Lee High School - Huntsville Alabama Alumni

To the Moon(town Airport)

and Back

by Rainer Klauss

Class of ‘64

I’ve lived in the Atlanta area since 1976, but I’ve journeyed to Huntsville and back about eight times a year since then. On my favored route, the trip breaks into three parts: the swift but anxious passage from Snellville to Summerville, Georgia which starts off through the damn Atlanta traffic; the slow, tedious section traversing the twisting roads and mountains from Summerville to Scottsboro; and then the final happy 75 mph sprint from Scottsboro to Huntsville along picturesque Highway 72. The distance traveled is about 190 miles and it usually takes 3.5 hours.

This past Saturday that trip flew by in an exhilarating hour as I accompanied Vernon Lucas (’64) in his Van’s RV-6 to a pancake breakfast at the Moontown Airport, a small grass strip in Brownsboro, about six miles east of Huntsville, right off of Highway 72. We had tried to make the same flight in May, but murky skies and uncertain weather conditions turned us back above Rome, Georgia.

The weather was glorious—no clouds and blue skies clear to Mississippi. Vernon picked me up at Briscoe Field (KLZU) in Lawrenceville. Once we were in the air, he programmed the GPS and autopilot, and we made a high beeline for Moontown (3M5), 133 miles away according to the consensus of the satellites.

Vernon said it would happen, and he was right: I’ve found a new favorite way to get to Huntsville—3000 feet in the air and zipping along at 155 kph. It not only provides a broad and different perspective on the monotonous landscapes I’ve driven through for years and years, but it’s just plain exciting to fly in a small plane. To be granted these pleasures (thanks to Woody Beck and Vernon) definitely adds meaningful zest to my life as senior citizenship approaches.

As we approached the airport we could hear over the radio that things were humming at Moontown. The pancake breakfast had obviously lured quite a few other flyers. We circled once at low altitude to get a clear path to runway 27 and then Vernon greased it in for a smooth touchdown—two of Lee’s pioneers back at the outskirts of the Rocket City.

Maybe we should have had champagne to help mark the special occasion, but we tucked into pancakes, grits, and eggs instead. Monthly breakfasts like this are a tradition at small airports throughout this country. They’re sort of like tailgate parties, the simple and tasty prelude to a day spent sharing and exploring the manifold pleasures of aviation. The attendees swap stories and information and walk around and admire each other’s planes. At some airports members of the EAA (Experimental Aircraft Association) offer free flights to youngsters through their Young Eagles outreach program.

I had driven by the Moontown Airport for years, but was never curious enough to stop in and see what was going on. Then, last year Gudrun and I noticed a flurry of activity at the airport and the skies above us when we were headed into town for a visit. A sign announced that the airport was holding its annual fly-in, a two-day event—more food, more people, more planes. I dropped Gudrun off at her mother’s house, scooted right back out to the airport, and spent most of the afternoon at the field talking to people, looking at planes, and hoping that someone would offer this old (but not bald) eagle a flight. No luck with that, but I had a great time.

The Moontown Airport received national recognition recently when it was featured in an entertaining and well-rounded article in the May 2005 issue of AOPA Pilot, the monthly publication of the Aircraft Owners and Pilots Association. Moontown started off as a crop-duster field in 1965. There’s a direct Lee connection starting in the 70s. Harold and Betty Roman, the parents of Randy (’65) and Sandy (’67), leased the field and helped set up flight instruction. Over the intervening years there’s been a succession of owners, and it seems to be a thriving FBO (fixed base operation). In addition to the ongoing flight instruction, with its fleet of training aircraft, there are facilities for aircraft maintenance, and a tow plane for gliders. The owner-leased hangars hold an interesting collection of Piper, Cessna and other common makes. Among the unusual planes that make their home at Moontown are a beautiful yellow Lionheart, which is a modern-day reproduction of the classic Beech Staggerwing; an Antonov An-2, a massive Russian-built bi-plane; and several Chinese and Russian warbirds, flown by members of the Flint River Pilots Association. Their planes are frequently seen at airshows in the Southeast performing aerobatics and formation maneuvers, as well as conducting mock aerial attacks.

