I was very skeptical of this news until I went to the funeral home's website and viewed a photo of Gene. Indeed, Gene left us on July 27, 2008.
Gene was perhaps the most influential person in my life next to my father. I had many amazing childhood heroes, and, thankfully, many of them are still alive. But Gene was a hero that came after childhood for me; he was not only a friend, he was a brother. It would take me many thousands of words to explain just how much Gene meant to me and how much we did together, in and out of modeling.
I've decided to post here the first two chapters of my Caprice book which tells of the first time I ever saw Gene fly and also explains my first meeting with Gene. I sent Gene a copy of this text a few years back and he loved it. There are a few references to Gene's nerve affliction in the text and I asked him if he wanted them removed. He said, "No, leave them in there, they are part of the story." So the following is posted as my tribute to my all time modeling hero and the very best stick man I've ever known. If you never had a chance to see Gene fly in his prime then you have missed a real show...
Caprice
Chapter One
“The Corner”
In 1965 I was consumed with trying to become a competitive control line combat flier on the East Coast; or at least as consumed as a 17 year old could be while just a junior in high school. What I really wanted to do was become a competitive CL stunt flier, but that seemed like a far too lofty goal at my age and experience level. Still, each year while attending the annual May 30th contest, hosted by the Union Model Airplane Club, I would find time between my combat matches (or after I had been eliminated…) to stand outside the spectator barrier and watch the Stunt fliers compete.
The East was a virtual hotbed of Stunt activity in those days, and there were usually so many contestants entered in the Memorial Day meet at Union that only one flight per pilot was possible. On the eastern stunt contest circuit, a win at Union was held in high esteem, second only to a placing or win at the Nats.
The list of names of those who competed in that annual meet reads like a who’s-who of Eastern -- and in some cases National -- Stunt history. I remember watching Ron Pavloer (Designer of the very famous and entertaining Bi-Slob), Artie Meyers, Harold Price, Bob Lampione, Bobby Miller, Billy Simons, John D’Ottavio, Eddie Elasick, and many others of note, fly beautiful patterns in competition at Union. It was a treat beyond compare for someone who desired to one day fly in the Stunt event.
There was one pilot, however, who in my mind eclipsed them all with his talent, level of intensity, and sheer will to fly the very best. I’m speaking, of course, of the great, and even legendary, Gene Schaffer.
All I had heard about back then was how spectacular this Schaffer guy was. I hadn’t seen him fly up to that point, but his “press” was just amazing. The first time I saw Gene compete he was flying a jet-styled model that had one of the very first foam core wings from Mike and Arnie Stott’s Mankato, Minnesota based Foam Flite Company. The model Gene was flying that day had tricycle landing gear with no spats or simulated doors, and a very simple white and orange paint job, with just a bit of black trim. It was extremely spartan in appearance, but also very business like. Those early foam wings were not cored out internally, and they were prone to be a bit on the heavy side.
Gene, like almost everyone else in the stunt event in those days, used the ubiquitous Fox .35 for power. His style was unlike all the others, however, in the manner in which he chose to run the engine. Most opted for a deep two-four break, and a slow pattern presentation. Gene liked to run the engine much harder and at a higher RPM, and consequently at a higher airspeed.
He also flew in the opposite direction from almost everyone else because he was left-handed. His level laps were flown in the clockwise direction. In those days mufflers were not used, and with the exhaust outlet pointing in the “other” direction, Gene’s models had a unique and very quiet sound while in a downwind maneuver because the fuselage blanketed the noise. This gave his models an eerily smooth presentation in relation to all of the others that were much louder downwind. This may seem like a small thing these days, but it was a significant factor with the “open stack” engine operation back then. Of course when Gene’s model passed by the judges upwind the exhaust outlet was on the outside of the circle and at that point very close to the judges. The pronounced, sudden and very loud “Wowww” produced as the model passed the judge’s position really woke them up! In an event where being different is difficult, Gene had some automatic advantages, and he knew how to use them to best effect.
