Flight journal: Prologue (part 1)

[beaky]

I sort of forgot that I'd written a sort of prologue years ago, after my first two times at the controls but just prior to enrolling in a flight school.
It describes my search for a suitable school and airport...

Prologue- part 1

September 10, 1994:

At the Sussex 1994 airshow this summer, I was hanging around afterwards, standing by the end of the runway... watching a conga line of planes making their way from their parking spots to the runway, and then to the sky- in numbers and variety I'd never seen before.
Sharing this spectacle was a guy who's name I don't recall; he held a Private Pilot's rating and was telling me about how he got interested in flying. I asked him where in Northern New Jersey I could find the best flight school- but not the most expensive, of course!
"Try Caldwell", he told me. "Or... there's a school at Linden; that's closest to the city."

I thanked him and soon bought a map that showed small airports on it.
I would search based on a list I compiled after drawing a circle with a 50-mile radius, home at the center, on the map.   Sure enough, Linden was right there, just south of big ol' Newark Airport. Definitely not a long drive from home, but its proximity to the city would probably mean higher rates. But it seemed worth checking out, to determine if I'd be willing to pay a little more for the convenience.
The next Sunday, I drove down to Linden, and as I pulled into the parking lot, I was a little disappointed. The place looked abandoned: an old rotting control tower loomed over what appeared to have once been a very busy, prosperous airfield. The tower was no longer in use, Linden being uncontrolled.
I hadn't researched the history of this place, but got the impression that day that it might be a very interesting one.
But I had studied an aeronautical chart of this area, and knew that although uncontrolled, it is shoehorned under the huge combined Newark/ JFK/ La Guardia  Class Bravo airspace, and right under the approach and departure paths for the big airport's main runways. It would be  tricky getting in and out of there without entering the class B.... good experience, but... it was a little intimidating.

Another problem: Linden smelled bad. Somewhat bleak, too, compared to Blairstown: no trees, no grass, no picnic tables, and no restaurant (just a few vending machines in the stark, shiny terminal corridor). No gliders either, although there was a helicopter school.
I asked the first living soul I saw whom I should consult about taking lessons, and was directed to a pleasant young man named Olaf. He was a Norwegian-born CFI based there, and a very good pitchman for his school. He couldn't do much to take the sting off the bottom line, though- I was looking at $65/hr for the rental time alone in a Cessna 150, a tiny, slow 2-seater... this was about $15/hr more than the base rate for Blairstown's Tomahawks.
I left, already decided against it... this is not The Place, I thought. Next!

The rest of the afternoon, I drove around where I thought Somerset Airport should be, and couldn't find it. Not a good sign.
Next!

My 50-mile arc indicated that Linden was closest to home, and Blairstown was second-farthest. Sort of in-between was Caldwell, also known as Essex County Municipal Airport.

I could see the hangar of the school my airshow acquaintance mentioned, beyond a chain-link fence as I approached, but wasn't sure how to actually get over there from the road.
So... I walked into another school, which had a convenient entrance.

Pretty slick operation... flashy pilot shop, a clean, tidy lounge area with matching furniture, and instructors walking around in uniforms, for crying out loud!!
I was introduced to Odd. No, he didn't seem odd, that was his name.
But it was rather odd that he was the second Norwegian I'd met in my search, and in all likelihood the second Norwegian I'd ever met in my life. He didn't know Olaf...

He was another Nice Young Man, and also very thorough in his presentation. Price list and syllabus in hand, I was ushered to a seat in the lounge, and as we chatted, I found myself asking more questions about himself than the school. After all, Odd was doing what I might eventually be doing- accumulating hours by instructing, on the way up the professional aviation ladder.His story was illuminating...

Odd had come to the USA to finish his training on the advice of a European airline's career counselor, and got his current ratings and a related college degree at a school in S. Carolina. Then he entered the Rat Race, which has some interesting turns and dead-ends for new flight instructors.
His most recent gig as a CFI had come to an abrupt end when he witnessed the school's owner using a hammer in an attempt to repair a prop bent by a student's bad landing. The inadequate result, as well as the fact that this "repair" was made while the propeller was still attached to the airplane,  caused young Odd to question whether or not he would be willing to fly that aircraft- or any of the school's aircraft- again.
He was not willing.
So he left that flight school without looking back.

'Nuff said, except for whether or not he reported "Thor" to the FAA (I didn't ask).

Next: part 2