It has been proven beyond a doubt on television that many people in our country are unable to pick the United States out on a world map. These are usually the same people who go around telling confused visitors from other countries that ours is the greatest nation on earth. I don’t see any irony there if you don’t, but I certainly hope that you pilots out there aren’t among those people or your next cross-country might not turn out so well.

            This total ignorance of all things geographic might cross-over into things historical and since I spent literally tens of thousands of dollars getting a liberal arts degree, I not only feel smug and superior to you, I feel it is my duty to bring you up to speed – at least when it comes to aviation history.

            According to some figures I just made up, two thirds of the second half of pilots in the top third of income in this great land of ours have no idea that the first Thanksgiving was actually a primitive fly-in. A sort of “100 shilling turkey sandwich.”

            The Odyssey Begins…

            Many years ago – far longer ago than the average cheerleader can count, our forefathers and foremothers found it necessary to leave their home country and take a one-way repositioning cruise on the Mayflower, the Nina, and the Poseidon. They got a better rate for the trip and even though the evening buffet was not up to their standards and the Barry Manilow cover band was out of tune, they had a pretty good crossing.

            Their reason for leaving the civilized world behind?

            User fees.

            That’s right; the monarchs of Europe were getting ready to put system user fees on airspace surrounding every major capital city and adjoining suburbs. Even though the actual airplane hadn’t been invented yet, the “Pilotgrims,” as they were called, remembered that Leonardo Di Vinci (which is Italian for: Leonardo, the Vinci) had predicted the existence of an expensive and out of date ATC system hundreds of years before. He also designed a torture device for the Medici family that he called a “coach seat,” but we’ll save that for a later column.

            Lindbergh Wasn’t a Pilotgrim

            So the Pilotgrims immigrated to the New World. Nobody had flown the Atlantic before and being more than a little stodgy about such things, the Pilotgrims weren’t about to be the first. A boat ride was just fine with them.

            When they arrived at the shores of what now is called “the New York Metroplex” the Pilotgrims were greeted by tribes of Native Americans waving orange wands and wearing reflective vests made out of maize (which is Indian for “reflective corn”). Once the Native Americans had securely tied down and chocked the Pilotgrims ships, they welcomed them all with a red carpet, free coffee for their return trip, and courtesy horses for the crews.

            It was only then that the Native Americans (which we’ll now call Indians because if there is one thing I hate more than making history up to entertain you it is being politically correct while doing so) realized that the Pilotgrims weren’t here for a simple RON – they intended to permanently base their operations on the Indians’ field.

            First, the Indians thought they could get by with these newcomers and simply rent them a tee-pee hangar or two, but after a while the Pilotgrims began to be a pain in the empennage, if you catch my aeronautical drift.

            If the Pilotgrims weren’t hanging around the lounge drinking up all of the Indians’ coffee, they were hogging the receptionist’s time and getting greasy finger smudges on the sales displays. This sort of thing made the Indians more irritated than Rosie O’Donnell at a GOP rally. They had to do something to encourage these Pilotgrims to leave the east coast and head west to places like DFW, DEN and SLC, but what method could they use?

            Bring me the feathered head-dress of Luca Brasi…

            The heads of the five major Indian families, the Sky-hawks, the Pawnees, the Cherokees, the Sky-Catchers, and the Seminoles, met at the Bada-Bing to discuss the business of getting free of these unwanted ramp rats.

            They thought at first they could get rid of the Pilotgrims because they were dead-beats. The newcomers hadn’t paid a tie-down fee, contributed to the coffee “honor” money can, or tipped a line-brave since they arrived. Not only that, but more than one of them had left their teepee hangar in such a mess that it needed a new coat of war paint just to bring it back up to code.

            Finally the five Indian families came up with a plan. Knowing that the Pilotgrims were the original flying farmers, they thought they would pull an “Oliver Wendell Douglas” on their sorry butts by giving them bogus farming advice. Their theory was that once the Pilotgrims had a bad crop year or two they would leave for the west and the Indians ramps would be peaceful places for the buffalo and mustangs to roam once again.

            So, the Indians started giving the Pilotgrims advice like: “Hey, don’t eat that fish – mo-better you should bury it next to the seeds on your farm.” Because the Pilotgrims had been taking fish oil as a supplement for years to keep their medicals intact, they followed the Indians advice.

            The advice, of course, resulted in a corn crop that smelled strongly of fish. Nobody to this day will buy fishy corn, so the Pilotgrims were not only broke; they faced starvation and would not be able to afford their annual inspections that year.

            Indians, one… Pilotgrims, zero…

            The Indians had won a bitter victory. The visitors from the Old World were out of money and ideas but because they were destitute they couldn’t afford to head west like the Indians wanted them to. The choice the Pilotgrims faced, according to Roy Hobson, the newly elected president of their AOPA (Association of Pilotgrims in America) was one of two very bad options. They could either write their parents for more money or starve. This was later called “Hobson’s Choice” by liberal arts majors all across this great nation.

            Most Pilotgrims would rather die than write their parents for money. Besides, since the transatlantic cable was at least four years in the future and since the U.S. Mail was awaiting Benjamin Franklin to be born, there really was no way to write home. They would have to experience starvation. They faced a future that would leave them as hungry as a low-time CFI at a NAFI awards dinner.

            Weather This Winter? VFR Not Recommended…

            The winter of that year was a horrible experience for the Pilotgrims. They were hungry and bored. Al Gore’s invention of the internet was years away and a combination of being prudish and not smelling so good led to a non-existent love life during those cold, bitter winter months. It got so bad they resorted to reading their operating manuals, keeping up their Jepps and, of course, dropping dead.

            As an interesting side-note I should mention that although many Pilotgrims died during that harsh winter, not one of them were afforded the honor of a “missing man formation” flying over their crude graves. The Indians tried to do a “missing horse” formation, but it just wasn’t the same.

            Spring of that year finally arrived and the few Pilotgrims who were left alive looked forward to the discovery of Florida and the Sun & Fun fly-in. They were grateful to the “big ATP in the sky” for their continued existence and were also grateful to the Indians from the five families who had come forward with the occasional Hot Pocket ® to see them through the winter’s harsh snacking environment.

            The Pilotgrims wanted to express their gratitude in the form of a pancake breakfast but by the time they got the invitations out six months later it had all turned into a turkey dinner. No matter – the happy Pilotgrims were eager to show their love for their neighbors, the Pawnees and the Sky-Hawks.

            Once the Pilotgrims had borrowed a turkey, some potatoes and a relish tray from the caterers at the Pawnee camp, they were all set for the shindig.

            Imagine a time without football on TV…

            Finally, the feast began. During the meal, various door prizes were given away; not the least of which was a Tee-pee hangar door that was made out of 100% deer hide. Other prizes included hard to find parts for various farm animals and a crude version of what we pilots today would call an E-6b.

            A great time was had by all who attended. First, AOPA’s Hobson got up and made a short speech about supporting the inherent rights of GA (generally agricultural) Pilotgrims. Then, a local chief from the Sky-Hawk tribe spoke for a few minutes about the importance of closing out your ride-plan so that the SARs braves wouldn’t have to go looking for you due to a clerical error. To this day, you can see carved on the trunks various trees around the area signs that say “have you remembered to close your ride-plan?”

            A great and happy time was had by all and it was at least one hundred years before the Pilotgrims managed to get rid of the Indians and close their fields by rezoning them for industrial use.

            Today the remnants of that happy time remain. The five families of Indian tribes still retain their names and AOPA has grown to an organization that is able to send me at least ten un-wanted mailings a week. And, if you go to a fly-in barbeque, you can still smell a little fish in the creamed corn.