Anyway, I finally got to see Gene fly that day for the first time. It was one of those pivotal moments in life. It was one of those times when something was finally fully defined for me and I knew that this was to be instrumental in forming the path my life would take. Now, realize that I had seen outstanding flying before, and understood fully what I was watching on each of those occasions. Bob Gialdini’s flights with the Olympic at the 1961 Nats were the catalyst that made me want to someday fly stunt. But the flight I saw from Gene that day on May 30th in Union defined how I wanted to fly stunt.
Gene was an ominous looking character in those days; at least I thought so. He was a professional musician at that time in his life, and would play in New York City until the wee hours of the morning at a “gig” and then drive straight to a contest without getting any sleep. He looked haggard and even a bit mean. Not someone that a young, impressionable, rural New Jersey boy would readily go up to and ask questions of! I was scared of him right from the moment I first laid eyes on him. But, there was something there that I really liked as well. I later realized that this was perhaps the very first pure competitor that I had seen in person. His persona was unlike anyone else’s.
From the very moment that Gene’s Jet-like model broke ground that day I knew I was watching a very special performance. In fact, I think everyone had that same thought. I first saw it there, but witnessed it many, many more times in the following years; Gene stopped the contest! I mean the action all over the field came to a virtual halt when he took off. All eyes were on him as he set-up for his Reverse Wingover.
There are moments that are freeze-frames in time for everyone, and as I watched Gene’s model circulate at a very business-like speed – not too fast, but certainly quicker than anyone else’s – little did I know that I was about to experience one. When Gene turned the model into the climb at the entry point of the wingover, I could almost swear that I heard a distinct “pop!” The corner was that abrupt and crisp. The line the white and orange jet scribed over the top seemed to be absolutely perfect. No wavering, no hint of straining to get to the top as many of the stunt models from that era displayed; just a clean, straight, one-speed, defined arc to the point of the inverted pullout. I was mesmerized by the way his model presented. So stable, so confident. And then it hit me that the ship was way past the point where I was used to seeing others begin their pullout. I had time for this thought to register and to even get a chill from the anticipation of a straight in crash, and the ship was still vertical! Then he turned “The Corner.”
In later years the East Coast stunt fliers who competed on a national level would become quite famous for their “blazing” corners. It would be a conceded matter of fact that no matter how they flew the rest of the pattern, their square maneuvers would have little or no competition for minimum radius corners. Others caught up eventually, but the East Coast boys were the undisputed corner champs for quite some time.
I believe that it was Gene’s type of corner that set the stage and defined that “look” for us. I know that in my mind I had seen my hopeful future in that split second. Can’t honestly tell you here that I remember virtually anything else from that pattern, but I certainly do have a vivid remembrance of that perfect and stunning wingover pull out corner. I also realized right then that I had a new hero!
Caprice
Chapter Two
“I’m going to die in Astoria”
I didn’t get too many chances to watch Gene fly after that May 30th Union meet. I really didn’t have a way to get to a lot of contests in those days. My Dad was very busy at a new job that required a long daily commute to New York, so weekends for him were the only time he had to work around the house and rest up.
I actually had been focusing on trying to learn to fly Stunt for a couple of years at that time. I built a Veco Mustang and a Veco Chief in an effort to better learn the pattern maneuvers. The Mustang was the first of two that I would build, and it was a pretty good round maneuver machine, but it just wasn’t capable of a competition type corner. I learned a lot about wing loading with that ship! It had a smallish wing (405 square inches as I remember), and weighed in the 38-ounce range. It would stall if I tried to turn it abruptly.
The Chief, on the other hand, had a huge wing, and it also weighed around 38 ounces. It could really turn! Unfortunately, it was not the most accurate model that I ever built, and I had to use a trim tab to get the wing level. I had messed up in building the wing in several ways on that particular model, and it came out finished with pronounced anhedral. I think it actually looked cool that way!
I had added large built-up, round wing tips that were made up of about a million small parts each, and also installed wing type landing gear in place of the normal fuselage mounted gear supplied in the Chief kit. A new fin and rudder with a rounder shape was installed. I had intended to add a canopy on the top block, but never got around to that. I finished the model in all Aero Gloss Stearman Red with a bit of black trim. In thinking back now, that was an awful looking model, but I was very proud of it. And, most importantly, it didn’t fly too badly!
