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Archive for June, 2010

The past month has been a dogged routine of taking pickup truck loads of aviation history from home to the new AeroKnow Museum headquarters at Abraham Lincoln Capital Airport. It’s evolved into packing the truck bed and cabin with boxes, unloading boxes about 8:15, coming to work, returning to the museum to unpack boxes, assume “presence” at the office with an open door to chat with innocent passers-by about AeroKnow Museum and Abe Lincoln’s Air Force (I’m also beginning to process aviation history, usually until about 6:30 because there’s nothing of interest on PBS until 7p at the earliest, and PBS is all I can get on the “‘tube” these days)  and bring the empties home. Usually I lurch through dinner in a state of near-catatonia, nap after dinner, arise to watch Charlie Rose and  to check email and go to bed. I’m usually up by 6:30 to check e-mail, pack boxes with more and do it all over again. This is my life since May 29. Almost everything else I’m ignoring. I’m still about a month from being done with the move. I do this for one simple reason. It won’t move itself. . . . . . . Meanwhile, back at the autobiography:

High School Junior

Two teachers, Miss Hensler, a KNOCKOUT feast for male eyes and intellect, and Joe Rockford, a civics teacher and coach, shine in memory as they did in class. I would never find a female presence behind a teacher’s desk as filling of the senses as her! The combination of Meryl Streep, Julia Roberts and Martha Stewart comes close. I was at my best in her class, as much for her approval as anything else. She inscribed in my yearbook that she saw something significant in me too; not in a romantic sense, but in words that affirmed what reached her as my intellectual prowess.  Joe Rockford was as much a solid “rock” of a civic teacher. He was an athlete (or as many says in Sprangfeed, athalete) who became a very successful coach at Springfield High. In class he was strictly “no-nonsense” from the time the bell rang to come to FOCUS until it rang to civil class dismissal, but before and after class he was as approachable as an esteemed, respected brother.

Albee Plain was the boys’ physical education teacher who had worked as a kid for my father at Roberts Bros. men’s clothiers downtown, who continued to buy clothes from him. When I had him in phys ed my sophomore and junior years, he was a crew-cut, dedicated teacher, persistent enough for me to succeed in a class requirement: to run the mile in eight minutes or less.  Our track ran around the perimeter of an athaletic feed located about two blocks from school, a healthy walk to and back. It showed signs of earlier glory — a concrete bleachers structure on the east side and a well-worn crushed coal cinders track. On my third attempt at a mile under eight minutes, I succeeded. Phys ed was mostly warm-ups of group calisthenics followed by shooting hoops inside and I can’t even remember what outside on the athletic field. It was always a mad rush for the showers when he dismissed us about 10 minutes before the bell rang to go to our next class.  There was always the soggy feeling from not drying off after the hurried shower before rushing to what came next. The aromas of Right Guard deodorant and the incomparable “essence du bois loquier rheum” are etched into my memory. On balance, I learned the value of not becoming obese, though I did not achieve the capacity to shed the “inner tube below my belt line” which I believe I was born with, and remains a part of me to this day. Though I never became an athlete, I’ve never dodged strenuous exercise and physical work when it was required. I never minded mowing lawns for parents, though they did it most of the time, and for a while, years later I even purchased and used a manual lawn mower because I preferred the physical excercise of pushing it along to the reduced effort for a power mower. About the time my dad began considering moving back to Springfield, I told him about my manual mower and how I liked mowing the lawn, and he told me he thought it was “the stupidest thing I ever heard of.”

At school, we were told about the new Junior Achievement (JA) program that was going to be meeting at the YMCA. I signed up for it and had a great time.  The “company” I worked for was sponsored by Franklin Life Insurance Co. and several low-t0-mid-management people were advisors with JA. Every one of them was absolutely first-class. Under their guidance, we selected and “manufactured” a matchbox holder made of four small boxes of wooden stick matches, sandwiched between two 4-inch x 4-inch plastic tiles. We met weekly, and our little company elected me an officer (I’ve since forgotten what officer, but I remember the affirmation of the group.)  while producing them and selling them like crazy to friends and strangers.

