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Pierre la poone is killed!!!!

Doc Austin

70cc twin V2
The sorry Saga of Pierre LaPoone'

This is a little long, so try to stay with me........

PROLOGUE...................

In R/C aircraft there are those so obsessed with safety that they ruin everyone else's fun, and we called them the "safety patrol." Mostly, they were self appointed. They wore their little armbands and ran up and down the pits trying to tell everyone how to do everything. It was so bad that I'm surprised one of them didn't follow me into the outhouse to make sure I did that safely too.

The counter group (us) was the reckless, irresponsible wild man maniac aerobatic pilots and racers. Of course, we were all just guys, but one group liked to hang it out, and the other didn't really care for that. It was difficult for the two factions to tolerate each other, but we tried.

This was the way it was in every club I ever visited or belonged to. And just like you might expect, there was considerable animosity between the two groups. See where this is going?

Sometimes, the tension would boil over, and then we would have........well, we would have what you're about to read about.

Of course, my group, in my home club, were always flying 150mph planes just for our everyday sport aircraft. We would buzz up and down the runways upside down two feet off the deck. We would carve our own propellers so the engines would turn 20,000 rpm and used the loudest tuned pipes we could find, just to go as fast, make as much noise, raise as much hell and have as much fun as we could. The only problem with this is it scared the crap out of everyone else.

We really never did anything overtly dangerous to anything but our own aircraft, but some people were scared to try a simple loop (or even fly), so what we were doing was inconceivable to them. And the "safety patrol" would just lose their minds when we brought out the 200mph+ racing planes. LOL.

Of the two groups, those obsessed with safety almost never even flew their aircraft. They would taxi them up and down the runways, and resolutely refuse to let anyone else even on the field when they were doing their "taxi tests." These "tests" had to be done under the absolutely safest possible conditions. No one else was allowed to fly. We just had to wait. Is this a flying club or what?

Oh, they would build wonderful, giant and elaborate aircraft built to marvelous extremes, but they were normally afraid to fly them.

The safety patrol were obsessed with their wind sock, a sort of flag that pilots would use to tell the wind direction. And if you even tried to fly when the wind sock was not put up up, they would throw a fit. It was silly because you have a flag on the end of your transmitter antennae anyway, but they were convinced they alone knew the way to truly safe Nirvana. If you tried a difficult downwind landing, they would go out of their minds and call for a tribunal.

The wind sock was on a pole just in front of a covered area in the pits where all transmitters were impounded when not in use.

Everyone would sit under there, because it is pretty miserable in in the Florida summer sun.

PIERRE LAPOONE', A MAN'S MAN

There may have never been a finer aerobatic pilot molded than Pierre LaPoone'. He served me well in many aerobatic competitions, and together we wore out several aircraft. Of course, he crashed a few too, but we were men's men and that's how it goes in a man's man's sport.

Well, maybe I was a man's man, but Pierre's French tri-color scarf created much animosity among the others who thought he might have been gay. Since he was merely a bust, and molded from only the shoulders up, I suspect he didn't care either way. It never effected his gritty devil-may-care, in-your-face flying style.

My other best flying buddy, Rich, had a plane absolutely identical to mine, except his pilot had no scarf . We would fly formation, chase each other around, race, and do all sort of stupid things just hoping we would have a nasty crash, or so it would appear. We really knew exactly what we were doing because we would practice for hours during the week, and on the weekends when the crowds would come out, it was always fun to do some wild things and entertain people.

PIERRE LAPOONE' KILLED!

And one day, it finally happened. I don't even know who did what because it all unfolded so quickly. We were forced to wait a full two hours before we could fly because one older gentleman had spent the entire time taxi-testing a beautiful new 1/4 scale Stearman bi-plane. It was gorgeous, but he was a ****, and the head of the safety patrol too. We were not his favorite guys, so he relished making us wait. You know, just fly the damm thing. Jam the throttle forward and see what happens. But, no, lets putt around and tie up the field for two hours.

We finally got to fly.

Rich and I somehow got into each other. I don't know how it happened, but my aircraft lost half of a wing, and with the other aileron jammed, it went into an uncontrolled roll and headed right for the pits, all the parked cars, and spectators. By furiously playing with the elevator and rudder (all I had left), I managed to just clear the pits, but not before I gnawed the wind sock into a billion pieces with my propeller and smacked the top of the transmitter impound, which knocked all the transmitters out of the impound and onto the concrete slab, demolishing several of them. That, and what was left of my plane hit a fence post, broke it off and burst into flames.

Pierre died instantly.

Rich's plane? Well, you saw it coming, didn't you? It drilled itself right through the top of the beautiful Stearman's top wing, all the way through the fuselage and right on through the the bottom wing. It literally cut the plane and both wings in half. And since we parked next to our pit spaces, the debris put a hole in the trunk of the guy's brand new Jaguar!

So, the safety patrol puts out the fire, and with the gentle afternoon breeze, we stood among the falling little pieces of wind sock, balsa and Monokote, and surveyed the damage. Pierre was melted beyond recognition, and while my plane's radio was not fully destroyed, the elevator was jiggling back and forth on it own just a little, sort of a death spasm or something.

I'm not sure if we were proud of ourselves or what.

I sifted through the debris and muttered something about "Well, maybe I can save the motor......." when the owner of the stearman came up and began jumping up and down on what was left of my plane and screaming (use your imagination) "NO! NO! This plane is SCREWED!!! SCREWED!!! SCREWED!!! I TELL YOU!!!! SCREWED!!! SCREWED!!!

He jumped up and down, up and down on my battered, broken and burnt plane, squashing the debris deeper and deeper into the ground until he collapsed from exhaustion and we were forced to drag him into the shade and pour water on him.

And he never stopped screaming "IT'S SCREWED! SCREWED!"

Pierre was replaced by hapless Frenchman Jacques LaBonne, who was so happlessly French that he lasted merely one aerobatic contest before he........oh, it was a horrible, flaming death. Another story for another day.......................

And, oh by the way, the safety patrol had their day. Of course there was a tribunal and plenty of long, drawn out testimony. The accident was analyzed on a big chalkboard and none of the participants, or our supporters, were allowed to speak in our defense. Of course, we were found guilty, given the death penalty and banished for life.

The end result was a club divided, with all racing and aerobatics banned. Undeterred, the wild man aerobatic racers formed a new club in Tampa, which eventually merged back with the old club because they lost their flying field.

But alas...............it was a mirage.

The new club absorbed the old one's treasury (over $20,000), threw the old men out of power and became the hotbed of the southeast for blood curling racing action.
 

3dNater

3DRCF Regional Ambassador
Pierre la poone RIP.

Great story... I'm pretty lucky because the politics at my field are pretty minimal.
 

Doc Austin

70cc twin V2
Pierre la poone RIP.

Great story... I'm pretty lucky because the politics at my field are pretty minimal.

I'm in three clubs now. One is great, one is ok, but the third is full of power hungry, rabid, insane little children with bad attitudes.
 

3dNater

3DRCF Regional Ambassador
Well if it starts sucking too bad here I'll just go back to the turf farm from whence I came :) I sure like landing on that big paved strip though. I'd hate to give that up. Especially on the small stuff.
 
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