A C-5A Galaxy taxies to the Westover parking ramp, circa late '70s. This photo, taken by Steve
Hoadley, captures the Galaxy in her gray and white finish with that big, black nose. It was this paint
scheme I saw on a C-5 as it passed over my house in 1975, the first such time I would see a
Galaxy. The big bird has since been subject to numerous paint jobs, the latest shown below on a
Westover C-5 flying over the Barnes Air National Guard Base airshow in June 2006. My photo
captures the aircraft's "clean" look with the gear and flaps retracted after an impressive low pass.
Hoadley, captures the Galaxy in her gray and white finish with that big, black nose. It was this paint
scheme I saw on a C-5 as it passed over my house in 1975, the first such time I would see a
Galaxy. The big bird has since been subject to numerous paint jobs, the latest shown below on a
Westover C-5 flying over the Barnes Air National Guard Base airshow in June 2006. My photo
captures the aircraft's "clean" look with the gear and flaps retracted after an impressive low pass.
The aviation bug bit me at such a young age, I have a
hard time pinpointing when exactly it happened.
What I do remember is the distinctive bright orange
Day-Glo paint of the military jet as it passed on its way to
nearby Hanscom Field. I don't know what kind of plane
it was, but I'll never forget its noise as its pilots throttled
the engines back for landing.
I spent my childhood years in Concord, Mass., a
predominantly upper-class suburb about 17 miles
northwest of Boston. I am fortunate to have grown up in
such a beautiful and safe town. My father taught history,
social studies, and English at the Fenn School, a private
school in Concord, and he and my mom rented a house
on the campus.
As luck would have it, our house was directly under the
flight path to Hanscom -- about two miles from the end of
the main runway. When an airplane flew by, I could look
up and literally read the markings on the aircraft. The pilots
of larger aircraft often flew their approaches to the runway,
and took off right back over my house.
In the late 1960s, Hanscom flew a variety of Air Force
airplanes as part of its research and development mission.
They ranged from the C-130 to the KC-135, the latter
used as a flying testbed for atmospheric testing. This
aircraft had a distinctive howl as it soared overhead with
black smoke streaming from its four engines.
The summer of 1967 was a pivotal year for this country.
The Vietnam War raged to its peak in ferocity. War
protesters camped out at the Pentagon.
And on a beautiful and sparkling summer afternoon, I saw
the Thunderbirds for the first time.
It was June 24, 1967, and I was four years old. I sat with
my older brother, Mark, in our back yard -- a sprawling
baseball field free of trees and houses and an ideal front
row seat to the air show.. Commander/leader Maj Neil
Eddins and his team blew me away that afternoon with
their signature diamond formations, streaking solo runs,
and of course, the roar and rumble of those sleek F-100D
Super Sabres.
There was a lot of history flying that day. One of the solo
pilots that soared above me was then-Capt Tony McPeak,
who rose to the rank of general as the Chief of Staff of the
Air Force in the early 1990s.
I went on my first Air Force base tour at Hanscom in July
1972. I toured the inside of a C-124. There
were eight of these classic propeller-driven aircraft
assigned to the 901st Military Airlift Group. an Air Force
Reserve unit at Hanscom. These huge airplanes
transfixed me every time they flew over me. The
Globemasters were low enough for me to
see the American flag on the tailfin and the "U.S. AIR
FORCE" in large black stenciled letters on the side. The
sights and sounds of these magnificent aircraft are
unforgettable. I saw my last C-124 leave Hanscom in the
summer of 1975.
That same year, I would be hooked on the replacement
for the C-124. This airplane was of unimaginable size,
and I never had the faintest notion that it would (or
could, for that matter) land at Hanscom. But it did
indeed. I saw it for the first time on a spring day in 1975. I
was sitting in my house and heard what I knew was an
airplane, but it was like nothing I had heard before. As its
engines throttled up, it sounded like scores of police sirens
wailing, and then fading. Like I had done so many times
before, I ran outside and looked up into the blue sky. Like
an enormous bird looking for a nest, there it was on final
approach, all 28 of its wheels locked down, and its crew
powering the engines down to land. The looming C-5
looked like it was going to land in front of me.
To someone still fairly young and already in awe of
airplanes, this was an absolutely staggering and intriguing
sight. The gargantuan jet's size, accentuated by its huge
black nose and all those wheels, made me believe it was
almost going too slow on final approach. Since it's so
darn big, it's an optical illusion; it really is going as fast as
other planes fly.