We were invited to set up a sales table at Barker-Lubin, a home improvement/home decor/semi-hardware store located on north Ninth Street just south and east of St. John’s Hospital, across from th e “castle” before (damned) progress demolished that wonderful landmark. I “manned” our little table that Saturday in April and did better than the others, selling our products to innocent bystanders who had come shopping for plumbing supplies, lumber and tools . . . . and departed with our tastefully decorated matchbox holders. I did so well that as we started talking to other students from the other JA company which had set up a table there that day, I volunteered to helm them with their product too. It was a rock salt dispenser with rock salt in a re-labelled plastic bleach bottle with a small slot cut into the front of it. When tilted forward, the salt came out in a four-inch swath which made it easy to spread salt over snow and ice. From the time I joined the other group of students and stayed with them from 1 to 4 pm, I sold three of their product . That was three more than anyone belonging that that JA company did. I couldn’t believe it. One of the Barker-Lubin people was impressed with my success and loaned me some sales brochures that would teach me more about selling. They were interesting brochures that would have been great for someone destined to sell hardware or insurance for a living, but they taught me little that I didn’t already feel. Some weeks later, I returned them to the gentleman, thanked him and considered the experience that day at Barker-Lubin a fine way to have spent a Saturday.

During my junior year, I started working as a “page” for the new West Branch of Springfield’s Lincoln Library on west Washington Street across from Sacred Heart Academy, a Catholic girls’ high school. As a page, I checked out books for visitors, returned them to the shelves, “read the shelves” to be sure no books were out of order in the famed Dewey Decimal system and had a generally good time. I didn’t begin work until 4:30 or 5, but I walked there from school, studied at one of the magazine reading tables in front and read all the aviation magazines I liked until it was time to go work. I worked with two other students: Jack, a math genius and Sue who was very interested in library science. Both were great people. The boss of West Branch was Thelma Schultz, whose heart must have been sculpted from granite with a head to match.  My savior in my frequent ineptitude was Mrs. Roland, the assistant librarian, who was more patient and seemed to understand me better. She appreciated my way with words, evident to many at that age. She told me I should consider becoming a lawyer, the highest compliment an adult gave me before college days.  I enjoyed the library work and got along with everyone except the most important person. A little better self-discipline from me would have been worth demonstrating. Still, things seemed to go okay until one day I was fired. I don’t know why (maybe my sub-conscience has blocked it from retrieval) but I clearly didn’t get the hang of something important, and Schultzy decided to say sayonarra.

It was at West Branch that I discovered I was growing up. A young boy came up to the counter from the children’s side on the east half of the large room, and said, “Mister, could…” and I don’t remember the rest. I understood that when someone calls you “mister” and you’re a guy, you’re getting old. I was all of 16 at the time.

Barb F. and I met at a dance at the gym, and the night I met her, I asked her to be my date at another invitational I had been invited to attend. She said, “yes” and I was a most happy fellow. Barb was blonde-cute, a combination of Cathy Rigby and Monica Seles (who wasn’t blonde but had Barb’s eyes.  She gave me her number, and I said I’d call her. When I fiiiiinalllly got around to calling her, about four weeks later, I learned some manners. She told me that when she hadn’t heard from me in so long, she made other plans, and she was not going to attend the dance with me. She told me I was off my rocker if I expected to call her after waiting so long to call her and expect that everything that everything was fine because everything was not fine. She was absolutely right. I didn’t go to the invitational with anyone. I stayed home. That was okay with me. I deserved it. No poetry. There was some heart ache, but no heart break.

