Pschuman’s Weblog

                I like to believe that I have had a pretty privileged life, I am fortunate enough to experience things in my first 18 years that a lot of people will never be able to experience. I have had some amazing memories that go along with these, but probably the best memory of mine is how I came to do what I do today, fly. I have always had a real love of aviation, even as an infant my dad and his friends would take me to air shows and point out everything there is to know about an airplane. I had always been fascinated and curious about airplanes, but I never really had the notion about becoming a pilot, that is, until one hot summer day in the Arizona Desert…

                I remember I was 8 years old. We were in Arizona, it was hot, Temps hovering around 105. When we awoke from our Holiday Inn beds, we ate a quick breakfast then ventured out into the dessert on the outskirts of Tucson. My mom, my dad and I, had come down from Minnesota to visit a very close family friend, Newman. I had to buy sunglasses when we were there because during the first three days I had to squint non-stop just so I wouldn’t be blinded by the fierce sun reflecting off of the parched ground. After driving through desolate neighborhoods and experiencing more homeless people than I have in my life, we were finally getting close to Newman’s house. You can always tell when you’re getting close because you start to hear the roar of 40 year old Lycoming engines, and soon you start to see signs telling drivers and passer-byers to watch out for low flying aircraft.

                Newman lives on an airfield. His dad was a pilot during World War 2 and was the executive pilot for Northwest Airlines so low and behold, Newman also started flying and became the executive pilot for Northwest. Keep in mind that this was during the 60’s, when airline pilots were considered celebrities. Over the years, Newman acquired a great deal of wealth from his position, so at age 50, Newman (Dan is his first name), retired from his job and moved into his beautiful house in the Arizona desert.

                Newman and his wife Jane don’t need to worry about putting up a fence, because getting to their driveway is a whole quest for the Holy Grail in itself. In order to get to their driveway, you have to drive your car out onto the Tarmac, cross a runway, and zip along the side of a taxiway dodging airplanes along the way. For an 8-year-old child this is one of the most exhilarating drives you can take, for a 40-year-old mother it is one of the most terrifying. Needless to say we arrived to the house perfectly fine.

                One thing that is particularly striking about Newman is that he has a whole collection of airplanes, most of who are from the 30’s and a handful have open cockpits. It was no sooner that we arrived than Newman was whisking us off into his hanger, showing us his pride and joy, and cramming us in. It started off being a showing of the interior to a presentation of the motor starting up to the next thing I know, my face is glued to the window as the ground slips away beneath the landing gear. Newman flies the 4 of us around for a bit, giving us an aerial tour of downtown Tucson. He then brings us to his favorite fly-in restaurant, and we each eat hundred dollar hamburgers. As soon as my parents have had enough we head back to the house, land, and start shutting down. While this was a fun trip for my parents and now they want to go sit on the porch and have a beer, I, the 8-year-old kid, am jumping around wanting to fly until the plane runs out of fuel. Newman volunteers to take me up again and the two of us takeoff in his Piper Cub, a small 2 seat airplane that many bush pilots use in Alaska.

                As soon as we level off and get to a steady altitude Newman asks me, “so do you want to try?” My jaw hits the floor. It takes me a few seconds to figure out what he just said. I could barely see over the instrument panel, and had no idea what half of the instruments meant. Still, as an 8-year-old boy, I nod, and place both hands on the stick with a choke-hold grip. As soon as Newman gave me full control I immediately tensed up. I’m so nervous that I can’t hold steady, so within moments of being the pilot-in-command the wings start rocking and the pitch of the airplane starts to intimidate one of a roller coaster. Thoughts start running through my head, “what if I flip us over?” “What if the engine goes out?” Pretty soon I become too scared to continue and ask Newman if he could take over. Instantaneously the plane becomes steady as a rock, and Newman brings us back into level flight. He asks me, “wanna do it again?” My pulse once again rises, thoughts start coming back to my mind, but just then I take my eyes off of the instruments and look out towards the endless blue sky and reply, “yes.”

                I’ve had my Pilot’s License for about 2 years now, and have had my glider license for about 3. I currently have over 100 hours of being the pilot of command, and fly here at Purdue at least once a week. Right after I got my License I took Newman out in the exact plane that he let me fly for the first time, and this time, he never even touched the controls. Newman is still a very close friend to the family, and is currently restoring an airplane that once belonged to Charles Lindberg.