Down to Earth

 

Quiet, uncontrolled airports with courtesy cars (Washington, MO)

I find myself too often turning to social media for the pulse of current events, or for a sense of the current state of affairs. It can lead to, well, depression for one, but also a very skewed version of what passes as the norm. Most of the people on those sites and reporting in that media live in or near tall buildings with lots of concrete and glass around them. That creates an echo chamber that raises the noise level and erodes common sense.

If you want to re-center yourself, find fresh air, and dampen the cacophony, you need to reconnect with the center of the country, among the cornfields, rivers and streams, and two-lane roads. 

In what I call my barnstorming trips, favored destinations are those with small, uncontrolled (no tower) airports that hangar mostly small, often older single-engine aircraft. Most of them have a very small terminal building with chairs and a couch around a table piled with aviation magazines and old charts or airport guides. You’ll often find several retired guys clutching coffee cups early each morning in those chairs chatting about recent flying exploits or the latest ridiculous news stories. Opinions will be tossed around, debated, extrapolated, and left in the arena to exhaust themselves until the coffee runs out and they retire to their hangars for the day’s puttering or restoring. 

Since previous barnstorms have taken me to the west, the east, and the north, I hoped to explore in the direction of south this year. Multiple high-pressure systems, usually the bearer of good weather,  were bound for the center of the country, putting Kansas, Oklahoma, Texas, Tennessee, Kentucky, Illinois, Indiana, and Missouri in my weather radar range. 

The first attempt took me as far as the Quad Cities in Iowa before I gave in to bailing because of a deteriorating forecast, returning to base the same day. The following week I took off in the first good weather in several days aiming for the St. Louis, Missouri, area. 

Happening Missouri - Who Knew?

The first surprise of the trip came after five hours of flight, landing in Washington, Missouri, which lies about 50 miles west of St. Louis. As is typical of a small town airport, Washington Regional was seemingly in the middle of nowhere, quiet and without activity when I arrived. A courtesy car was available for me to use overnight so I could conveniently get to one of its hotels and explore downtown. A narrow, two-lane bridge crossed the Missouri River and crossed the railroad tracks that followed the river. My experience with most river towns along the Mississippi is that they work hard to retain their historical atmosphere and infrastructure in the face of eroding economic relevance. The industries that created them left or evolved, leaving stately but obsolete buildings to be repurposed for less productive and less  profitable businesses. They often look worn or in disrepair, not quite as inviting as they once might have been in better times. And often with empty storefronts or boarded windows.

Washington, Missouri, and the Missouri River

Washington was not that. Many of its main street’s historic buildings were restored and contained vibrant businesses, with many restaurants, bars, and specialty stores.

With a growing, not declining population, its streets, parks, and historic building restorations all suggest an active local government well-resourced to provide increased and improved services to meet the growing community. Part of the growth comes from folks commuting to and from St. Louis, preferring a small-town environment. Others come to serve that growth through local enterprises. Everyone seemed kind and respectful, smiling and very civil. History, including a corncob pipe factory operating since 1856, was advertised on plaques mounted to buildings and park kiosks.

The economy in this part of Missouri seemed healthy, including the next stop of Perryville. A number of manufacturers, many from foreign companies like Toyota, had settled in the area, providing lots of blue-collar jobs and supporting many local independent businesses. According to the airport manager, the local economy, as so many these days, suffers from a shortage of employees to support continued growth. 

A Trend in Local Hotels?

Sitting in my airplane after securing it for the night and throwing belongings into the waiting courtesy car, I searched the Google map of Washington for my lodging. I usually look for a unique place in the downtown area that gives me the best springboard for walking the area and getting a feel of the town. Names like Front Street Inn, Hoefel Haus, Old Dutch Hotel & Tavern, the Inn at Elijah McLean’s, and Brick House of Washington appeared on the map, with the usual national brands absent. One called River Sirens Hotel looked interesting, so I called the number.

A recorded message said, “Hello, we at the Sirens Hotel are glad you called. If you’d like to make a reservation or contact management, please visit our site at riversirenshotel.com." I wasn’t tempted to do so in the confines of the cockpit, so I decided to head downtown and cruise the main streets to see what looked good.

Fortunately, on the way, I got a call back from what turned out to be one of the owners of the Sirens Hotel. She noticed I had called and wanted to know if I needed any assistance. I mentioned my circumstance and that her hotel looked like a great candidate for my overnight. She said she could provide a room at a special price if I’d like to give her my information, which I did. 

“That’s great. I’ll send you an email right now with a door code and a guide to the hotel with instructions and directions.”