The frigidness of winter and the lost dance surrendered to warmer weather and with it a return to flying model airplanes. Somewhere, some time, I had met an older flying model builder4 named Bob Peterson, a fellow built like a ball-turret gunner with a ready smile. Dad and I were invited to visit him and his model workshop at his house. The happy visit that came soon after imprinted on my brain the idea of becoming a collector of model airplanes. His basement was a manly-boy heaven except for the absence of females. It resembled Tony Russo’s house on North Grand which I had visited years ago as a member of Springfield Prop Busters club. Bob, like Tony and his father Anthony Russo, was a superb model builder and flyer. He had tons of stories, talked like Steve McQueen and told Dad and me he was starting a model flying field called Dizzyland on Wabash between the minature golf course and the go-cart track. It would have a hobby shop on the grounds and a corrugated steel-covered bleachers where spectators could watch.   WOW! Jim Richardson, Mike McEvoy and others flocked to the new field where control-line modelers could fly. Dizzyland was so named because control-line (also called U-control) flyers stood in the center of a circle controling thir models in flight on nylon or metal control lines while the models flew in a constant circle, held at the extreme by centrifugal force. I spent about every waking moment there, riding my bike or going over with friends who had drivers’ licenses. It all started in about March, 1964 and continued through the summer.

During this period, as things got rolling at Dizzyland, Jim Richardson completed a Veco Smoothie, and I designed the paint scheme for it. My main functions in the flying model “scheme of things” were as a  designer and photographer. Among the planes photographed was one made by Vito Princivalli, a friend from Prop Buster days. I also started building the new 1/72 scale plastic model kits that were coming into widespread popularity from England. I purchased an Airfix kit of the Mitsubishi Zero, another of a P-51 from Dizzyland, and began buying plastic and flying kits at Black & Company Hardware in the front part of their sporting goods department on Monroe across from the new Sangamon County Building and on MacArthur. Making the plastics with accurate colors and more crafted details than usual became my focus since I had done consistently poorly with flying models and the plastics were fun and generally more succesful outcomes.

Next time at Jingleman’s Confession: Crisis at Dizzyland and the junior/senior train trip to Washington, DC and the Big Apple.

Live long . . . . . . and proper.

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The routine of taking at least one pickup truck load a day to the new museum HQ at the airport continues. Dave Bakke’s excellent column about this bombastic review drew several encouraging comments from friends and some new support as well.

I took four days off from “work” last week to volunteer in support of the Commemorative Air Force’s B-17G Flying Fortress restoration nicknamed “Sentimental Journey.” The Springfield Chapter Illinois Pilots Association (IPASPI) agreed to sponsor the visit by the airplane and crew to Abraham Lincoln Capital Airport. Sponsoring involved enlisting a local hotel to provide free lodging, a car dealer to provide wheels for four days and notifying area news media to let readers/listeners know the “big bird” was at the airport. People could come out and look, take pictures for no charge. For $5 a head (active duty and veteran military, firefighters, police no charge, and less for kids age 5 through 12) visitors could walk through it. IPASPI sold refreshments at a table by the entry gate and passed out brochures.
“‘Journey” arrived as scheduled from Cape Girardeau, Missouri where it had been on display the previous week, and soon after closing the flight plan and refueling, local media and VIPs were treated to a flight over the city of Springfield.

"Sentimental Journey" arrives SPI

WAND television in Decatur, Illinois sent photographer Chris and a reporter.

WMAY talk show host interviewed a former B-17 ball turret gunner.

Josie is a vivacious on air personality on the FM station based at MAY.

view from the navigator's table before takeoff

Springfield, Illinois from "Sentimental Journey"

parking after flying paying passengers Wednesday

I divided my time between the B-17 and AeroKnow Museum during the three days it was in town. The weather, according to the crew, was great, compared to their earlier visit to Missouri. It was just as hot, and the thunderstorms were as nasty, but we had a breeze at SPI. From the refreshment table where I helped most of Wednesday afternoon, the 40 mile an hour “breeze” by any other name was just as HOT, surely 100 degrees in the sun-baked concrete. But it was fun. The airplane’s crew was friendly, the IPA volunteers the same, and the visitors arrived regularly. I distributed information about AeroKnow Museum at the refreshment table. Thanks to IPASPI for allowing me to do that.

