Howdy, Jim...

Yeah, it's been awhile and I don't have a respectable excuse for not keeping in touch a little better. The weather's been awful up here in Jersey so I've been kinda locked in, sittin' around mullin' over stuff from the past -- it's what us Old Geezers do. For instance I was thinkin' how I got my very first airplane.

It was July 1964 -- the NASA Manned Spacecraft Center (now Johnson Space Center) outside of Houston had barely been completed when we moved into those beautiful new buildings near Clear Lake, Texas. I was a public affairs officer assigned to the Astronaut Office. Just over a year earlier Gordon Cooper had flown 22 orbits around the earth, the last of six Mercury missions -- crews were now training for two-man Gemini flights. We had added 23 astronauts to the original seven named in 1959. Alan B. Shepard, one of the original seven and the first American to fly in space little more than three years ago, was head of the Astronaut Office -- chief astronaut!

I knew Al from before I joined NASA, from back when I was making films for General Dynamics. We had won the NASA contract to document the first American earth orbital mission. John Glenn would fly that one, called "Friendship 7." That was also the name of the documentary film we produced (which was nominated for an Academy Award in 1962). To figure out where to place our cameras we practically lived with Al as he prepared to fly his suborbital "Freedom 7" mission, thus we got to know Alan Shepard fairly well (Freedom 7 flew on May 5, 1961). My room at the Holiday Inn was right next to Al's -- we had no official NASA "astronaut quarters;" Mercury was run out of Hangar S at Cape Canaveral. So now I'm with NASA, reporting to Alan just about every day, writing up press releases about astronaut training, conducting press interviews on Friday afternoons (Friday was "Interview Day"), and assisting the "Man in the Can," the astronaut designated during the week to handle impromptu press requests.

Alan had become sorta famous, bein' the first American to fly in space, so lots of opportunities came his way. He could've quit NASA and retired from the Navy and made a fortune endorsing everything from cars to breakfast cereals. With NASA's permission he did accept a seat on the board of directors for a bank in nearby Baytown, Texas. We used to tease him about that, jokingly asking him for a loan -- or a hand-out. (Note: Alan died a millionaire developer in 1998 after leaving NASA and retiring from the Navy as rear admiral.)

We were sippin' coffee in his office one morning -- Al was tellin' me about John Glenn's beautiful new airplane -- I believe it was a Beechcraft Bonanza. Glenn, of course, had become the first American to orbit the earth two years earlier. Al said he too was thinkin' of buyin' a small plane, maybe a Bonanza.

Al knew that in my spare time I ferried Bonanzas for Houston Beechcraft. A brand new Bonanza back then cost about $35,000, big money in the Sixties (today they cost more than half a million dollars). "No way could I afford to own an airplane," I sighed.

"Hell," says Al. "Nobody pays cash for airplanes, Button. You need to take out a loan. You ever decide you need that kinda money you just call ol' Charlie,* he's president at Baytown Bank -- tell him I said you're good for it."

"Well, I do have an airplane in mind, Al. Used, but in new condition."

"Go see Charlie, Bob. I'll let him know you'll be in touch."

"Really, Al?"

"I shit you not," says Al. "Let me know how it all works out, okay?"

"Yessir,"says I.. "And thanks."

Charlie made it real painless getting an airplane loan. In fact, while I was in his office he made me a car loan for a brand new Pontiac station wagon I had my eye on, at just 4 percent interest.

*Don't really remember his name but I think it was Charlie.

The plane loan was $1,200 -- I was buyin' a 1946 Aeronca Champ from a friend of Mr. Hyde, owner of Cliff Hyde Flying Service in La Porte. It came with a newly majored Continental 65hp engine and brand new Ceconite fabric cover. That brand new car cost just over $4,000 as I recall.

Well, it's a few weeks later and I'm floating up and down the halls of the astronaut office when Alan sticks his head out his office and hollers, "Hey, Button! You ever buy that airplane we were talkin' about?"

"Sure did, Al. Got that sucker tied down as we speak, over at Cliff Hyde's."

"Great!" says Al. "What didja get?"

"I got me a beautiful ol' 65 horsepower Aeronca Champ," says I.

"A what?"

"A 1946 Champ, Alā brand new cover, newly majored engine, newly.."

"WHAT?" repeats Al.. "How the hell much did you borrow?"

"Charlie lent me $1,200," says I proudly.

About then Alan grabbed onto the door sill to keep from fallin' down. He was laughin' so hard I thought he'd choke and collapse..

"You silly bastard," he yelled when he could finally talk. "I thought you needed REAL MONEY to buy a REAL AIRPLANE.. Hell, we coulda bought you that old relic outta petty cash. You had me exercise Charlie for that? That was hardly serious bank business."

"Well, Charlie also made me a car loan, Al, so it wasn't a total loss.."

---

I loved that little beauty, flew it all over Texas. Only gripe I had was it had no electrical system so no night flyin'. And it had no starter! You had to hand-prop that little 65hp Continental.. but first you hadda get somebody to clomp down on the heel brakes to keep it from runnin' you over.

Proppin' that Champ is what caused me to give up on expansion watch bands. One day I grabbed that propeller blade, lifted my leg and swung that blade down real hard -- THUNK! It whipped back, flung my arms akimbo and sent my watch flyin' off into the sunset, fortunately without my arm attached.

I owned that Champ less than a year, formed the Gemini Flying Club around it ($20 a month, $4/hour wet). My good friend and fellow Public Affairs officer Jack Riley, and two reporter friends, Jim Schefter, of the Houston Chronicle, and Al Webb of UPI and I were its members.

There's a sad sequel to this happy little story. On New Years Eve 1964, a drunk driver drove his big Thunderbird through the walls of Mr. Hyde's hangar. He destroyed himself, his girlfriend and about 15 airplanes in the resulting fire and explosion. The saddest part is, it was a damp day so Mr. Hyde had kindly let me put O' N84448 inside that hangar to dry out the magnetos...it never flew again.

Bob Button.
2/2010

For another story by Bob Button, Click Here.

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