I began practicing with the Chief, trying as best I could to emulate the patterns that I’d seen flown at the contests. Naturally, I tried to “hammer” the corners, just like Gene!
In the late summer of 1965 I remember practice flying at my club’s field in Dumont, New Jersey. It was actually a baseball field that we had gained permission to use. There were no competition fliers in that club, and I was the only member who could actually fly the entire pattern. We had a lot of fun, however, and I looked forward to our weekend flying sessions.
I had just finished a flight and had landed. One of my fellow club members retrieved the model and we walked back to our roped-off pit area. I was busy wiping the fuel residue off of the model when I heard a voice say, “Looks like there’s someone here who wants to fly Stunt.” I turned to see who had made the comment, and nearly dropped the model and my jaw when I saw that it was Bill Simons.
Bill was the top northern New Jersey Stunt pilot, and was also among the top fliers in the entire eastern area. I had watched him fly locally many times, but didn’t dare bother him while he was “working.” He did once let me launch his model at a field where he was putting on a demonstration. I think everyone else was afraid to even touch his model, so I actually volunteered on that occasion. Bill’s models were absolutely stunning. He was generally acknowledged as one of the very best builders and finishers in the East, and just the thought of putting a ding or dent in one of his models was enough to keep most far from the risk of launching them!
Apparently Bill had been out flying at one of his “secret” practice fields and stopped by just to see what was going on at our club. He had watched my entire flight, and came over to make a few encouraging comments and offer any help that he could.
I was at once both stunned and elated. I actually flew a pattern that was recognizable enough for Bill to watch and then make a favorable comment about. I gathered up all my intestinal fortitude, thanked him, and then took a chance and asked him if I could take a few minutes of his time and ask a few technical questions. He said to fire away, and I guess I must have overwhelmed him with a barrage of stuff. In retrospect, that outpouring of questions from me must have convinced him that I was more than just a bit serious about giving this Stunt thing a try.
Bill wrote down his phone number on a matchbook cover and gave it to me. He said that if I had any additional questions I should give him a call sometime. I kept that matchbook cover for several years, even long after I had committed his number to memory. I even wrote his number in several other places at my home, just in case!
I waited all of about 16 hours to call Bill (Didn’t want him to think I was too anxious!) and began asking more questions. We lived about 10 miles apart at that time, and he suggested that I come to his house for a visit one evening that week. I remember not getting much sleep the night before that visit!
When I got to his house, Bill took me to his upstairs shop (a converted bedroom). What happened next is probably as much to blame as anything else for my lifelong love affair with the Stunt event and Stunt models.
Sitting on one table in the shop were the pieces for Bill’s next new Stunt model. The wing, fuselage crutch, rudder, fin and stabilizer and elevator assemblies were sitting there squarely arranged in absolute pristine beauty. I mean, man, those components looked perfect! No gouges, no glue stains, no smudges, just pure clean balsa parts that were perfectly sanded and shaped. Artwork!
I guess I went into a state of shock when I saw those pieces. I suddenly felt that I’d been thrown in the deep end of the Stunt craftsmanship pool, and I was about to drown. I had no idea that building could be done at this level. I think my reaction pleased Bill.
I wanted to build like this immediately. But the thought of how much valley was between the peak I was at in my building and flying, and the peak where Bill was, seemed daunting. Bill sensed all of this I think, and offered to mentor me as I built a new model. He suggested that I build a “Simonized” Nobler, and gave me all the secrets of what to use from the kit and what to change and make anew. I left his house that day with renewed focus and a sense of purpose. I was beginning my journeyman period, and Bill Simons was going to be my teacher! How great was that!
Bill and I went on to become extremely close friends – brothers really. He was even the Best Man at my wedding. I can never repay Bill for the things that I learned from him, and there are a lot of stories that I would like to relate. I’ll save them for the book that I’m currently writing about my life in modeling and all of the wonderful people that I’ve met through modeling.