Some of the crew even visited AeroKnow Museum. It’s not much to visit still. Support has begun to come in, including a promise of a color printer and major shelving if we can find a way to move it from a defunct store to the office. Glass shelving has been ordered, and the first of it will be in place late this week.

The heat is interesting. I’ve decided that anyone who notices the heat when moving into a new museum is not concentrating enough on the move.

Live long . . . . and proper.

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The Early Show

Norb Andy's is on the south side of Capital Avenue between Fifth & Sixth Streets

It’s almost 10 at the Third Thursday Gallery exhibition on the second floor of Norb Andy’s Tabarin on Capital Avenue in downtown Springfield. It’s Friday night. A fellow in his 20s began playing guitar in the main hallway of the gallery with a gusto that can be heard — and appreciated (he’s a good guitar player) — throughout the historic house and probably in the bar in the basement, for sure until Frank Trompeter and his fine jazz group begin for the evening. I don’t know the singer’s name and don’t plan to try very hard to learn his name. Aaaaaah yesterday.

But I’m glad I listened to him because his serenade has taught me something about singing. When my insides feel like a barrel of monkeys rolling down the sled hill at Pasfield Park Golf Course, I wax facetious, but there’s nothing facetious or even ironic in what I’m saying about the kid in the hall, as I slowly packed my guitar, stowed my poems and books and grabbed the camera and say goodbye to no one as I headed for the front door; destination; home.

Yours trulybluely Springfield's oldest living folksinger at Third Thursday Gallery June 18

I played “the early show.”

When I suggested to Third Thursday coordinator Mike Myosky, that it would be great fun for me to bring my guitar and share some of my songs and traditional folk songs he agreed. Mike is a major force in Springfield visual arts and is known way beyond central Illinois. We met long ago when I emceed a poetry and song open mic at Capitol Caffe, he painted a terrific mural for Cafe Brio and a few more in this city and elsewhere. When we met, he was sketching people at Capital Caffe and restaurants for $5 a drawing. His paintings hung — and likely still hang — at Augie’s Front Burner on Fifth Street downtown. The Third Thursday gallery he created in concert with the new owners of Norb Andy;s, runs third Thursday through Saturday. He  welcomes every artists he knows, ostensibly so they can show their work to the community and sell it. MANY artists participate, and people are buying the art.

I had met some terrific artists when I attended the second Third Thursday reception in May, and when I packed my poetry books and many extra copies of my four songs about visual art, I expected to set up in a room toward the rear of the spacious former mansion. The back room appealed immensely to me because it was small, had two artists’ superb paintings displayed and I figured I’d sell a few books to pay for a few beers. I’d give the “xroxes” of my visarts poetry to anyone who wanted them.
Soon after I arrived at the gallery about 6 p Friday night, I realized how little of a performer I am and how much the social potato I am.

“Social potato (my phrase; you can use it if you like)” is someone who would rather be close to people he thinks he knows than plant one’s keister in a room away from the mainstream visitor flow and start singing to nobody in particular. When I told the new friends, I had brought my guitar and planned to sing, there was unanimous approval: smiles even. It was the highlight of the evening for me.

Philip Ackerman sketches a posing Becky van Dyke before “the early show.”

I did something I should not have done. I retrieved my guitar from the back room and brought it to the east gallery hall. And worse, I told them I had brought my poetry books to sell and opened my Minstrel’s Ramble to my “Preposition Song” asking a talented artist to read it over.

