In the airpark across the street is the first B-737, the first B-747, a B-727, a Constellation, one of the most beautiful propliners, a Concorde that I walked through, and the presidential B-707 Air Force One that was open to walk through.
A docent accosted the little group at the exit and in a display of his knowledge recited everything to be found on the placards. Then, waxing elegant as he warmed up to the rapt school children began listing the presidents who had ridden around in that plane. Starting with Eisenhower and progressing up through Henry Kissinger. (I am not kidding)
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The new addition, the plywood training space shuttle is open to walk in the cargo bay. Like being in an airstream without the panache. Lots of WWI and WWII aircraft in the new Personal Courage Wing. Thoughtfully dimmed lighting so the moist eyes aren't so noticeable. Quite a few old flyers caught up in their memories and family historys it seemed. Upstairs in the old timers hanger I saw a perfect restoration of a Curtis Jenny, sans fabric, looking like a piece of custom furniture. As it's the plane my Dad soloed at the start of his career and in which he instructed as his first professional flying job, I was surrounded by old old stories. I talked one of the museum employes into letting me approach the bird so I could get a foto of the cockpit, just as Dad must have seen it when he was horsing the big bird around the sky.
I was able to touch the prop of a Supermarine Spitfire, a ME-109, and a Nakajima Ki-43-IIIa Hayabusa, among others. There was a sectioned Pratt&Whitney Corncob 28 cylinder that got me and a perfect stranger laughing when we asked "what kind of guy figures that kind of stuff out?" The valves are about the size of the pistons in some of the rice burners running around. The crank scheme is pure genius. That engine was sitting next to a jet black Corsair that it powered. 3500 horsepower. Hard to keep my hands off of the engines and I actually got to fondle some of them. Not too much supervision early.
I got to sit in the sectioned cockpit of an SR-71 Blackbird and waggle the disconnected stick around. Not that different from sitting in a Schweizer 2-33, which is very much more my speed.
A lesson in sacrifice and American history, the way things used to be.