THE HIVE
On a Saturday morning in late March I happened to be in the hangar to discuss details of an upcoming marking of our High Flight Harvard. It was going to be a leisurely couple of hours talking with Rob Kostecka, the Harvard manager, about what needed to be done. I arrived mid-morning to find I had to park half a kilometer from the hangar because there were no parking spots available close to the building - a long line of cars stretched down the road on both sides right up to the terminal building.
What the hell was going on I asked myself. Did I forget it was an open house? Did I miss something? When I got to the hangar and stepped inside, people were everywhere. Tour guides were initiating tours starting in the library, people milled about in the lobby, the hangar floor was swarming with bee-like activity. The gantry crane was in action and a Lysander wing swung lazily from the ceiling. Door-opening klaxons were blaring and light was streaming through the doors. Even the tow-mule was receiving attention. Maintainers seemed to be at every airplane. Access panels, parts on dollies and step ladders were everywhere. Restoration teams worked at the Hurricane and Lysander, cadets gathered around the Pietenpol for a fabric covering class. Slack-jawed tour groups drank it all in. Guides gesticulated and herded them around like cats. It seemed we were going to war.
It was, in fact, just an ordinary Saturday at Vintage Wings of Canada - nothing special. In the past three years, Vintage Wings has gone from damn exciting to downright supersonic in its activity, outreach and importance to Canadians. During the summer months, the aircraft and their pilots seem to occupy centre stage, but over the winter and in the spring, the maintainers become the focus of attention and adulation.
Their tall steel tool cabinets festooned with decals and stickers become altars to their gods of maintenance. Their grease-covered overalls and oil-smeared shirts become like robes are to priests - imbued with a spiritual power and significance. Visitors, who will dispose of a balky toaster for want of the knowledge to fix it, stare in awe at the men and women who can take apart a Wright Whirlwind engine, an ejection seat or an entire airplane and then put it all back together again - in better shape than when it came apart - all the while listening to Akon, Ludacris or Country and Western. And the maintainers walk around the hangar like Tibetan monks (grease-covered ones), unrushed, unfazed and smiling. They talk in low voices, share their knowledge and for all of us at Vintage Wings, walk on water.
We cannot say enough about these remarkable mechanics, restorers and technicians - without them, well... we are just a museum.