The reaction on face and voice would have made the buzz of a house fly on an unknown planet orbiting a major star in the constellation Orion arriving through the atmosphere of Planet Earth, light years away, seem like a the firing of a 155 mm field artillery canon. Granted, people don’t fall over on the floor in unchecked GLEE when reading ANY of my song lyrics. So it was obvious I was harboring greater expectations than the reality could deliver Friday night. . . .

engaged (left) and unengaged (right)

There were applause from the artists I was sitting with when I sang a few songs almost conversation volume. I didn’t feel proper with the prospect of my “performing voice” overpowering my new friends’ nearby conversations. Traffic was sparse at 7 p, and artists wandered off to distant conversations. . . . more beers . . . . . smokes on the front porch overlooking the street. What I should have done, after taping the print of my song “If Pigments Had Wings” to a nearby wall with tape kindly provided by one of the artists, was return my guitar to the closet in the room where I had anticipated I’d be playing, go drink a few beers at a table downstairs and return to the back room about 8 and start SINGING.

Not how it happened.

I over-stayed the initially-affirming karma. It was apparent that the “Rule of Three” that applies to house guests, also applied to me. My “show” began to stink after three songs. Mike Myosky who heard me play one song told me,”I didn’t know you were this good.” At my request he repeated it twice.

Didn’t help.

By bringing my guitar to the event, I became someone I had not been when I had come with a camera but no musical instrument: a person in need of something that was not on the menu. My head must have looked like a gigantic tin cup, and if my head didn’t, from where I sat, with an Epiphone acoustic guitar in my lap, there was no doubt that my crashing attitude resembled one. And it wasn’t the beer making me crazy. I drank two Stags from 6:30 to just before 10.

So the guy started belting out his music in the entry hall 20 feet away and out of sight. It was time to go.

At the bottom of the stairs I encountered Mike Myosky. He was concerned I was leaving. “It’s early,” he said. “More people will come.” I explained I was a mite bummed out because people weren’t listening. He said, “Will you come back Saturday and give it another shot?” I said I would not, but I didn’t tell him I won’t ever be back because there is a chance I will be back. The guitar will likely stay home, but I suppose I will be back. I like the art, and artists doesn’t have to buy my books in trade for my appreciating what I like on canvas. I just need some time away. Maybe a month will do it.

The kid in the entry way was chirping with the zeal of a male robin in springtime and teaching me something I MUST remember to emulate next time I pick up a guitar in public with the expectation of singing. The kid in the entryway came to SING and he sang as loudly and true to the art that brings him joy as I should since I am blessed/cursed with the same visceral instinct.

I envied him.

from the stoplight at 2nd at Capital Avenue, going home Friday

Live long . . . . . . and proper.

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part of the AeroKnow Museum at Abraham Lincoln Capital Airport

On May 25, the general manager of a Fixed Base Operator (FBO) at Abraham Lincoln Capital Airport (SPI) visited AeroKnow, a collection of aviation photographs, model kits, built models, books, magazines and memorabilia I have nurtured and maintained since about 1965 when the plan started coming together. I had just graduated high school at the time. Rob Fisher’s visit the 25th followed two weeks after a tour by Mark Hanna, executive director of the airport, who had spent almost three hours viewing it. As Rob departed to return to work, he told me I was welcome to begin setting things up in the room I had visited earlier in the month. I had been waiting to hear those words since I was 18 years old.

When does a collection become a museum? When it has a place to display its history that’s not “in some guy’s house.”

