Ghosts alight the skies

There's just some'n ya have to understand about Texas. Texas is no mere place, it's an attitude. Toss in an old ae-ro-plane and attitude (as in relative position to the horizon) takes altitude.

So when I tell y'all (perfectly valid contraction for "you all;" I am no "guy") that the word "confederate" was the first name for the Commemorative Air Force - the group which operates those lovely warbirds circling North Idaho skies - y'all need to understand. It's about rebel. Rag-tag, chest-pounding (I mean, come on; CAF members call themselves "Colonel"), foolish fun. Loosely organized at first, but bound and determined never to give up, keep them birds flying.

That's the CAF motto - keep 'em flying. And what an experience that is.

It was 1992. I was just working, an ordinary day. Executive assistants tend to do personal things for bosses; I was securing auto insurance for mine. In the agent's office was a photo of a 1942 Stearman, wood-framed, mint condition with an exposed Pratt & Whitney engine. We're talkin' open cockpit, blue and yellow biplane; my heart skipped a beat.

"Ooooh," I cooed. "That's a dream of mine. Is it yours?"

Two weeks later I'd flown that beautiful baby low and slow, my first taildragger, and was the newest member of the CAF. Before long I'd logged hours in a T-6 Texan (fighter trainer), SNJ (Navy trainer), L-19 (spotter), B-25 (the shorter of the two bombers now at the Cd'A Airport), front-seated in a Pearl Harbor demonstration at the Houston Air Show complete with detonating "bombs" (powerfully emotional), been the missing man in a formation over the USS Lexington on Memorial Day; the list goes on.

Jet jockey? Fine, but that's like icing without the cake. A lemon may pack a punch, but without iced tea it leaves you parched. Speed is fun, but the history and romance of an old bird gives it meaning.

The CAF started with five guys in Texas who bought a beat up P-51 Mustang in 1957. Alone, none could have afforded to properly restore her, but together they had a grand time with newly re-christened "Red Nose." The concept and fleet grew, along with the tongue-in-cheek fun, and the Confederate Air Force was born (headquartered in Midland). The name was meant to be self-deprecating, to denote the pathetic origins of southern rebels - poorly organized, giving themselves and their "missions" military titles, poking fun at themselves at every opportunity. "If found revive with mint julep" was on early uniforms. A few years ago negative connotations led the 11,000 member CAF - now in five countries and 27 states - to change to "commemorative." The collective fleet is called "The Ghost Squadron."

The gear is half the fun. I have goggles, white scarf, leather army-issue pilot's jacket I named "Lucy" after a cranky cow, some inert grenades, a stinky gas mask and a fire-retardant flight suit. Our wing's T-6 tended to smoke when you started her. We put a plank over a muddy ditch by the hangar and put up a sign: "Bridge over the river Kwai." I organized a USO dance; we made dance cards.

Without the CAF these pieces of American history would still waste piecemeal in junkyards. They're expensive to fly and maintain, so when you buy a ride in one, you're helping them live another day. And adding one of those rare experiences to your life's movie you'll never, never forget.

Learn more, adopt a plane, or join at Commemorativeairforce.org.

Keep 'em flying, y'all.

Sholeh Patrick was born a carpet-baggin' Yank but Texas graciously accepted her for 22 years. She still can't make a mint julep. Email sholehjo@hotmail if you know how.