Medidas preventivas para el Asalto

BY LAURAN PAINE JR.

36 Sport Aviation April 2015

www.eaa.org 37 said, “Yeah. How much do you need?” Art

replied, “$15,000.” And the guy had it on him and handed it over. (I’m told Portland was pretty “wide open” in those days, gambling, booze, etc. Evidently so!)

Punky Scott, Art’s daughter, says, “You have to understand, Art was a pretty crazy guy. He was just one of those people who would do anything. Mom just rolled with it.”

Ah, a character! I like characters; they are the spice in life. But more than being just a character, Art was an outgoing, personable sort of guy. He was very easy to talk to.

So, with $5 riding on his bet, Art got acquainted with a guy who was the head of Altus Air Base in Oklahoma, where surplus B-17s were being stored after the war. He traveled to Altus and bought a B-17 for

$13,500. After the sale the guy said to Art,

“Go back into town, and when you and your copilot come out in the morning, I’ll have it ready for you.”

Art was down to just two problems now:

He didn’t have a copilot, and he’d never fl own a B-17. But Art was Art so he bor-rowed a mannequin from a seamstress, dressed it, and propped it up in the airplane as his co-pilot. He then went to the of ce and got an airplane manual for the B-17. He went back to the airplane, crawled in and, with some help from the mechanic ground crew, got the airplane started. He taxied it around the airport for a bit, and he took of . He might have gotten away with his decep-tion except that when he came back to land, the landing gear would not extend. He fl ew around for a while but eventually had to make a belly landing. And, in so doing, hit another parked B-17.

Art wasn’t hurt in the mishap, but he did have to walk back to headquarters and admit that he’d never actually flown a B-17 before. His friend at headquarters took pity on him. He turned to the office

secretary and asked, “Have you written up the bill of sale on that B-17 yet?” She answered, “No, not yet.” He then told her,

“Worst case of wind damage I’ve ever seen.” And then he sold Art a second B-17 for $1,500. Remember, this was early post-war America, pretty giddy times. All of this rather worked out for Art. The B-17 he’d crashed had seen some serious time dur-ing the war. The one he ended up gettdur-ing was a newer B-17G, with but 50 hours on it, that had never seen combat.

This time around Art called his wife, Birdene, and asked her to call his old fl ight instructor and also a former B-17 crew chief he knew and ask if they might come to Oklahoma. They said they would. Art added,

“And send a case of whiskey with them.”

With the whiskey, Art made a “deal” with the local fi re department in dry (prohibi-tion) Oklahoma for them to siphon fuel out of the two wrecked B-17s. And that’s what

LAURAN PAINE JR.

38 Sport Aviation April 2015

the fi re department did. Then they put that fuel into Art’s

“new” B-17. The next morning, Art and his assembled crew took of for Oregon.

Their fi rst landing was in Palm Springs, California, to get gas. Art didn’t have money for gas, so he wrote a bad check and away they went again (Art covered the check when he got home). En route they hit a snowstorm and got lost. Art fl ew lower and lower trying to see landmarks. They fi nally fl ew over a town, and on a rooftop was written “Fall River Mills.” They found Fall River Mills on their chart; they were 100 miles of course. They were able to fi nd a railroad track and followed it to Klamath Falls, Oregon, where they landed. When they took of again they found another snowstorm near Bend, Oregon, managed to cross the Cascade Range, circled a relative’s place near Monmouth, Oregon, and fi nally fl ew to Troutdale, Oregon, where they landed. Home! Mission complete! Well…almost.

Is there a bit of urban legend in this story? Perhaps. But, ya know, it’s just crazy enough to be believable. I say again, it was 1947 and things were a lot dif erent in those days.

But we’re not done with Art yet. He still has to get the bomber to the gas station to win the bet. Art and some helpers dismantled the B-17 and put the parts on trucks for the trip. He applied for the permits required to make the move, but city of -cials said, “Nope. Too high; too big; too wide.” Was that the end of that? You know the answer to that; we’re talkin’ about Art Lacey here.

Art hired a motorcycle escort, like they use for funerals, and had a cou-ple teenagers drive along beside the convoy, telling them, “If the cops show up, you guys burn rubber in another direction, and the cops will follow you.” They all set out in the middle of the night heading for the gas station—with a B-17 I guess they fi gured no one would notice. Art also told the truck drivers, “You guys just keep going. I’ll pay any tickets. Just don’t let ’em stop you.”

