, she had not received her yearbook. One member of the group picked it up at school for her and passed it around for everyone to sign. She brought it to Mary at the airport. Bob was signing it when Mary had to board the plane and when he realized it, he rushed to take it back to her. Not wanting to be left out but not sure what I was doing, I ran with Bob. By that time, Mary was already aboard the plane and heading for her seat.

Those were the days before hijackings and terrorists and bombs. There were no metal detectors, security guards, or even locked gates. The airplane was a Convair, sitting on the ramp, and the only thing between the teenagers and the plane was thirty feet of concrete pavement.

Unhampered by anything or anyone, we ran out to the plane and up the steps, yearbook in hand. When the stewardess asked for our tickets, we told her we weren't staying and proceeded past her to where Mary was sitting. Bob became a little concerned about being trapped on the plane and ending up in Texas himself and turned to the stewardess as he passed and pointing back ordered "Don't close that door!"

Mary was sitting staring blankly at the back of the seat in front of her, trying to hold back the tears. When she looked up and saw her friends with her yearbook she couldn't contain her emotions anymore, and broke out in a loud wail. That, of course, drew the attention of all the rest of the passengers on the plane, but it did not matter to any of us. Let the crowd stare and wonder. It was between three friends and didn't involve anyone else. She hugged our necks, one last time, and we turned and walked off the plane as Mary's crying was drowned by the sound of the engines starting. I can't even remember if we kissed her good-bye or not. It was like the ending of "Casablanca," only there was no Bogey and no fog, and it was not going to be the start of a great friendship. It was the end of one instead. I have not seen Mary since that day.

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