I first came to know Jon when I was 15. I had convinced my parents to let me take flying lesons at Southport airport. Most of you will recall this small airport that was on the SE corner of 42 and Cedar. Jon's father was the "fixed base operator" at Southport. Jon and I both attained our private pilot certificates in our junior year. After that, we always greated each other with "hi-ya ace." For a graduation gift, Jon's father gave him a 1936 Pietenpol airplane. The Pietenpol was an all-wooden, home-built airplane with a Ford model A engine. It was open cockpit, with a tail skid, no brakes, no radio and almost no instruments. Both pilot and passanger had to carry their own grease rag to clear goggles of the fine mist of oil and antifreeze that blew off the engine. It was nearly impossible to pass a rag from one cockpit to the other without loosing it in the slipstream. After graduation, Jon and his father took over operation of a flight service at South Saint Paul, Fleming Field. This was the airport that I used since it was closer than Southport. I saw Jon often at Fleming. I recall one time when I was hanging around at Stiechen's Air Service, a guy flew in with a late 1940's Luscombe airplane. Stiechen's had bought the plane or taken it in trade or something like that. Jon walked out and briefly looked at the plane. He opened the pilot side door and asked, "What are these little things on the floor - brakes?" The delivery pilot nodded yes, That was the extent of Jon's checkout in the airplane. Jon climbed in, started the engine, taxied out to the runway and took off. He preformed a number of aerobatics above the airport before coming back to land. After he parked the plane, he got out and simply said "nice plane" as he walked back to the hangar. Jon was a natural born flyer. I think he could fly just about anything.
I like to think that when Jon and I meet again one day, we will fly the old Pietenpol - with the wind in our hair ande smiles on our faces (keeping our lips tightly closed so as not to get oil on our teeth), and each with his own grease rag. See ya later Ace.
Terry Stoerzinger
I first came to know Jon when I was 15. I had convinced my parents to let me take flying lesons at Southport airport. Most of you will recall this small airport that was on the SE corner of 42 and Cedar. Jon's father was the "fixed base operator" at Southport. Jon and I both attained our private pilot certificates in our junior year. After that, we always greated each other with "hi-ya ace." For a graduation gift, Jon's father gave him a 1936 Pietenpol airplane. The Pietenpol was an all-wooden, home-built airplane with a Ford model A engine. It was open cockpit, with a tail skid, no brakes, no radio and almost no instruments. Both pilot and passanger had to carry their own grease rag to clear goggles of the fine mist of oil and antifreeze that blew off the engine. It was nearly impossible to pass a rag from one cockpit to the other without loosing it in the slipstream. After graduation, Jon and his father took over operation of a flight service at South Saint Paul, Fleming Field. This was the airport that I used since it was closer than Southport. I saw Jon often at Fleming. I recall one time when I was hanging around at Stiechen's Air Service, a guy flew in with a late 1940's Luscombe airplane. Stiechen's had bought the plane or taken it in trade or something like that. Jon walked out and briefly looked at the plane. He opened the pilot side door and asked, "What are these little things on the floor - brakes?" The delivery pilot nodded yes, That was the extent of Jon's checkout in the airplane. Jon climbed in, started the engine, taxied out to the runway and took off. He preformed a number of aerobatics above the airport before coming back to land. After he parked the plane, he got out and simply said "nice plane" as he walked back to the hangar. Jon was a natural born flyer. I think he could fly just about anything.
I like to think that when Jon and I meet again one day, we will fly the old Pietenpol - with the wind in our hair ande smiles on our faces (keeping our lips tightly closed so as not to get oil on our teeth), and each with his own grease rag. See ya later Ace.