Vernon and I stayed until the middle of the afternoon, chatting with people and touring the facility. Attesting to the growing popularity of homebuilt kits, several other planes of the Van’s line were flown in that day. One plane that Vernon was surprised and happy to see was an SA Bulldog, a former training aircraft for the RAF flown over from Cartersville (GA) by a father and son. Vernon had encountered many of the unusual-looking craft during the six years he and Joan lived in England.

On the way back to Lawrenceville, we flew low again-- the better to enjoy the scenery. The occasional buffets from the afternoon turbulence added some thrills to the flight. It was another great day in the air and on the ground.

So, with reference to the title I chose for this piece, just how close to the Moon have I come with all those trips to Huntsville? The mean distance to the Moon is 238900 miles. My total travel mileage to the Rocket City and back is 88160 miles. Using those figures, one could say that I’ve circled the globe a respectable number of times by now, but I’ve got a good ways to go on that imaginary flight to the Moon. The views are spectacular, though.

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We stumped the band with last week’s print of “Early Cotton”. Putting the print in last week’s Traveller allows me to tell two stories – one of who did it and how I ended up with it, and the other of the Spontaneous Micro-Reunion (SMR) between the artist and myself. The SMR tale will come first.

Shortly after starting to work for the University of Memphis, I started teaching computer courses as part of my job there. I found that I enjoyed the teaching very much, so I also applied and was accepted to teach continuing education courses at the local two-year technical community college here in Memphis. I was teaching adult students the basic courses such as Excel, Microsoft Word, and PageMaker.

I remember in the beginning of one of the courses I allowed each student to introduce themselves and when they got through, I gave them the qualifications I had for teaching the course. I can’t remember if it was a word processing or desktop publishing class that night, but in the class I was telling them how I used a computer and the features in the software to write a book. When asked the name of the book, I told them the name was “A Million Tomorrows…Memories of the Class of ’64” and explained that it was a biographical history of my senior year in high school in Huntsville, Alabama.

Shortly after I dismissed the class, one of my new students came up to me and said, “Are you the Tommy Towery that went to Lee High School”? I was taken back a bit and said yes. She then said, “I think I graduated with you. I was Dawn Larson back then.” Yes indeed we graduated together. Her new married name is Dawn Larson Bettenhausen. We talked a while and over the next few weeks shared some high school memories. One night I took her a copy of my book and gave it to her as a present. The next week she came back in and was talking about all the memories it dug up. She talked a lot about one of the plays that I mentioned early in the book and said that she was in it.

A few weeks later she brought me in a present in return for the book that I gave her. It was the print featured last week, “Early Cotton” and she had signed it ‘To my old friend Tommy Towery.” Over the years it has been in and out of my house, but when I got my divorce in 1994, it went into the “storage hell” that gobbled up so much of my stuff. Recently I retrieved it, and Sue now wants to replace the print we have over the fireplace with this one of Dawn’s.

I had planned on staying in touch with her and perhaps getting together sometime after class, but then at the end of the class Dawn told me she was leaving Memphis and was moving out west, to California, I believe. I lost contact with her, until a few years ago when her name showed up on Classmates.com. When we lost the old mailing list for Lee alumni, her address was one of the ones that I lost. I’ve just sent her a message via Classmates.com and am waiting to see if she receives it.

So, that’s the story of the print, the classmate, and the SMR.

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Subject:Golf

Richard Lyons

Clsas of ''65

I've noticed that some are playing golf before the reunion. Can you tell me when and where they are playing? If it's where I can, I would like to play. Thanks.

(Editor's Note: There is no definate plans yet for golf, but we need to do that soon. Right now it looks like there will only be a couple of foursomes. Would someone from Huntsville like to volunteer to do that. Sarajane's brother offered, but I never had enough to tell him, but maybe he still will. I would suggest that we try something like starting between 8-9 am on Saturday morning if possible. I'm just the editor, and don't live in Huntsville so I can't be a lot of help.)

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Subject:Huntsville Theaters

Ann Wilson Redford

Class of ''65

Barbara, I remember 4 drive-inn theaters:

1) Whitesburg Drive-Inn - located on Whitesburg Drive close to the intersection of Airport Rd. and Whitesburg Dr.