On May 26, I visited Rob at Landmark Aviation (LMA) located in the same building that had housed Springfield’s first FBO, made sure I had heard him correctly at the end of his visit the day before, and indicated I’d begin moving out the next day.

display of 1950s-era model aircraft and kits

Since the 27th, I’ve transported one full pickup truck load — and some days two — of aviation history to the new office and when it was raining or threatened rain, I’ve moved all I could cram into the cabin. The first load was the computer that had been donated to AeroKnow when Springfield Air Rendezvous in 2007. The annual world-class airshow ran from 1983 through 2006. I also moved the entire collection of original “snap shots” (prints of pictures no larger than 4″ x 6″) and a bunch of shelves. Since then, I have moved more than 1,000 model airplane kits dating back to 1933 that had been suffering (moderately to terribly) in my basement with its high humidity. Getting them out of that basement and into stable, dry air was my first priority, and that task was 98% complete by June 12. Another early priority has been the move of Illinois aviation history to the new office, a flatbed scanner and materials surplus to the collection which I intend to offer for sale to raise funds for displaying a lot of history as it should be displayed.

Three days into the move. Things look much better now.

AeroKnow is now AeroKnow Museum (AKM).

Progress moving is slow. So far, I am the only person to lift a finger to accomplish the move. A good friend who is very into aviation and modeling is burdened with dire circumstances which prevent him from helping. I am more concerned about his welfare and that of his fine wife and great kids, and thankful for his friendship than I am concerned about him helping. Local friends I’ve corresponded with at Facebook clearly are not interested in airplanes. Would I help Jerrod Rutabaga move his field hockey memorabilia to a new home downtown? Probably not. I have no interest in field hockey, and I have other fish to fry.

John Salz, President Springfield Chapter Illinois Pilots Association and first visitor who intentionally came into the museum to visit.

Dr. Jay Bruninga who administers required physicals for pilots, holds a Lindberg plastic model kit of a "flying saucer" during a visit to AeroKnow Museum

My first “history action” in the new home was proofreading an article slated for publication in the Summer American Aviation Historical Society Journal. I’m on the editorial committee of the Society, and it was terrific to focus on history since most of my time there so far has been unloading the truck, carrying material in through doors that cannot be propped (no pun intended) open, unpacking boxes and taking them back the way I came. As I said to AAHS webmaster Hayden Hamilton recently, the hardest part of my labor is not the move; its keeping myself from shouting at the top of my lungs after leaving a load and returning boxes back to the truck parked nearby “THIS IS SO FREAKING NEAT!” It is a joyful process.

Two F/A-18 pilots who landed to refuel at SPI visited June 11.

I’m making two or three trips this Sunday the 13th, mostly book cases and cabinets. My MAJOR priority is to make the place LOOK like a place professional pilots and aviation enthusiasts will walk into to see what it’s all about. I am looking into new shelving for 90% of the public area with a focus on model aircraft. Files of data don’t grab the support, even though the mission of the AeroKnow Museum should. To encourage support, I have launched Abe Lincoln’s Air Force which will offer benefits to members who support AeroKnow with dues of $15 per year. All members will receive a membership card and custom-printed, numbered and dated certificate suitable for framing. For a membership application and information about AeroKnow Museum, please write

AeroKnow Museum
900 Airport Road
Springfield, IL 62707

Or send your dues first, and I’ll send you an application with a self-addressed stamped envelope so you can get the form back to me.

If you are not “a joiner,” that’s okay. You don’t have to join. SUPPORT AeroKnow, and I promise it will be the best-kept secret in the tri-state area. DONATE. We need a color printer, a decent desk, dollars for the purchase of 36″ plate-glass shelves for displaying models. If you have photographs of Illinois aviation history that should be shared with the public in a venue dedicated to that purpose, donate or long-term loan them. We can scan your pictures if you want to keep them.

With just a part-time employer at present, I intend to spend considerable time at AKM once the move is complete. In the meantime, until my phone is reconnected, I will be happy to be there almost any time I’m not at work if you want to visit. E me —  writer@eosinc.com

If current commitment of local moving help continues at present level, the move to the new venue should be complete about late July. I’ll be sharing news regularly up to that time and after.

In the meantime, the activity is sapping my desire to write creatively, so posts here at Honey and Quinine will be less frequent than I wish they could be.

Live long . . . . . . and proper.