A small, inconspicuous entry

By the time I reached the parking lot of the radically reconstructed old building, the email was on my phone. The code worked both for the front door and for the door of a third-floor suite.  No reception desk, clerk, or person in site. Entering the bright, sunny guest room revealed a nice balcony, kitchenette with a stocked refrigerator, corner workstation, and a bed lined with mood lighting under the frame. The same hidden LED mood-lighting strings lined the ceilings crown molding, with a small control panel on the wall giving the resident the ability to change the warmth, color, and intensity of that lighting. Glass walls and a large glass door surrounded a deep shower with multiple shower heads and a changing area. A switch on the wall changed the glass from transparent to opaque to afford privacy. A classic European-style water closet for the toilet brought back memories of the family homes of relatives in Holland. Clearly, the family owners of this small boutique hotel put a tremendous amount of effort into its design and into its business model.

Contemporary in the midst of the historical

Another similar but very different “family hotel” experience awaited me at my destination for the next day. Weather patterns suggested a visit to Bardstown, Kentucky, “Bourbon Capital of the World” ^TM. The many charcoal-colored warehouses, called “rick” houses that store barrels of aging bourbon for years, lined the highway into town. The airport manager, whom I found in the lobby of a nearly new terminal designed to look like an old terminal but containing all the modern conveniences and comforts for pilots and passengers, recommended a newly restored hotel for my overnight stay. In the brochure, it looked like a single-story roadside motel straight out of the 1950s. However, opening the door to room 108 revealed a space designed to make the most of its limited size. The bathroom had a spacious tile-lined shower and a deep, stainless steel sink with modern faucets. A desk had all the modern charging ports, and a refrigerator was stocked with drinks and snacks. The room had a back door that opened to a pool-centric courtyard with corn hole and croquet and a concession stand that serves burgers and bourbon cocktails in warmer weather. Like the River Siren hotel, the Weyland family of Louisville, KY, innovative real-estate developers put a lot of thought into the design of the restored building, adding modern conveniences and focusing on cleanliness and convenience.  

Showing off my airport courtesy car to BML guests

It was next door to the Bardstown Motor Lodge’s renovated restaurant that emerged from the 84-year-old Kurtz’s Restaurant that closed in 2021. "Toogies Table" opened in January, and new first-class chef-owner Mike Wajda presented me with a delectable broccoli soup and salad using only fresh, local ingredients. Upstairs, a bourbon bar and speakeasy offered an extensive list of Bardstown-only brands. The night I was there, it was closed for a meeting of the distiller's industry. “There are managers from about thirty distilleries up there,” said my server.

These two hotels gave me a sense of where locally-owned hospitality might be headed. Unattended, self-serve accommodations with superbly designed interiors, plenty of internet-of-things devices intended to optimize convenience and brighten spaces, using high-quality materials to preserve a sense of the location's history while conveying a contemporary ambiance.

A Museum of Local History

Vincennes, Indiana, lies on the Wabash River, across from Illinois, where the Lawrenceville-Vincennes International Airport is located. When Vincennes contemplated creating its own airport in the 1960s, Lawrenceville suggested a better use of funds might be to join the city in ownership and management of the former WWII army military base, George Field, which they acquired in 1948. A Bi-State Authority was created to operate the only common airport facility crossing state lines in the U.S., with operating funds coming from farm leases on the hundreds of acres surrounding the field. That's good because fuel sales and terminal fees would never amount to enough to cover their costs.

The (very quiet) Lawrenceville-Vincennes Airport Terminal

From above, it looked like a giant, abandoned Walmart parking lot. A cluster of buildings abutted a huge tarmac area, with a spider web of asphalt crack filler giving it an abandoned look. One of those buildings looked somewhat contemporary and much like a very small commercial airport terminal, which apparently it was when conceived in the late ’70s. As I taxied from one of the two very long perpendicular runways, bumping along the crack filler, one of the Mid-America Air Center ground crew came out to meet me, chocks in hand, which seemed strange since I was the only visible aircraft on the field and could have parked anywhere without the risk of colliding with anything. The man signaling my approach and shut down turned out to be the airport manager, who escorted me into the terminal. He then introduced me to the office manager and gave me a facility tour and a history lesson. The circular building included two large offices, a large conference room (for Bi-State Authority board meetings), a history wall, and crew quarters. The second floor had more offices and classroom space, now empty, once used by Mid-American Pilot Association for pilot training. He explained that the crew quarters, which contained bunk beds, a full restroom and shower, and a reading room with television, were available for stranded pilots and, if I needed, I could use it overnight for no charge.

Oh, and yes, a courtesy vehicle was also available for no charge. Free lodging and free transportation? Had I landed in La-La Land, a Dutchman’s oasis? Of course, I took advantage of both.

Unlike other courtesy cars I’d used in the past, this one was not a repurposed police vehicle with over 300,000 miles and missing or inoperable dash components, but rather a late-model Ford Taurus with air conditioning, firm seats, GPS map, working cruise control, everything. I left to explore Vincennes proper with a hand-written sheet from the office manager of things to see and do.

