Below is an email from the Luscombe List. I think the contents pertain to
this issue, and in light of the current media hype, I think it's rather
profound.

Deb
--
1946 Luscombe 8A (His)
1948 Luscombe 8E (Hers)
1954 Cessna 195B, restoring (Ours)
Jasper, Ga. (JZP)

Good morning, list...
I went flying late yesterday after work.
Drove an hour on the Interstate to get to the airport.
Along with three thousand of my best friends...with attitudes.
Did not ask anyone.
Did not tell anyone.
Just unlocked the hangar, did a good preflight, pushed it out on the ramp,
tied the little beast down, swung the prop., and climbed in.
I could have gone anywhere the fuel on board would have let me...about 250
miles, according to the stick I dipped into the gas tanks.
Really high-tech. stuff.
I chose to stay in the pattern and work on my crash and goes.
Talked on the radio to the other planes with radios.
Or the ones that chose to turn their radios on.
An experimental aircraft announced his arrival (Thorp T-18, I believe from
the bent-wings) and flew in to join in the jolly circuits around the runway.
A Cutlass, a Cherokee, the requisite 152, the experimental, and myself all
stayed together, and all got along quite nicely going around and around.
A Skylane joined us for an instrument approach, and we all worked around
him.
A Piper Cub (L-4?) was doing touch and goes on the grass parallel to the
runway...no radio, camouflaged paint, never got above 100', never further
than 500' from the runway, he made four landing to every one of ours.
He doin' his thing.
They doin' theirs.
Me doin' mine.
All enjoying the privilege and freedom of flight.
In the United States of America.
(Actually, God's country here in Texas)
All of us without the luxury of lights quit flying when it got dark.
Duh.
No problem.
No government "controlled airport".
Just common sense, cooperation, good judgment, and respect for each other.
And, get this...I actually carried my pocket knife in my jeans.
Visited with my airport hangar neighbors...you all know the
drill...altogether an enjoyable evening.
Pushed the semi-shiny little thing back in the hangar.
Locked the door (what a concept).
Looked at my watch, and drove home during Dan Rather Time.
I wonder how much longer until this kind of a day becomes just a memory?
bye,
Howard
48-A, square, bare, no pants.