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Todd Green, main man of the Green Family Stores, auto dealers extraordinaire, helped me move a glass display case when we serendipitously encountered each other at the airport today. Here’s a little background.

My first outreach to the Springfield flying community seeking help for an aviation data bank and model museum I initially named Cong-Air-Chive took place when I addressed the Springfield Aviation Council in a summer 1976 meeting that took place in the Sangamon County Board meeting room. Since 1976, the response has been consistent and heartbreaking in its saga of silence. But I didn’t need SAC’s permission to create what evolved into AIRCHIVE and is now AeroKnow because too many of my townsfolk can’t correctly pronounce AIRCHIVE. And I didn’t need anyone’s permission to continue it. More licensed pilots from Europe have visited the collection than pilots residing in Springfield, Illinois. For three decades I have talked to airport managers at what is now called Abraham Lincoln Capital Airport and until two months ago, none set foot in the collection.

Things began to improve when Mark Hanna visited in early May. Through my writing for Springfield Business Journal and as editor of the Springfield Chapter Illinois Pilots Association newsletter Capitol Crosswinds I’ve chatted with Mark more than any previous executive director at Springfield Airport Authority and was delighted to welcome him to the house where AeroKnow has resided for 14 years. I explained how the basement humidity was destroying documents that should be preserved and shared my most earnest interest in finding a venue where the public at large could visit, use its resources and support it. Time has proven nobody will support an enterprise as long as it’s in “some guy’s house.” Mark listened; agreed to look into possibilities.

Soon after, preparing a major model display for the local IPA chapter’s Charlie Wells Memorial Scholarship Breakfast at Landmark Aviation, I talked with manager Rob Fisher whom I first met when he was a principal at First Class Air in the same area. Rob agreed to visit. We spent almost two hours talking about the collection and the need for a real “home” for it during the height of the severe rain Springfield suffered just more than a week ago. Rob invited me to bring some of the collection to an empty room at Landmark, and I began moving things out Friday, May 29. I’ve been making a moving run out each day since, filling the passenger side of the cabin and open back of my pickup truck with boxes, delivering and unloading after half-days with my part-time employer (I’m still looking for a full-time employer) when the weather wasn’t raining or threatening rain, and packing the cabin to the hilt when it was. Until Thursday morning this move was a one-person show.

Seven days after starting, George Jaworski, owner of The Granite Guy and assistant manager Al and I moved a glass display case donated by Parkway Printers on N. Dirksen Parkway  to the room at Landmark, a MAJOR event that will allow the secure display of several items which could not be shared on open shelves.

As Al and I arrived to unload, I saw Todd Green of the Green Family Stores pulled up beside our truck. We recognized each other immediately from a story I wrote about his business last year, and he graciously helped us unload the glass display case from the truck and get it inside. Nice fellow, Todd Green!

early arrivals at Landmark

facing visitors entering

more of the display window and tech manual shelves

AeroKnow central

AeroKnow will offer membership in Abe Lincoln’s Air Force, complete with membership card and certificate, suitable for framing and a bi-monthly newsletter distributed via email as a PDF. Membership is $15 from July 4 to July 3. E me ( writer@eosinc.com ) for a membership application. You do not have to be a member of Abe Lincoln’s Air Force to support AeroKnow in whatever way you like.

Abraham Lincoln, in 1861, signed the first federal appropriation for military use of Yankee observation balloonist Thaddeus S.C. Lowe. So it’s not like I’m connecting the hallowed name of a great man to a barbecue grill or dog apparel.

I am looking for strong hands and a large truck to move the 18 file cabinets to the new facility. I have started a new WordPress.com blog entitled Abe Lincoln’s Air Force. Most future updates about this project will be posted there. I am absolutely delighted by the vote of confidence so graphically given this endeavor by Landmark Aviation and a few good persons and look forward to building on this boost through the membership roster of Abe Lincoln’s Air Force and beyond.

Live long . . . . . . . and proper.

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