2) Woody's Drive-Inn - located just south of Quietdale Lane (the road that leads from Meridian St. to Lee).

3) 231 Drive-Inn - located near the northwest intersection of Meridian St. and Winchester Rd.

4) Parkway Drive-Inn - located on the northeast intersection of Winchester Rd. and North Memorial Parkway. My family lived at the corner of Meridian and Winchester and from my house, you could see the Parkway Drive-Inn screen very well. My sisters, brothers and I used to park our lawn chairs in our front yard during the summer and at least pretend to watch the movies. To be honest, you couldn't hear anything, so the time was usually spent chasing fireflies and gazing at stars.

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Subject:The Martin Theater

Skip Cook

Class of '64

We have an engineering office in Panama City, Florida where I get to spend some time. The downtown Martin Theatre has been restored to its original state and is now used for the performing arts. About a month ago, I attended a fund raiser (cocktail party) and had the opportunity to take a little tour of the facility. The front of the building looks just like the one in Huntsville from 40+ years ago – same color scheme, same marquee. I asked the director if I could go upstairs and see the balcony. The good memories there put me in time warp. I discovered the first of many great mysteries of life in the balcony of the Martin Theatre.

I am counting the days until August 19-20. Thanks to all those who have put in the long hours necessary to provide the rest of us with a fun reunion. See you there.

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Subject:George Lehman and Golf

Craig Bannecke

Class of '65

Lehman, I've made allot of mistakes in my life.... however taking up golf wasn't one of them. Now in retrospect I probably should have taken up golf rather than tempt fate riding home from Florence on the "Lehman Express". But as they say... hindsight is always 20/20.

Rather than going to Mullins after you arrive Friday I believe the Class of '65 has lunch planned for those of us who want to get together at one of the local beaneries. I think this would be a great opportunity Lehman for you to regale us all with your being hypnotized by Linda Kinkle Cianci's Uncle and your desire to play drums for Lawrence Welk ? Let me talk to Niles between now and then as I think we can sell tickets to that event !!

Looking forward to seeing everyone.

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Subject:Say it ain't so!

Craig Bannecke

Class of ''65

OK, first we hear the city of Huntsville is going to tear down and build a new Lee High School. Then we hear now they are thinking they will consolidate Johnson and Lee High Schools and build a new consolidated school. Probably call it JohnnyLee High School ?

If that isn't enough Winn Dixie (Kwik Chek) is going to close all 6 Huntsville stores and all 10 in North Alabama. Say It Ain't So !

The Kwik Chek Commando's need to join together sometime during the reunion and go lay a Toilet Paper Wreath at the North Memorial Parkway Plaza site of the old Winn Dixie in remembrance. Seems the least we can do.

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Subject:Cars

Jim Myrick

Class of '66

I've been thinking about your and CE's comments on cars and a strange one came to mind. If my poor memory is correct someone had a '53 Ford that the entire dash system got rewired.

The effect of this wiring job was that if the lights were turned on the radio or something else came on. In other words none of the switches controled what they were suppose to. Does this bring back fond memories?

(Editor's Note: See the story about this in the column to the right. And, a personal thanks from me for remembering.)

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"The Bomb"

The Wheels of Freedom

by Tommy Towery

Class of '64

Of all the cars I ever owned, I guess I both loved and hated my car in high school the most. Most people have fond stories of finding that first car they couldn't live without and working hard and saving money to buy it. The car was usually a little run-down, and their parents really didn't want them to buy it but they got it anyway. My first car was a little different. I didn't have to buy it, I kind of inherited it.

My first car started out as the family car. Mother bought it and drove it first and then my brother started to drive. He joined the Navy and left town, my mother remarried and moved to Memphis, and my grandmother couldn't drive. One morning I woke up and found that I was the only one left in the house who could drive, so I got the car. And what a car it was.

