The Champaign Gal is a beautiful beast of a legendary warbird.
A World War II bomber, beautiful? Oh, but she is. The B-25 Mitchell, a twin-engine medium bomber made by North American Aviation, first gained national interest after the notorious Doolittle raid and proved to be one of the most versatile aircrafts created during the war. Low level/high level bombing, photoreconnaissance, sub patrol, strafing — you name it, the pilots, crew and ground force made it happen.
The Champaign Aviation Museum in Urbana houses the B-25 Champaign Gal and is currently building the Champaign Lady, a B-17, a venerable workhorse of WWII aviation.
Two highly influential pieces of WWII history in one place should be enough to be proud of, but this little hanger houses more than that. This particular museum was built around the idea of community. People are encouraged to help work on the B-17 project — even though you might not have engineering or aviation experience. People are invited to touch the warbirds, in some cases to climb up into the nose and have a look around. But yet, there’s still more. If you pick the right day to visit, you might be lucky enough to meet a few of the WWII veterans and learn their stories. If that wasn’t enough, you can find friends here, too.
A few years ago at an airport in Dayton, I met Greg Schafer who recommended the Champaign Aviation Museum and told me I had to stop and talk to George Snook, whose flight leader was THE Jimmy Stewart (hubba hubba). While I don’t want to ruin any stories for you, I can relay that George has the highest regard for the movie-star-turned-combat-pilot. Be sure to check out the pictures/paintings George has supplied to the museum from his time with the B-24 Liberator.
Fast forward a few years to a veterans recognition celebration in the Champaign Aviation Museum. After the event, I gravitated to the B-17 and soon Ken Kline came over to point out interesting tidbits. He inquired, had I talked to “Red” Ketcham yet? Red flew in the Flying Fortress and was involved with the Project Casey Jones. Curious? I’ll let Red tell you the tale.
Ken and I talked military aviation, politics, guns, and he eventually asked where I was from. When I admitted, Cincinnati, he frowned a bit and replied, “That’s not a real safe town for a single woman.” Other people wandered over and we were interrupted. About 20 minutes later, Ken looped back around and told me that he was worried about my living alone in the big city, and that he had something for me. But I had to promise to learn how to use it first. He pulled out an expensive pepper spray gun.
The kindness of strangers.
We went back the following weekend for another event and ran into Ken again. Soon Red zipped over and said he had heard that I’d like to get into the ball turret of a B-17 (detached). Now who’s gonna turn down that offer? Despite wearing high-heeled sandals and tight pants, I tucked up in the ball turret. Red shut me in… then gleefully exclaimed that for $20 he’d let me out.
Every once in a while, we’d pop over to the Urbana museum and admire the progress on the B-17. The B-25 always waited patiently nearby. Even though I’m a B-17 girl, the Mitchell is my second favorite bomber, and I needed to be with her. I’ve flown in two other B-25s, but this was the Champaign Gal. She’s beautiful, thanks to her crew who maintains her meticulously. And she’s somewhat local to my hometown, so you always have to be loyal to your teams.
“Aw, this airplane’s finicky because of its age,” Randy Kemp, crew chief of the B-25 and project manager for the B-17, says with a dismissive wave and a smile. “But its flown seven years now squawk free.” He insists, though, that everyone involved here is part of the family. With the B-17 project, he’s had groundskeepers, dentists and doctors come in and taught them how to bend and form metal parts critical to the fort.
He feels his biggest accomplishment around the hangar “…is dragging some of these people kickin’ and screamin’ back to 1944.” Randy is the intriguing one to talk to; he’s a fount of technical information and historical data, with a wicked sense of humor. If you stop over, ask about his truck with the Japanese kill on the side.
We came back to the museum two weeks ago when there was a pancake breakfast. The Mitchell was outside basking in the sun and George, Red and Art Kemp were sitting in the shade of the hanger. There’s something special — so bland a word — about being able to listen to WWII veterans talk to people within sight of a pristine example of what helped the Allies triumph over the Axis powers in a bid for world dominance. Here we had three men who left home and flew off to an uncertain future, so that the rest of us might live independent lives. And sprinkled around these veterans are the men and women volunteers who help keep one bit of history flying and are building another example so that we might never forget the cost of those who sacrificed before us, for us.
Now for the Dayton Air Show 2017. I was ecstatic to learn I was going up with the Champaign Gal for the Friday night media flight. But then, rain. I was crushed. However, remember that thing called “the kindness of strangers”? Sunday, we were chatting with Champaign Gal crew member Tom Printz. He sensed the raging disappointment in my whining and asked, “Can you get a ride home from Urbana?” Pfft, yes. Worst case scenario, I knew I’d need to walk…northwest-ish…to get home? “Let me see what I can do, and come back in a few hours.”
He did. I did. Tom squared it so I could stow away from Dayton to Urbana in their B-25 Mitchell. A tip: carry ear plugs with you — adventure sometimes awaits. While I waited for the air show to end, I spent the time talking to Greg, Red and Tom. It was a delightful afternoon.
Once loaded, Carole Buchwalter made sure we were buckled in and pointed the way to the nose, gunner and tail positions. To get to the nose, you had to drop down from your seat, lie on your back and pull yourself to the front with the use of two rods on either side of your shoulders. What a beautiful view awaited. The Plexiglas afforded me a delight, but it’s important to remember the original use. Backtracking, I crawled back through the tube, clambered up to my seat, and with Carole urging me, I climbed over my seat and through the narrow tunnel that spat me out at the waist guns.
If they had a mind to, pilots Eric Schiffer and Sidney native Eric Kindig could’ve claimed harsh winds and beaten the crap out of me in those narrow metal confines. And who says I wouldn’t have deserved it? But they flew smooth as can be and I squirmed my way to the tail. Another lovely view of Ohio, though I obviously had no need to search the skies for marauding FW-190s or ME-109s. Far too quickly, we made it back to Urbana.
This plane, these people. They share their stories and their kindnesses. They help teach and provide a haven where you can dump your purse and camera on the ground and not worry about their being safe. These are the people who will take the time to help you size a T-shirt, remember you the following week and go out of their way to say hi and call you by name. These are the people who worry about your safety and give you pepper spray. These are the people who see your crushing disappointment and find a way to take you along. These are the people who make sure you experience everything you can and pull you over to talk to people who’ve been there and lived to tell about it. These are the people who’ll hug you hello and again goodbye.
I casually made a comment to a photographer pal about “my new friends” and he corrected me, “That’s family.”
Crew chief Randy mentioned that Jerry Schiffer wanted a project that would involve the community, especially local high school kids who could learn practical skills in life, and a place for friends to come together.
“Quite a labor of love,” Randy told us with a nod. “Everybody involved is part of the family.”
For more information, please visit www.ChampaignAviationMusum.org.
