Scale models..

30-May-2006 | Ron Pickrell

[pickrell]

The box contained magic. Oh, it didn't say that; rather, it said things like,"1/32nd Scale", "A Revell Kit", and had words like "Flying Fortress" emblazoned fearlessly across the top. Pictures of dreadful and desparate combat over Berlin warned the faint of heart that they were passing through friendly lines, across the no-man's land of imagination, and entering into ... the Free-flight Zone.

Believe me- the box contained magic. Lovingly peeling off the cellophane, my friends and I paused to savor the treasures within. We were seldom disappointed. Inside were hundreds of pre-formed plastic parts, which, under the tender ministrations of us 11 year old airframe and powerplant experts would soon come together into a frightful projection of unstoppable airpower, sure to stave off the Nazis, in time for a lunch of Spaghetti-O's.

This is because we were underpriveleged youth of the 1960's. Unlike today's upper-middle class boys, who open birthday gifts of preassembled plastic toys designed to prevent unnecessary, tragic, and gender-biased martial tendencies from developing, we delinquents were shamefully allowed to lust after war-birds.

Born of unnurturing parents, those of us lucky enough snared kits consisting of hundreds of parts, some quite small enough to swallow, or poke into our eyes... were we bone-stupid enough to do so. For the truly indigent, even a mere 19 cents would purchase a 1/64th scale plane of nearly 80 parts! The world was our unprotected oyster!

A tube of airplane glue- the tendons and connective tissue of the polystyrene world- would solemnly be produced by one of the gang as his contribution to the war effort. And the symphony would begin. Sages among us would educate the neophytes about keeping the glue from getting smeared onto the outside. As parts were skillfully detached from the plastic frame, we declaimed upon the secrets of assembly. The diagram provided by the manufacturer- (obviously for wussies far less skilled than us)- was disdainfully cast aside, as theories were propounded about what each part did... or could be made to do.

It never occurred to us that the tube of glue formed a ticking time bomb waiting to lure us into the lurid world of reefer-madness.

We would have snorted at the need for drugs- we were in the land of imagination. Parts fit into other parts, certain of them necessarily cemented forever into a fixed position, while the Committee for the Freely Turning Propellor presented it's final recommendations. Several of the props were too-liberally glued to the little spindle jobbies, as they passed through the cowling bearings; the extraneous glue serving as a mute and eternal testimony of left-wing rotational failure. Our self esteem was hammer by flak, but didn't shatter as we simply redoubled our care on the right wing.

The masterpiece emerged as the ideal bomber, suitable for flying in counterclockwise circles to throw off the cursed Nip fighters. (We were mechanics, not geographers...)

Over the summer, the idea that things were made up of smaller things, and that each part had it's necessary and vital function to perform for the overall good of the whole, seeped into our understanding of The Way Things Worked. It became obvious that Things Worked... only when sufficient care and sufficient talent went into their assembly. Thought had previously occurred by those mysterious craftsmen who designed these marvelous models in the first place. Obviously demi-gods of engineering.

The consensus agreed that, with a serious enough study of parts- a serious enough guy could probably learn how anything worked! Heady stuff.

As we talked, we propped up each other's morale, knowing that the fight against communism, floridation of our water, and other formidable challenges lay ahead. We spoke of fathers and uncles, real (and in a few cases imagined), who were "seldom owed so much, by so many... and collected it so few times". We may have got a lot of it wrong, but the idea that men actually flew in these things, you know, like, for real, daring death and dismemberment to stand against monsters... caused each of us to think. And then to think some more.

What would we have to do, when we grew up, ... to earn our place in their eyes? It was a time when you believed that all of those women, and many men also, back here at home worked feverishly to rivet and solder, to paint and test, the best weapons we could give those tall men. The occasional dirty Nazi spy was soon outed, and the G-Men took him out.

It was back when heroes were supported. It was back before disillusionment crushed us. A time of honor, when fathers were revered, and tragically, sometimes lost.

