Hangar talk for the Gen Z crowd

More often than not, when I find myself in a hangar with others, those others tend to be on the far side of AARP eligibility.

Many of my compatriots at the local airport qualify for Social Security. That’s true at most airports. The average age of an American general aviation participant is…well let’s just say excessively mature. I’m 61 years old, a Baby Boomer, and I often skew to the younger side of the assembled pilots and mechanics.

In my little corner of heaven here in central Florida, I’ve been nagging people in positions of authority for quite some time about the value of general aviation to the educational system, the economy, and the emergency response capabilities of our community. 

It’s obvious to me that any city with an airport has significant advantages over neighboring cities that are without one.

Experienced aviators know, however, people in positions of authority who have no direct connection to aviation tend to be somewhat in the dark about general aviation’s potential. Willingly so, in some cases. You can show them economic impact reports, you can explain about the revenue streams it can open up. You can even expose them to evidence in video and print that show educational programs that benefit the communities that adopt them. All to no avail if those in a position to do something about it choose not to listen or learn. 

Well, I learned long ago that any of us can make a difference if we choose to. Maybe it’s because I grew up in the 1960s when revolution was in the air and everything seemed possible. It’s about will, not position or title.

So, with the assistance and cooperation of four other interested adults, we created a plan and formed a flying club for high school students. We negotiated a hangar lease at the local airport, got a couple project airplanes donated to the cause, and got to work attracting members. 

It’s actually that simple. Which isn’t to say it’s easy, but then nothing that’s worth much of anything is easy.

I would be remiss in my duties as an intrepid and thoroughly biased journalist, however, if I didn’t also mention the sense of satisfaction that comes from getting those hangar doors open is indescribable. 

The club is known as the Aspiring Aviators Aero Club and from Day 1 we’ve had a stream of visitors entering the hangar to see what’s going on. Not because the machinery in our workspace is so compelling. Rather, it’s because the people doing the work are so rare.

Our entire work crew is made up of Gen Z high school students. Every single one of them. Kids so young many of them can’t drive yet, but they find their way to the hangar every Thursday afternoon and Saturday morning to put some elbow grease into making something happen. 

Step one for us was to build two workbenches. It’s hard to restore an airplane, let alone two airplanes, without having a moveable work surface to rely on. Tools arrived on loan from the homes and hangars of our adult mentor members. Plans were downloaded for the classic, easy to build, EAA Workbench. Lumber arrived from the nearby Home Depot. Project Number 1 and 2 were underway.

Now, let me be honest with you. Even building something as simple as a workbench with Gen Zers requires considerable oversight, a lot of detailed explanations, and regular recommendations to read the plans.

These kids have never participated in a shop class, their schools having done away with what they considered to be frivolous, impractical, and not particularly useful skill training in an effort to trim their budgets. As a consequence, they don’t know the difference between a drill and an impact driver. They can’t safely operate a saw. They may inexplicably choose to employ a half-inch drive rachet to screw a one-inch lag bolt into a 2” x 4”, then call out in surprise, “It won’t get tight.” 

And thus, we learn the lesson of picking the right tool for the job, and seeking instruction about how to use any tool we don’t understand. Nobody likes a stripped hole. Least of all the person who stripped it.

But something is happening here. Something good. Something these kids and their parents never dreamed they’d be involved in. But they are involved and they’re loving it. 

These kids are motivated. They’re excited. They’re building an airplane, for goodness sake! Together. As a group. They work collaboratively, even though they’re from different schools, different neighborhoods, and have different goals.

Letting the kids do the work themselves is key. Our adult mentors explain what needs to be done. We introduce our students to the reference materials. We bring in experienced builders, A&P mechanics, and IAs to share insights. But the students do the work. When the airplanes fly, they know it will be because of their sweat and effort.

Those airplanes will fly with these same students at the controls, too — as well as a long line of students who will come behind them. That opportunity and responsibility isn’t lost on them. In fact, for several of our members it is a primary motivator to keep their grades up at school, participate frequently in club activities, and soak up as much knowledge as they can along the way.

The average age of the hangar rats at my local airport is skewing younger. Much younger. Personally, I like that shift.

The same thing can happen at your airport too. It just takes one or two people with an idea, some dedication, and a real desire to introduce young people to an aspect of life they never thought was available to them.

If you want to head down this same road but don’t know where to start, drop me a line. I know some folks who would be happy to help you make it happen. And rest assured, it can happen if you want it to.