AOPA Pilot Magazine - May 2020 - 20

PROFICIENT PILOT

Ode to an airport grill

BY BARRY SCHIFF

Memories from a favorite watering hole
WHEN I FIRST PEDALED my bike onto Clover Field-now
Santa Monica Municipal Airport-as a 13-year-old in
1951, I rapidly became enchanted by the purr of whirling
propellers, the smell of avgas, and the orange windsock
dancing in the Pacific Ocean breeze. It was a place where
I watched little airplanes levitating magically into the
sky and disappearing over the horizon. Where were they
going? Before pedaling off the airport, I'd invariably stop
at the Lindaire, the airport café, for a Coke and to watch
pilots come and go. It was here that I began to develop
the passionate desire to become one of them.
As years passed, the Lindaire became the Kitty
Hawk and finally the Spitfire Grill. I obviously learned
to fly, and the airport eatery is where I often hung out.
It is where I studied Stick and Rudder, plotted courses
on aeronautical charts, and did much of my homework.

The Spitfire Grill was the perfect place to wait
for weather to improve, never knowing which of
your friends might show up-or what friends you
might make.

BARRY SCHIFF

has been writing
for AOPA Pilot
for 57 years. This
month marks the
anniversary.

20 | AOPA PILOT May 2020

It was where I often received ground school from my
instructors and where later I became the teacher. It is
where I discovered that the CFI's most useful teaching
tool was the paper napkin. (I wish I'd saved the ones
upon which I had drawn diagrams for my students;
they'd make a fun book.)
When 15, I was a student pilot and worked after
school as a line boy. My boss, Paul Bell, once asked
me to hang somewhere-anywhere-a pair of posters
given to him by the airport manager. Each contained
a list of airport regulations that he mistakenly thought
would be of interest to pilots. I hung them where they
couldn't be missed, at eye level when seated in the
men's and women's restrooms.
The owner of the airport restaurant heard about
this and asked if I would do the same in his restrooms.
It was my first job as an "instructor," and-if I say so
myself-it was highly effective. It wasn't long before
everyone seemed to know the airport regs, whether
they wanted to or not.
Our airport restaurant was used as much for socializing as for eating. It reminded me of the aero clubs
that I had visited at so many of Europe's general aviation airports. The tabletops consisted of glass-covered

aeronautical charts. This inspired us to quiz each other
about chart symbols. The walls were adorned with
aviation memorabilia, pictures of airplanes, and black-andwhite photos of the airport taken decades ago. (SMO was
where four Douglas World Cruisers departed in 1924 for
their flight around the world. It was the home of Douglas
Aircraft for 50 years and where most DC-3s were made.)
The Spitfire Grill was the perfect place to wait for
weather to improve, never knowing which of your
friends might show up-or what friends you might
make. This is where I met Hal Fishman, a local television news anchor who would become my flying buddy
and closest friend for the next 43 years.
It was October 1964. I was having lunch at what was
then the Kitty Hawk, killing time before having to report
at LAX for a late-afternoon 707 flight to New York. Hal
sat a few tables away, an aeronautical chart and other
aviation paraphernalia spread before him. He seemed
to be having trouble using his E6B "confuser." I was in
my airline uniform, so he apparently thought that I'd be
able to help. He got up, walked over to my table, introduced himself, and asked, "Can you help me with this?"
So began a friendship chock full of wonderful flying adventures. Central to so many of them was the
airport restaurant where we'd meet before flying or to
sip something afterward.
I am writing this dedication to an airport eatery
only days after the Spitfire Grill served the pilots of
SMO for the last time. As part of its war of attrition
against the airport and its users, the city had made it
difficult for restaurateur John Clarizio to keep his doors
open. Pilots I had not seen for decades crowded the
"Spit" on March 1 to reminisce and celebrate our memories of what had been our favorite watering hole.
The Spitfire Grill is empty now, but the bare walls
surely must remember when SMAA, our local pilots'
association, frequently met to develop warlike strategies that might help to keep open our embattled airport.
But despite Herculean efforts and personal sacrifices,
we lost. Our airport is scheduled to close on December
31, 2028, and its runway has already been shortened.
Another place from which little airplanes take off and
land will be forever gone.
The Spitfire Grill leaves behind only the cherished
memories of those who called it their home away from
home.
AOPA
barryschiff.com

http://www.barryschiff.com

AOPA Pilot Magazine - May 2020

Table of Contents for the Digital Edition of AOPA Pilot Magazine - May 2020