The Inside Loop
All I’ve ever wanted to do is build model airplanes. As a kid I seemed pretty good with my hands, so I built a lot of plastic model kits. They hung from my ceiling in ridiculous groupings of ragtag squadrons and were never the same scale. Ever see a Cessna 172 lead a diamond formation with an F-16, Dauntless, Nieuport 11, and Starship Enterprise? It was my world and I could do whatever I wanted.
I didn’t particularly fancy one model over another. Jets, bipes, a peculiar orange-and-white Zero—they all had a place in my imagination because flying through the air was the coolest thing in the world. Rarely did I put finished pilots in the cockpit, as I would imagine myself sitting in there. Re-enacting that evening’s episode of “Baa Baa Black Sheep,” thinking I had the same grit and gristle of those heroes, was inspirational.
Hanging out in my father’s workshop, I would pore over his aviation books repeatedly. When I took my hard-earned grass-mowing money down to the hobby shop, I’d often find the models from those books and copy them as if I were building a full-scale aircraft of my very own.
My father once asked, “Why don’t you build something that flies?” Having only his early modeling experience to reflect on (mostly scratch-built, boxy sport models and gliders), my response to him was, “I want models that look real.” And under my breath I think there was a comment about how plastic models don’t crash. (Besides plastic models, I also had a talent for being a smart-you-know-what.)
I never built a model that actually flew until I was about 18, when the time had come to better appreciate the fantasy of flight. I rebuilt that boxy Jack’s Custom Models Primer trainer from splinters three times. I learned to appreciate being the pilot and the mechanic. Making something from nothing also became as much a part of the hobby as imagining myself behind the MonoKote-replicated windshield of that trainer.
Dad and I shared many things while building and flying model airplanes together. As a matter of fact, if it weren’t for model airplanes I doubt that we’d have as strong a bond as we do today. Each of us inspires the other to try new things, and the variety of aircraft we’ve built reminds me of those ragtag fleets that once clouded my room.
When it came time for college, the grownup in me said it was time to put modeling away for a while and hit the books. Well, in art school we used layout paper and canvas. Ironically I’d long for care packages from home; they included back issues of model magazines.
One day while running off to class, an object caught my peripheral vision. Through the dorm-room door left ajar was an unmistakable, not to mention very ugly, object. The smell of castor oil captured me as I pushed the door open and saw, poised on a Robart foam caddy, a Balsa USA Stick 40. It resembled the color orange, and layers of tanned epoxy filleted its multi-fractured fuselage.
Dave Banderola was rightfully proud of that Stick 40 and we became friends quickly, which is often not the case when a freshman meets an upperclassman. Apparently he was taken with my model-airplane speak, and we shared that adhesive-enhanced Stick 40 for the remainder of that semester.
It seemed that I couldn’t, nor did I want to, get away from modeling. Somehow, some way, I always found a way to fit modeling into whatever direction life went. I would get written up at work for using the STAT machine to make wing-rib templates. Later on my boss understood that my study of Adobe Illustrator’s capabilities for lofting fuselage formers would increase my talents as a graphic designer.
My interest in modeling continued on my own time as well, and I challenged myself now and again either with a restoration project donated by a sympathetic club member or having a go at scratch building. I rarely built the same model twice, and my interests matured to include not just more advanced aircraft and helicopters, but also different construction techniques and materials.
For no other particular reason than sheer luck, the opportunity came where my profession and the world of modeling and the world of aeromodeling combined into a career as an employee with an international modeling magazine. Being hired to work as a janitor for Carstens Publications and Flying Models magazine would have been a dream come true. Lucky for me they were looking for an associate editor instead.
This was my opportunity to give something back to a hobby that supported and enhanced my work, family, and friendships. This was my chance to start making a difference, not to mention adding a line in fat, black letters to my résumé that read “plays with model airplanes.”
For nine years I applied my graphic abilities to the magazine and was mentored by my editor, Frank Fanelli, who helped polish my communication and writing skills. When the opportunity came to work for the Academy of Model Aeronautics as the associate editor for Model Aviation, saying so long to my Carstens family was like swallowing a horse pill that was still stuck in my throat.
At the time you are reading this, Muncie, Indiana, will have been my home for two-and-a-half years. Now that I’ve been promoted to editor, once again I’ve been allowed to continue the growth of my professional world with a subject that is very much a part of who I am. Having been an AMA member for over 20 years, it is my privilege to work for such a fine organization.
I hope that what you've allowed me to share with you has given you some sort of insight into the devotion I have to this magazine and the AMA. I look forward to broadening my activity in aeromodeling and contributing back to the members in a healthy and productive manner. If that means I have to continue building model airplanes, well so be it. Welcome to my world!
Have fun! MA
Transcribed from original scans by AI. Minor OCR errors may remain.