The feeling of being in a different dimension - The Truman Show, with me not realizing this has all been staged for my benefit - continued with my tour of the town. The local Amish BBQ restaurant lunch featured a farmer buffet with a delicious, wholesome meat and potatoes style all-you-can-eat spread, facilitated with a smile from conservatively attired hair-in-a-bun waitstaff. After waddling back to my car, stuffed and having taken full advantage of the buffet, I traveled upriver to Vincennes University, home to the Red Skelton Museum. Red grew up in Vincennes and was a town advocate throughout his life. Entering the modern annex, I walked up to the reception desk, which also served as the gift store check-out, and startled the elderly cashier, who turned out to be a volunteer. 

“Yes, can I help you,” she asked?

“Um… I’d like to tour the museum?” I replied.

“Oh, certainly, just a moment,” she said as she walked off to a back room.

I heard circuit breakers being thrown and lights coming on. Apparently, I was their first and only visitor of the day. After a ten-minute presentation of what I was about to see and some history of Red and the museum, I was escorted to the entrance of what turned out to be a series of kiosks containing Red Skelton artifacts accompanied by a video presentation of the corresponding Red Skelton character. It did bring back a flood of memories of when my family would gather around the very modest television to watch one of my father's approved and favored shows. It took about an hour to get through all of them before I walked past the unattended reception/cashier desk and back out to the University parking lot.

Back downriver to the other side of town was the recommended Indiana Military Museum. Scattered along the drive leading to the visitor parking lot and two long, large, old buildings were a variety of static displays of military aircraft, fighting vehicles, and a reproduction submarine deck. Everything from a B-25 bomber to a C-47, C-45 and F-16 aircraft, to a variety of tanks and howitzers, all showing signs of wear from the elements. 

Entering the main building, I again walked up to a desk that served as a gift shop and ticket sales counter. A gentleman behind the counter was discussing improvements that should be made to the sales registration process with the lady who looked like she ran things. 

After waiting a few minutes, I interrupted, asking, “Could I see your museum.”
“Oh, of course,” the man replied, signaling to another fellow stationed by a dark door, which he entered. Lights came on, revealing some displays of old military clothing artifacts behind the door. Apparently, I was the first visitor of the… well, you get the idea.

What followed was an almost exhaustive series of displays of military artifacts, starting with the civil war all the way through Vietnam. All kinds of armament, clothing, memorabilia, implements, maps, and historical references. It would have taken all day to see and read all that was available along the length of the relatively narrow building. And that was before the active displays in the even larger annex building. A volunteer at the entry had to switch on the lights again and activate the motion detection equipment that provided visual and audio effects for the walk-through recreations. 

However, this museum's most amazing aspect is that it is private and contains the accumulated collection of one individual - Judge Jim Osborne, founder, director, and curator.  Jim started collecting artifacts at age 8. By the time he graduated college, he had exceeded the storage capacity of the family garage. In 1984, he created the museum, which had to be expanded into its current, former factory location in 2013. A surprising find in this relatively small town.

Footnote: Several guests did follow me through the museum … eventually.

As the day was drawing to a close, I stopped by the George Rogers Clark National Park, which consists entirely of just the George Clark Memorial itself, the largest individual memorial in the country outside of those in Washington, D.C.. It was constructed in 1933 to commemorate the military achievements of the General and brother to William Clark of Lewis and Clark fame. It is located over or very close to the British fort he and his troops captured in 1779, effectively preventing the British from pushing the Americans back over the Appalachians and, instead, ultimately ceding the territory. 

George Clark's Memory

The large, cavernous round building was staffed by a single National Park Service interpretive Park Ranger, who was being educated by the only other visitor present on the history of the fort and on the evils of General Clark (in modern-day terms, of course). Those park service employees sure are patient. Around her were several historical murals depicting the battle and historical characters, including General Clark and Hamilton, the British commander. But never mind, her focus was on the poor ranger and his unwitting participation in the malignancy of history.

Returning to the airport terminal, I set up on a bunk bed and planned the next day on the adjoining desk. Before retiring, I talked up the night attendant, who shared how his retirement from the U.S. Secret Service didn’t go quite as planned. He returned to Lawrenceville to care for his elderly mother but was sucked into working 50 hours a week accommodating staffing shortages as a favor to the airport manager. I wonder in how many places that phenomenon is being repeated - work ethic compensating for lack of available working-age manpower.

I also wondered how many jobs exist in an attempt to uphold a legacy or fulfill a past mission that may not have the value in the future that it had in the past. Or are in anticipation of a return to values of the past that no longer resonate with younger generations. Are some places in America living museums? Or are they just a continuation of tradition, distinguished from the evolution of big cities into relative chaos and disorder. Questions I contemplated as I benefited from the Bi-State Authority’s complimentary accommodations.

On the long flight home I stopped in a few more small airports to reinforce the sense of normality and relative simplicity. It’s a wonderful therapeutic for the dislocation that can come from social and mass media. 

I look forward to the next barnstorm.