Turns out the cops didn’t stop them, but a drinking driver nearly did. Seems the drinking fella left the bar and was coming down McLoughlin Boulevard (then a two-lane road) in the opposite direction when he saw a B-17

approaching. He hurriedly swerved into a ditch. He later said, “I thought I’d driven onto an airport!”

The convoy menagerie made it to the gas station, but the whole thing wasn’t exactly a secret easy to keep.

Local of cials wanted to fi ne Art for

www.eaa.org 39 not having the proper permits. The Oregon Journal newspaper

wrote an article lamenting that “local government tries to keep bomber from fi nal resting place.” Patriotism was still running high in 1947; the people favored the B-17. The city eventually fi ned him $10. The bomber has been at that location ever since.

Art christened it Lacey Lady in honor of his wife.

Art passed away in 2000. But here’s the deal: From what I know now, if I had met Art Lacey coming down the street, I’d just empty my pockets of any money I might have and give it to him, and then I’d ask, “Okay, what are we doing today?

Whatever it is, I’m in.” Art, as you might imagine, was a fi xture at the restaurant, helping many people over the years and was known to bring his three-string guitar and sing an of -key

“Happy Birthday” to the kids.

But everything has a time, and after 60-odd years it’s Lacey Lady’s time. For what? Removal, storage, restoration, and fl ight.

The legacy of Art and the B-17 still shines bright in the Lacey family. Jayson Scott, Art’s grandson, and his wife, Terry, have formed the B-17 Alliance as a 501(3)(c) nonprofi t (www.B17AllianceGroup.org). You can join; you can donate;

you can help—hands on. Jayson and Terry are busy people, running the Bomber Restaurant and a catering business. They also curate the next door museum dedicated to preserving war-time memorabilia. Jayson says, “We’re working hard on planning. This is new ground for us, but we’re dedicated to doing it.” There’s that word all EAAers understand: dedicated.

PHOTOGRAPHY BY BRYAN HEIM

LAURAN PAINE JR.

40 Sport Aviation April 2015

Jayson goes on, “I’ve learned there is a lot more behind the plane than just the actual physical structure. It’s really more about the people and their experiences and trying to do some-thing to help preserve those memories and their life

experiences.” Art Lacey would be proud to hear that.

Here’s the other part of the story that I like a lot. After search-ing around for a suitable airport for relocation (you know, one that recognizes passion and puts it a bit above the almighty dol-lar), they settled on McNary Field, Salem, Oregon. My airport! I can see their hangar from my hangar. That close! It’s like the big-gest deal around here since Mount St. Helens blew, and that was in 1980. Salem is the capital of Oregon so it’s a bit of a govern-ment town, kinda sleepy except for the mostly predictable political spats. So, hey, I’m going to join the B-17 Alliance and hang around and help out. My buddy, Tom, down Dallas, Texas, way, lives where there are lots of old airplane opportunities, mostly with the Commemorative Air Force, and he regularly takes advantage of it. I envy him that. But I’m not quite willing to travel that far after years of traveling for a living. I’m a homebody.

So a B-17 in my backyard is like a “bird nest on the ground” (one of my mother-in-law’s favorite sayings). I’m excited about it. And so are all the EAA chapters in the area. To paraphrase Field of Dreams: “If you bring it, they will come.”

I was talking to a local resident about the B-17 coming to Salem, and he said, “Yeah, I went and watched them bring some of the stuf in. Just looks like a bunch of stuf to me.”

That statement rather illuminates the dif erence between

“other people” and “homebuilders/restorers.” “Other people”

see stuf , and “homebuilders/restorers” see opportunity, chal-lenge, and passion. How much work is there to be done? Lots.

A monumental amount. Maybe 10 years’ worth. But hey, we all know the formula: perseverance, time, and money. Some things are a part of who we are as a nation and a people. Lacey Lady is one of those things.

And, no, I could fi nd no record of the guy paying of the $5 bet to Art. I’d like to think he did. I mean, good grief, Art cov-ered the bet in monumental fashion. But, no matter. I think Art would consider Lacey Lady being returned to its original glory as payment in full.

Lauran Paine Jr., EAA 582274, is a retired military pilot and retired airline pilot.

He built and fl ies an RV-8 and has owned a Stearman and a Champ. Learn more about Lauran at his website, www.ThunderBumper.com.

or call: 920.231.8297

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