A. J. Smith, 1924 - 2004

I noted the departure of A.J. Smith with sadness. He was, as has been
said, a giant in the history of competitive soaring. Our sport is
richer today because of his sojourn in it for so many years and is a
little poorer now that he is gone.

For all of his many achievements, however, A.J. was, at times, a
somewhat controversial figure. I fear he may be remembered by many as
a sort of one-dimensional caricature, a forceful competitor whose
intensity and extreme will to win totally dominated his personality.
Some will say this is true and, furthermore, that there is no higher
tribute to someone for whom success was so important and who rose to
the apex of the gliding world!

Certainly accounts of A.J.'s mercurial behavior in pursuit of victory
became the stuff of legend long ago. Although I never personally
observed the man who was the subject of the joke, "The shortest list
in gliding is the people who have crewed for A.J. Smith twice," I have
heard too many such stories from people whom I respect and trust to
deny their substance.

Since I never witnessed these episodes myself, I must conclude that
A.J. was, like most of us, a complex, multi-faceted individual.

The A.J. Smith I remember was the composed gentleman who showed up
every Memorial Day weekend in late May during the 1960s at our Wright
Memorial Glider Meet (precursor of Caesar Creek Soaring's South Region
6 contest) to tilt with Dick Schreder and other icons of U.S. soaring,
with A.J. often as not coming away the victor. I had just soloed, at
the then-impressionable age of 14, and the sight of his immaculate
V-tailed Sisu hammering across the finish line inches above the
concrete, then sweeping up steeply to pivot on a wingtip over the
hangars at Richmond, Indiana is still etched indelibly in my memory.
His quiet winner's speeches each morning provided some of us a small
window into a world we could barely comprehend.

I remember the man who flew down at his own expense from Michigan to
Cincinnati to give a speech one winter evening to raise money for the
U.S. Team headed to Poland later in 1968. He stayed at our house and,
despite having a fever and clearly not feeling well, was admirably
gracious and unruffled before, during, and after the well-attended but
lengthy dinner meeting. I was 16 by that time and when news made it
back in those pre-Internet days that he had won the World
Championships with a remarkable performance on the last day, we felt
like we were a small part of his victory.

I will always remember the man who, after we had shared a few thermals
along the course during one of the Central Ohio Soaring Association's
fall contests in the early 1970s, remarked to my father, "The first
team looked good today" with a wink and a glance in my direction. The
thrill I experienced that day sustained my enthusiasm through soaring
downturns for years afterward.

I also recall the man who, in the late 1970s, responded to my remark
about the increasingly competitive U.S. national competitions I was
encountering with, "Wait until you get to the worlds; it's a different
level entirely." His implicit assessment of my potential inspired me
to set goals for myself that have motivated me in part ever since,
even though they proved to be beyond my reach.

And I will never forget the man who, in 1980 when I was 29, a few
weeks after my father died in a crash during the 15 Meter Nationals,
patiently spent over an hour talking with me on the grid at the
Standard Class Nationals in Elmira while he went through his studied
pre-flight ritual, taping the Glasflugel Hornet, sealing up dive brake
crevices with modeling clay, and so forth. He did not have the answers
I was seeking that day about the reasons for my father's crash or the
difficulty of dealing with catastrophic personal loss. But he shared
his theories on how dehydration might have been a factor (and why the
autopsy would have missed it) and on a tragic loss in his own life
involving a woman I had once met when she crewed for A.J. at one of
our contests. On that day, with the launch clock ticking down, I saw
no sign of the man who, by his own admission, notoriously sought ways
of bringing himself to anger before takeoff so he could fly in a more
aggressive state.

I readily admit that I did not know A.J. Smith well. I also concede
that my relationship with him was less friendship than hero worship,
with the "rose-colored glasses" selective perception associated with
this. A.J. (along with George Moffat, whom I've been fortunate to know
somewhat better) was one of my heroes during a nascent soaring career.
Unlike today's kids who idolize baseball or football stars, however, I
was privileged not only to see my heroes perform live, but to meet
them and actually to compete against them.

Today's kids must wrestle with the notion that their sports heroes may
take performance-enhancing drugs, behave obnoxiously on and off the
playing field, and even be accused of crimes. Similarly, I've wondered
what would be my remembrance of A.J. if I had seen him behave ignobly
or, worse, been the focus of one of his outbursts. Maybe he sensed
that I looked up to him and favored me with patience. Or maybe, like
the rest of us, he was a mixture of personality traits. Everyone has
good days and bad days; maybe I just happened to catch him on his good
days. I can accept that.

Whatever the explanation for this contradictory portrait, I am sorry
he is no longer among us. I am also sorry that so many pilots
apparently never met the man I was so fortunate to have encountered.
If they had, there might have been a flurry of accolades on this forum
instead of the solitary "In Memoriam" posted here.

I hope I speak for others who share at least some of the same thoughts
when I say that A.J. Smith was not just a brilliant and successful
soaring pilot and world champion. He was our world champion.

Chip Bearden