Today, a child is protected from the agonized inability to assemble his toys from parts. Esteem is as carefully monitored as the verboten choking hazard. Liberal eyes would roll in their heads at the very thought of a loaded tube of glue without a child-proof safety catch. Plastic army men were permanently and utterly routed from the field by the non-judgemental, indeterminantly-sexual, plastic play characters of today. They are certified free of environmental contaminants like testosterone, thank heavens.

So as not to provoke excruciating puzzlement, the imagination-stimulating 'Mr. Teacher Play Toy, (suitable for all ages)", is packaged in cellophane to facilitate close inspection by parent-advocacy groups. This guards against painful, psyche-debilitating surprise on the part of Timmy.

So why does Timmy seem to need regular doses of Ritalin?

Tell you what. Let's try putting the magic back in Timmy's life. Let's lead him to the precipice of assembly-required failure, and the tragic lessons learned therefrom at his tender age. As proof of our inspired viciousness, let's introduce him to the world of cause and effect, of the understanding that bigs things are influenced by little things and that he CAN understand why things work.

In a final act of barbarity, let's allow him to imagine himself the kind of boy that risks it all, to protect the folks back home. He can use the now painfully hazardous, old-fashioned safety pin to fasten on the towel-of-great-powers, and fly to the rescue of, (brace yourself- here it comes-), helpless damsels of the female girlness, sort of thing.

Let's throw caution to the winds, put the magic back into his life... and just risk it.

Where the hell do you think Marines come from, anyway?

[BruceysMom]

You make me long for the old days. Thank You!!!!

[Caipirabob]

Excellent. You've inspired me (and reminded me) that I've collected several Estes Rocekt Models in the closet for the summer. Balsa wood, tubes and paint. My kids are just the age when I started, too! I'll dig them out today.

[USMCVet]

Loved this letter!

I started building models when I was 7 and haven't stopped. I have Way Too Many models built and unbuilt downstairs in the basement and I have a wife who believes that a man that builds a good scale model is sexy.

Life is good.

And you're absolutely right: model building set me right up for a career in the Marines!

[Skooz]

bump for after the coffee kicks in

[USMCVet]

You need to build the Calypso. The one thing that I've learned about model building is that you get better with more miles on the airframe...

Build the darn thing and then post pictures so we can see how it came out.

By the way, I had the same experience with a gas-powered Fokker D VII: first test flight - after a 6-month building session - with the engine at a rich setting and the propeller barely rotating, I carefully glided it over tall grass to check trims. The vibration rotated the needle valve to "full lean" and it went screaming upward, soaring up and over on its back into a huge loop.

Too huge. Needed about 3 more feet to make it back to horizontal and it was one glorious and completely destroyed Hun ship.

I'm still at it and have learned the glories of today's computerized radio control.

[rlmorel]

Thank you. I love your article.

I was an inveterate model builder. I agonized over the clear plastic canopies, which I NEVER had the coordination to glue on without smearing in some way.

I could NEVER wait for the paint to dry. I always got fingerprints on it.

I NEVER was able to get propellors to spin freely.

I used to groan and scream in frustration as I tried with all my might, but my enemy, the tube of glue, always won in the end.

And I loved every minute of it.

I agree that this is part of the feminization of boys that this kind of activity is discouraged in many ways, much to the detriment of their imaginations.

When I got out of the Navy (Jet Mechanic) I decided to build my Piece de Resistance, a 1/32 scale F-14 Tomcat.

I have never finished it. But someday I will. Here is a picture of what I have so far:

[Robert A Cook PE]

Ironically, many of the "models" still at the bigger hobby shops are ...(dramatic pause) ... pre-assembled!

They've even taken the challenge of putting them together away!

[Robert A Cook PE]

I wonder how many of our future (military) tank drivers and truck mechanics, and submariners and diesel operators will NOT get a chance to learn "how things work" and get interested in engineering by NOT being exposed to models as they were (are) growing up........

[Erasmus]

Like my dad, who painstakingly assembled a Heathkit color tv in the basement after our small b/w blew up.

Now, there's a wayback machine. I built our first color TV in '66-a Heathkit GR-53A. Verry educational.

