Airport Cafe

At other times, in other restaurants, he would be the guy to be studiously
avoided, like a stray dog that looked friendly. In a freeway restaurant, or
a hotel lobby, he would be the old guy that would cause you to avert your
eyes and quicken your step, for fear of endless, repetitive conversation
that might tie up your whole day.

But not here. For this was an airport cafe, and that meant that this fellow
was likely a combination of unofficial airport historian, court jester,
and -- most importantly -- a survivor of many years of flying. As such, his
eccentricities could be overlooked, his unshaven, disheveled appearance
ignored, and his habit of talking to anyone and everyone became endearing.

Rudy was just such a guy, and he came into our lives this past weekend.

We, as always, were late for breakfast. This far into the early afternoon,
there were only a few of us dining, and not much left to see on the ramp, so
we partook of that grand old tradition known everywhere as "hangar flying."
Within minutes we all knew what the others had flown, and where they were
from, and a feeling of camaraderie and warmth combined with hot coffee and
tea to make for a most agreeable atmosphere.

Into this temple of aviation walked Rudy. We have all seen his kind; he
was the old guy sitting by himself at the airport cafe, with a bit of egg
yolk stuck in the corner of his mouth. Lean, tall and lanky, with a shock
of tousled gray hair that belied his age, his easy demeanor with the
waitress and familiarity with the menu pegged him as that mainstay of
airport restaurants everywhere -- he was a "Regular."

We usually stand out in an airport crowd, thanks to our kids (isn't that
sad?), and here was no different. Sizing us up from across the dining room,
the old man quickly took a shine to us, and we were soon chatting amiably
about Iowa, football, and flying until our food came -- whereupon our hunger
overtook our manners, and we settled into a silent reverie over corned beef
hash and eggs smothered with biscuit gravy...

But the silence didn't last long.

Pushing 80, Rudy was clearly a man on a mission, and not the type to sit
quietly for long. Soon we were discussing Cirrus Design, soaring, and float
planes. He had flown his own planes for many years, but had stopped flying
some years ago, not because of any physical problems, but because he had
found a new, all-encompassing love: Classic cars. More importantly, the
cars of his youth. He and his wife were founding members of a Packard Car
Club, and they now traveled the country attending car shows and forums.

Silently aghast at how anyone could be drawn away from flying by a mere
automobile, I politely hummed and hawed about cars, too, but my heart wasn't
in it. The conversation slowly ground down, and we were momentarily
distracted by a Navion on the ramp. Soon, silence reigned, and I went
back to my newspaper.

As we all finished breakfast, Rudy looked us over with a gleam in his eye,
and asked the kids if they'd like to go see "an old, 1928 Packard." Not
sure how to respond, they looked at me with questioning eyes, and I
responded with a wary "Sure!" Soon we were ambling out to the parking lot
in Rudy's wake, trying to keep up.

In all the years we had flown to this airport cafe, we had never, ever been
off the airport -- so the parking lot was a strange, new world. Much to our
amazement, there sat a real, live "Bonnie & Clyde" gangster car, complete
with hood ornament, running boards and a place to hide your Tommy gun! As
we neared this amazing old vehicle, Rudy was absolutely alive, answering our
non-stop questions ("How fast will it go?" "How big is the engine?") and
gleefully showing us the bizarre and amazing features of his 77 year-old
gem.

Then he looked at Rebecca, winked, and asked her if she'd like to take her
family for a ride? By then firmly entranced by the old man, the kids and
Mary gleefully clambered up the big running boards and settled into the
capacious back seat. It was incredible -- my 15 year old son could LAY DOWN
on the seat, and his feet couldn't touch the back of the front seats!

I found my way into the passenger front seat, next to Rudy, and he fired up
that big 'ol in-line 6 cylinder engine. It started instantly and easily,
and ran as smooth as any V-12. With gracious, practiced movements that can
only come from a lifetime of experience, Rudy manipulated the unusual (and
unlabeled) controls with ease, and we were soon trundling down the road.

Every, single person we passed stopped, stared, smiled, and waved. Rudy
always waved back, and soon, so did we. As the conversation continued, the
ride grew longer, until we were miles from the airport, enjoying the warm
day and the Packard's unique "flow-through ventilation" (the windshield
could be opened up "in flight"!) all the while marveling that a piece of
equipment could run so perfectly after nearly eight decades. With sterling
silver door handles and enough headroom to easily wear a top hat, it soon
became clear that we had made little progress in automotive engineering
since 1928.

Too soon Rudy returned us to the airport, where he produced a Packard Club
magazine, proudly showing him doing a hand stand, on a chair, balanced on
two inverted water glasses! The photo was over 55 years old, and a truly
amazing feat -- but he was far more proud of the next picture, taken just
last year, showing him doing a similar hand stand at age 77!

Before long it was time for us to head back to Iowa City. Rapier sharp,
Rudy remembered all of our names, bid each of us adieu individually, and
left us gazing in awe as this amazing old man drove off in his remarkable
time machine.

All the way back to Iowa City I couldn't help but ponder the strange
attraction that airport cafes have for the best of people, even for those
who no longer fly. In my experience, no other place is so imbued with such
a powerful appeal for the doers and dreamers amongst us. And on this day,
at this time, we were made all the richer because of one selfless old man,
one beautiful old car, and our ability to let down our guard in the natural
ambience and warmth of the airport cafe.
--
Jay Honeck
Iowa City, IA
Pathfinder N56993
www.AlexisParkInn.com
"Your Aviation Destination"