"Is that a C-141, Andy?" my mother asked me as we stood
there and the Galaxy passed over. It seemed like the plane
filled the entire sky. "No," I answered Mom. I paused to
watch it go by. "That was a C-5, Mom."
From then on, it was a rare treat, but nonetheless a treat,
because even though Hanscom Field had lost its flying
mission to a round of Pentagon budget cutbacks in the
fall of 1973, Air Force aircraft still transited the airfield.
And that included the C-5, which returned to Hanscom
occasionally.The sheer power and grace of the jet has
never ceased to amaze me. The C-5 remains my favorite
military aircraft to this day.
hard time pinpointing when exactly it happened.
What I do remember is the distinctive bright orange
Day-Glo paint of the military jet as it passed on its way to
nearby Hanscom Field. I don't know what kind of plane
it was, but I'll never forget its noise as its pilots throttled
the engines back for landing.
I spent my childhood years in Concord, Mass., a
predominantly upper-class suburb about 17 miles
northwest of Boston. I am fortunate to have grown up in
such a beautiful and safe town. My father taught history,
social studies, and English at the Fenn School, a private
school in Concord, and he and my mom rented a house
on the campus.
As luck would have it, our house was directly under the
flight path to Hanscom -- about two miles from the end of
the main runway. When an airplane flew by, I could look
up and literally read the markings on the aircraft. The pilots
of larger aircraft often flew their approaches to the runway,
and took off right back over my house.
In the late 1960s, Hanscom flew a variety of Air Force
airplanes as part of its research and development mission.
They ranged from the C-130 to the KC-135, the latter
used as a flying testbed for atmospheric testing. This
aircraft had a distinctive howl as it soared overhead with
black smoke streaming from its four engines.
The summer of 1967 was a pivotal year for this country.
The Vietnam War raged to its peak in ferocity. War
protesters camped out at the Pentagon.
And on a beautiful and sparkling summer afternoon, I saw
the Thunderbirds for the first time.
It was June 24, 1967, and I was four years old. I sat with
my older brother, Mark, in our back yard -- a sprawling
baseball field free of trees and houses and an ideal front
row seat to the air show.. Commander/leader Maj Neil
Eddins and his team blew me away that afternoon with
their signature diamond formations, streaking solo runs,
and of course, the roar and rumble of those sleek F-100D
Super Sabres.
There was a lot of history flying that day. One of the solo
pilots that soared above me was then-Capt Tony McPeak,
who rose to the rank of general as the Chief of Staff of the
Air Force in the early 1990s.
I went on my first Air Force base tour at Hanscom in July
1972. I toured the inside of a C-124. There
were eight of these classic propeller-driven aircraft
assigned to the 901st Military Airlift Group. an Air Force
Reserve unit at Hanscom. These huge airplanes
transfixed me every time they flew over me. The
Globemasters were low enough for me to
see the American flag on the tailfin and the "U.S. AIR
FORCE" in large black stenciled letters on the side. The
sights and sounds of these magnificent aircraft are
unforgettable. I saw my last C-124 leave Hanscom in the
summer of 1975.
That same year, I would be hooked on the replacement
for the C-124. This airplane was of unimaginable size,
and I never had the faintest notion that it would (or
could, for that matter) land at Hanscom. But it did
indeed. I saw it for the first time on a spring day in 1975. I
was sitting in my house and heard what I knew was an
airplane, but it was like nothing I had heard before. As its
engines throttled up, it sounded like scores of police sirens
wailing, and then fading. Like I had done so many times
before, I ran outside and looked up into the blue sky. Like
an enormous bird looking for a nest, there it was on final
approach, all 28 of its wheels locked down, and its crew
powering the engines down to land. The looming C-5
looked like it was going to land in front of me.
To someone still fairly young and already in awe of
airplanes, this was an absolutely staggering and intriguing
sight. The gargantuan jet's size, accentuated by its huge
black nose and all those wheels, made me believe it was
almost going too slow on final approach. Since it's so
darn big, it's an optical illusion; it really is going as fast as
other planes fly.
"Is that a C-141, Andy?" my mother asked me as we stood
there and the Galaxy passed over. It seemed like the plane
filled the entire sky. "No," I answered Mom. I paused to
watch it go by. "That was a C-5, Mom."
From then on, it was a rare treat, but nonetheless a treat,
because even though Hanscom Field had lost its flying
mission to a round of Pentagon budget cutbacks in the
fall of 1973, Air Force aircraft still transited the airfield.
And that included the C-5, which returned to Hanscom
occasionally.The sheer power and grace of the jet has
never ceased to amaze me. The C-5 remains my favorite
military aircraft to this day.