"The Red Bomb," later shorted to just "The Bomb" was my car. It was a 1953 two door Customline Ford V 8, painted red of course. At least it started out as a red car, but the sun faded it so badly that it was almost orange. The Bomb was a perfect name for this collection of classic auto parts. Mother had bought a different 1953 Ford in 1960. One Friday night, about a week before the first payment was due, Don was coming home from a date and ran off the road into a field and hit a two-foot ditch. It was totaled. The front end was smashed and the frame was bent, but the engine and Don survived. Don went to the hospital and the car was towed home.

It sat in the driveway for a long time and finally Don found a friend, Gene, who had another 1953 Ford with a bad engine. Our engine was good, so we bought the body from Gene for $75 and towed it home. With the help of some of Don's friends, we took the engine out of the wrecked one and put it in the other body. I remember my part of the transfer was to remove and replace the battery box. I was proud of that and bragged for many years to come that I helped change out the engines. That was when it was cool for boys to know how to work on cars. I even remember getting some grease on my hands. Don filled the old car's gas tank with water to add weight, and sold it for scrap. I think he got 17 dollars for it.

With the engine implant, the new car ran okay and didn't give us too much trouble, even with the work having been done by amateurs. The next problem happened one morning as I was on the way to school. It was raining and a lady ran a stop sign and darted out in front of me. I hit my brakes but the streets were wet so I slid and hit her broadside. She was a very lucky person, for she had all six of her children in the car and none were hurt. I too escaped injury, but not the Bomb. Its hood was crunched in as were both front fenders, but the engine survived that assault too.

The lady I hit did not have insurance, and even though it was her fault, we didn't get any money out of the accident. I didn't have any insurance either. Even the thought of that these days scares me to death. She paid for her car and we paid for ours. After several weeks of looking, we finally found a new front end and got it installed for $75. The new front end was white and not red like the rest of the car. We couldn't afford to have it painted.

Another problem was that the garage made one little mistake when putting the two parts together. The one little mistake they made was with the entire wiring bundle, I think. The first time I drove it after getting it out of the garage, when I pressed on the horn button in the center of the steering wheel, the bright lights came on. The parking light switch blew the horn, unless I stepped on the dimmer switch, and then the regular lights came on. I'm not sure where the parking light controls were, and I was afraid to try the windshield wipers. It made for some interesting driving for about a week. After a short while, the thrill was gone and we took it back to the garage got the wiring fixed. It remained white on the front end and red on the back for the rest of the time I had the car.

It was not much to look at, and as the days and months passed, it ran worse and worse. It didn't really matter, The Bomb was mine and I loved it. It has always held a special place in my heart, maybe because it was the first car I soloed. I remember one weekend when I was fifteen, and before I had my driver's license, Mother went to a conference in Florida for dental assistants and Grandmother was at work. There was a girl I wanted to see and she lived about five miles from the house, so I took the car and drove over there. I just got in it and went. Until this confession, no one has ever been the wiser. The Bomb was neat.

Don was my driving instructor. Some afternoons after school he took me out into a new housing development being built in Jones Valley and let me drive. There were lots of streets but only one or two houses had been erected. The initial encounter with a clutch was eye opening, and we bounced back and forth up the street for the first couple of sessions. Eventually I got better, and even though I felt confident, I did not want to drive the straight-stick Bomb for my road test when I went to get my license. Don decided that I would do better in an automatic, so he borrowed Gene's red 1960 Chevy automatic for me to use. I went down to the old Elks' Theater and took my test. I remember the last words of my inspector were "Pull up over there, and be careful." I had passed.

That was the last time I drove the automatic '60 Chevy. From then on I drove the straight-stick Bomb. Less than two hours after I received my license, I tried to take the Bomb up a rather steep hill going up to the court square from the water department. Stopping at the top was no problem, but trying to let out on the clutch and take my foot off the brake at the same time was more of a task that I was capable of acomplishing, having been a driver for only two hours. As I let off the brake, I rolled backwards before I could let out the clutch, so I slammed on the brake. I tried again only to make another advance to the rear. Lucky for me and for all, there was no one behind me. When I found myself at the bottom of the hill, I decided that fate did not want me to go up that hill. The hill had won that day. But I knew that in the days to come, the hill would never get any steeper. I would get better and I would win the war with hills in later battles. (Extracted from "A Million Tomorrows...Memories of the Class of '64")

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