[jebeier]

Hoo Doggie. That ones a beaut! Does the little airplane come with it?

[Freedom4US]

Unfortunately, that's probably part of "the plan..."

[tanknetter]

Oh, it didn't say that; rather, it said things like,"1/32nd Scale", "A Revell Kit", and had words like "Flying Fortress" emblazoned fearlessly across the top.

A 1/32 injection-moulded B-17? If only ... such a creature usually goes by one of two names: "Holy Grail" and "April's Fools Joke".

For any of you who may live in the DC area, the National Air & Space Museum is holding its annual "Be a Pilot Day" at the Dulles Annex on June 17th. Some local (DC/NoVA) modellers will have their work on display ...

[P8riot]

The first model I "built" was a balsa wood carved rendition of Sir Francis Drake's "Golden Hind" for a second grade school project, yes I actually used knives and oil based paints to finish it off.

After that I was hooked. My folks always knew what to get me, and it didn't matter if it was a car, airplane, ship, or spacecraft. I was equally pleased with any of them. By the time I was 12 years old I had built over 100 models including matching scale models of all three primary space boosters, the Atlas, Titan II, and the Saturn V rocket the last was in 1968 just prior to the Apollo 8 moon orbital mission.

When I started Junior High School I got into electronics. I built a three channel color organ from scratch (you remember those funky devices that caused different color lights to flash in concert with different frequencies of sound. It wasn't long after that I discovered Heathkit, and built everything from test equipment (I still have my M-1 Handitester, and OP-1 Professional Oscilloscope) to Ham Radios and TVs.

The summer before I entered High School I injured my left knee really bad and was layed up most of the season. Our neighbor across the street was throwing out a really nice console Color TV/Stereo/Phonograph units in the furniture grade cabinet, that he just couldn't get to work. He knew that I was into electronics and asked me if I wanted to tinker with it.

So being the guy I was (and still am) I took it and went to the corner electronics store and bought a schematic for it. I used my Heathkit test equipment and fixed it. It was the only color TV my family owned until I graduated from college, and it worked flawlessly, until my younger brother threw a baseball through the picture tube.

High School was also my "Hot Rod" phase. My two best friends (my girlfriend and her brother) and I built a street legal 392 Chrysler Hemi powered 1967 Old's Cutlass that turned honest low 11 second quarter mile times at Orange County international raceway.

After college I joined the Navy and continued to "fix" things. After I left the Navy I built a 31 foot fiberglass hulled sailboat, and sailed it from Hampton Roads Virginia around the Caribbean until I sold it due to money problems.

Today I still tinker. I have a few older vehicles that keep me busy. I build my own farm implements, and repair/upgrade computers for friends.

It is still fun. If I had turned my penchant into a business I'd probably be rich right now, but probably wouldn't be as satisfied. I just enjoy tinkering.

[SSR1]

is that PBR "Street gang"? like the one from Apocalypse Now?

[Jack Hammer]

You're very welcome, ma'am. Yes, the past is a foreign country and they do things differently there; alas, no trains available - except the "Memory Express."

[R. Scott]

Very Good!

[ko_kyi]

When I was 8 I started building WWII models, then I would heat a needle and poke holes in the tail and both wings. I would use fishing line to place the plane in a flying pose and hang it from the ceiling in my room.

IIRC (almost 30 years later) I had a Spitfire trying to evade a Me-109, a Stuka in a dive, a C47, a silver P-51 with yellow cowl, a P-47 in a turn, a zero being attacked by a Wildcat, an F-4 with landing gear out as if on approach, and some Russian attack aircraft, but I forget which one.

[ko_kyi]

Oh, I forgot one of my favorites, a B-26

[Hatteras]

Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea with Richard Basehart. Thanks for the quick little trip in the Wayback Machine...

[ArrogantBustard]

Brilliant ... I was quite an anvid model-builder back when ... got started with a Boeing 747 ... built more ships than planes ... still do one occasionally. Currently building an RB-57 ... as time permits. At work, I'm an engineer.