Yard work is a staple of suburban life. While I may do my best to put it off based on a variety of excuses that become less and less plausible over time, it’s not unusual to find me in the yard mowing, or pulling weeds, or planting trees. It’s an ongoing process that will never, ever end.
Thankfully, my home sits just over a mile from the runways of my local airport. The distraction of aircraft flying low overhead is a welcome diversion. No matter what I’m doing, or what time of day or night, the sound of an aircraft engine tends to make me stop and look up. Often, the distraction lasts for a matter of seconds. Sometimes, it takes on a life of its own and settles in to get comfortable for a while.
The task of the day involved upgrading the chicken coop. The old version was weather beaten and faded. The new housing unit for our population of Gallus gallus domesticus was coming along nicely when a sound from the ether caught my attention.
The engine was round, I could tell that much. Gazing up through the branches of the lychee trees that shade this end of the yard, I caught a flash of yellow. The airplane came closer. It was nearly directly overhead when it made its turn toward the runway. Yellow nose, silver fuselage, yellow and black checkerboard rudder. This AT-6 is one I know well.
I pulled out my ever-present phone and texted a friend.
“I think you and Syd just flew over my house for landing at KGIF. The T6 looks great. Sounds great, too.”
The reply came within minutes. Quickly, I put my tools down and fired up the truck. I was headed for the airport to break bread with old friends who I seldom see in person.
The machinery of the air fascinates me. It always has. What I didn’t expect — what I didn’t realize at all until I got into aviation on a full-time basis — is that the people who live in this world are even more compelling than the machinery they fly and maintain.
That is certainly the case with Syd and KT Jones. On the professional level they are unparalleled folks of tremendous talent and experience. On the personal side they’re just fascinating.
With each layer of the onion that gets peeled back their story becomes even more amazing. They are a documentary film waiting to be made. Maybe two or three of them. As is true of so many folks I’ve become acquainted with in this industry, their adventures are myriad, their humility profound.
I met Syd and KT when I was hired to assist in the restoration of a B-17 bomber at Tom Reilly’s Warbird Museum in Kissimmee, Florida. Syd and KT were already there when I arrived, having made a career shift from the sea to the sky.
KT is a marketing maniac. She’s got stories to tell and connections to make. She’s also got a real talent for bringing immediacy to whatever topic pops into her head. Her understanding of the past, present, and future of the warbird community and its participants is impressive, to say the least. Her day job finds her in the hangars and offices of Stallion 51 in Kissimmee. The center of the universe for all things Mustang. It’s like a North American Aviation field office.
Syd is a wonderful, patient teacher. My interactions with him typically involved turning wrenches or driving rivets or running hydraulic lines through an airframe. He’s a marvelous mechanic with a real affection for World War II era aircraft. That’s at least part of the reason this aeronautical power couple owns a pristine North American AT-6. More than a quarter century after taking possession of her, their advanced trainer continues to turn heads.
I never really worked on T-6s with Syd much. Our paths crossed more closely when I got the great opportunity to do maintenance work on three spectacular B-25s. “Barbie III” was an H model. Its nose bristled with four machine guns and a cannon that shot a projectile the diameter of a Coke can. A fearsome beast of a flying machine for sure.
The “Killer Bee” is a J model, as is “Panchito.” It was my great pleasure to crawl through those aircraft doing inspections and making repairs while marveling at the technological time capsule they represent.
Syd went one step better. He actually flies them. Back then he spent a fair amount of time in the right seat, which is a treat in and of itself. Today he’s a left-seater training others to receive a type rating at the controls of Panchito.
His clients range from enthusiasts like me who want to experience the thrill of handling the controls of such a massive, totally analog machine, to U.S. Navy test pilots and every imaginable variation of flyers in between.
We had a lovely lunch together at my local airport restaurant. I’m not sure we’ve seen each other in person since before Covid. We talked about old friends, former co-workers, the future of the warbird community, and how the passage of time has affected each of us.
It was a wonderful reunion. The sort of interaction that reinforces my belief that my affection for aviation began with a fascination about the machinery but was reinforced in steel by the recognition that the people I’d meet were the bigger, better, more engaging aspect of the business.
Like me, Syd and KT came to aviation as a second career. Prior to becoming warbird enthusiasts, they spent many years at sea searching for sunken treasure. A profession that many would consider a pipe dream, a self-delusional quest for success. Which may be true. But in their defense, they did discover and recover the Nuestra Senora de Atocha and its roughly $400 million cache of gold, silver, and emeralds. But that’s another story altogether.
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Great story about KT, SID and YOU! They are incredible people and very talented aviators. It is always a pleasure running into them at various aviation events. They have many friends with similar admiration toward the as you do. It is a story I like to hear.