Precious flying memories start with a tail number

By YVES A. DIDIER

Talk to someone in their 70s, and they’ll most likely remember exactly where they were when they first heard that John F. Kennedy was shot.

“You will never forget your first love,” my mother used to tell me.

And a friend of mine swears that a US Marine will never forget their service number — ever.

And pilots? I bet there’s a good chance you still remember the tail numbers of some, if not all, of the airplanes in your life, and the flights and adventures surrounding them.

Granted, if you have flown hundreds of aircraft, this may be a little more challenging. But for most of us, the numbers are much smaller, and even if it wasn’t a Hellcat, Stearman, Fieseler Storch, or some other exotic bird you were piloting at the time, you will remember.

Full disclosure: While I do not recall what my wife wore for our wedding, even without looking at my logbooks, memories come flooding back just by recalling certain tail numbers.

N734DN

The first time I sat in the left seat of this 172 Skyhawk in 1991, there was nothing but excitement. I had just signed up for flight training at Wings Aviation in Fullerton, California, with no clue about, well, anything.

The plane, a tired 1977 Cessna, had already been (ab)used by students for years. But none of that mattered to me as my CFI exuded endless confidence. Which was good, particularly when it came to working the radios (which were often not working).

Most of the time, the only thing I picked up on those battered Bendix-Kings was garbled static, further distorted by deafening cockpit noise as my instructor insisted we fly without headsets.

“You must be able to understand all radio traffic in case of a headset failure,” he argued.

I later learned that this was actually not based on some noble, higher training goal — the guy was simply so broke that he couldn’t afford a headset. And if he couldn’t have one, neither could I, of course. My hearing deficit today is living proof of that buffoonery.

On top of that, training flights often had to be postponed because of mechanical problems.

However, I still managed to solo in Delta November, and a few months later I also passed my check ride in it at a nearby airport (missing a helicopter’s turning rotor blades only by a hair while taxiing back for takeoff to return to my home field in pitch-black darkness). 

N3823F

This 1978 Great Lakes was simply marvelous, whether inverted in a loop, while I was practicing a hammerhead, or attempting another barrel roll.

3823F belonged to my friend and pilot mentor Jack Harloe, and up to this day, I miss open cockpit flying and my friend’s presence terribly.

Jack had more than 50 years of experience as an aviator, but I still succeeded in providing excitement and some memorable moments he didn’t see coming.

Primarily whenever I fell out of a loop, unintentionally turning 23 Foxtrot into a bright orange dive bomber.

N1756J

I had never even flown a Cherokee before buying this 140. But the price was right, I liked the seller, and the plane seemed well maintained.

I kept Juliet for over a decade but never figured out why she notoriously refused to start on me, even with all the new batteries I kept buying. Eventually, jumper cables became a constant companion on board, which paid off quickly.

I took countless friends flightseeing over the years, patting myself on the back for being such proficient pilot, as none of them ever got sick on me.

Except once: On a particularly smooth day, my passenger discreetly carried her bursting barf bag while exiting the plane, which she then promptly dropped on its wing. Urghhh. We later learned that — surprise! — she was pregnant but didn’t even know herself then.

Juliet was a great plane, but being 6 foot, 3 inches tall, I eventually tired of having to climb on the wing to then carefully fold myself into the cockpit through its single door.

Almost losing an engine shortly after takeoff was another interesting experience, but that’s a different story.

N3134T

Feeling guilty for not flying enough, I eventually decided to sell 1756J. Plus, airplane ownership seemed way too costly at a time when I was just about to embark on a new career.

Through a chance encounter, I met the owner of 3134T, a 1967 Cessna 177, at Whiteman Airport (KWHP) in Los Angeles. He agreed to let me use the Cardinal on occasion.

I loved everything about that plane: Its looks, spacious cockpit, visibility, reliability, and ease of access through its generously sized doors. Flying the 177 was a joy (yes, it had the 180-hp engine conversion).

Unfortunately, this ended way too soon when the owner sold the aircraft only a year later. Darn!

N5411T

After being without wings and not flying for three years, something was clearly missing in my life. When I stumbled over a “For Sale” ad for a 1964 Cessna 172E at Santa Monica Airport (KSMO), I went to take a look.

Nothing else, I swear.

With no intention whatsoever of buying another plane, after a short test flight, my self-control immediately went out the window and I signed on the dotted line. (Yes, coming home, I had some explaining to do).

Eventually, though, the Skyhawk would be my reliable flying companion for seven years, until I lost my medical.

Only after spontaneously reminiscing, did I actually look up the above tail numbers to check on their planes’ current status. To my great joy, all of them are still flying today.

They all were remarkable in their own ways and I have no doubt that every single one of them continues to create new, lasting memories for their current and future owners and pilots.