Anyway, I began building and flying with Bill shortly after we met. About two weeks after that initial meeting at the flying field in Dumont, Bill told me that he was going to compete in the Willets Point (The site where Shea Stadium stands today!) contest that coming weekend. I asked him if I could go along and watch, and he told me that normally that would be fine, but on this occasion he had been invited by Gene Schaffer to come out to Astoria (a section of Queens, New York) and have breakfast with Bob Lampione and him before going to the site of the contest. He didn’t want to take it upon himself to invite me to Gene’s apartment, and I understood that.
The look of disappointment on my face must have gotten to him, because he told me that he would call Gene and ask him if he could bring me along. I really didn’t expect to hear from Bill with a positive answer, but that evening he called and told me to be at his house bright and early on Sunday morning; Gene - who didn’t even know me at the time - had said, “Sure, bring the kid along.”
I was at once elated, and also scared to death. I was in a car with one of the Stunt legends of our area, on the way to the apartment of the top Stunt legend of our area, and I was just a nobody. Yikes, be careful what you wish for!
We arrived in Astoria and went up to Gene’s apartment. The door opened, and there he was. Up to that point the closest I had come to Gene was the far side of the spectator fence at the Union meet. Bill and Gene exchanged greetings and then Bill introduced me to Gene.
Now it is important here that you understand just a bit more about Gene before I go on. While Gene was still in grade school an automobile hit him. This happened while he was hurrying home to show his parents a special award that he’d received. The accident was a bad one, and it left Gene with a damaged nervous system. The result was a rather pronounced series of very noticeable, nervous “ticks” which manifested themselves in many ways, including a series of involuntary popping, clicking and snapping noises that he made with his mouth, and a number of unusual stretching gestures made with his neck, jaw and shoulders.
Please understand that the following is told to you with a genuine respect and admiration for Gene, and is nothing that I wouldn’t now say to his face (I read this to Gene just to be sure that he was okay with this information being released. He agreed that it is an integral part of his story, and should be included.). In fact, as we grew to be good friends, the tick and noise thing became an endearing source of hilarity for all of us, Gene included. He knew how to use that trait as a competitor to good effect, too!
I remember Gene started to shake my hand, but at the very last instant he pulled back his hand and waved it all about while making some very unusual popping and snapping sounds. He stretched his neck, looked at the ceiling, and then again looked at me and again offered his hand. I almost freaked out.
I was scared enough at just the thought of meeting this tough looking, gifted pilot. Throw in the component of a wild nervous tick condition -- that Bill, by the way, neglected to warn me about – and I was nearly incapable of speech. I stammered a hello, and I think I gushed a bunch of stuff about how great a pilot I thought he was. Gene rolled his eyes towards the ceiling, made some wild chewing gestures, uttered a couple more strange sounds and said something like, “Yeah, thanks, nice to meet you too, now get your ass in here and let’s eat!”
As I walked into the apartment, my eyes were drawn to an airframe that was sitting on the living room floor. It was Gene’s new Stunt model, and it was not yet fully finished. The entire model was painted in matt black, and it looked stunningly perfect in every respect. In fact, it looked like a piece of modern artwork sitting there.
Gene preferred low-slung, sleek and stylish models; the Jet he had flown at Union earlier that year was just an experiment for him; a way of quickly trying the then new foam core wing construction. His specialty was the racer-like model with minimal fuselage depth and very low to the deck cockpits. He told me much later that Charles Mackey’s Lark was the inspiration for this look. In fact, Gene made many Lark fuselaged models that featured slightly thicker than stock Nobler wings. It was a sort of trademark for Gene in those days.
Characteristically, Gene’s models all featured fairly long nose and tail moment arms, and needle-nose spinners. The combination made his models seem even lower and sleeker than they actually were. This new model was his best looking by far up to that point from a strictly design point of view. It featured a torsion bar, fuselage mounted landing gear system, and there was no plastic canopy on the cockpit area. This one was to have a painted-on canopy; something virtually unheard of in those days.
I couldn’t take my eyes off of this model. I was mesmerized by its appearance. I asked Gene if I could pick it up and feel the weight and look at the bottom of the model, and he said, “Okay, but be careful with it.” Like I really needed to be told that! Like I would do something stupid like start to turn it over without checking for any obstructions in the room…
I lifted that model as though it were made of eggshells. It didn’t seem to weigh anything at all. How was it possible that this solid core foam wing model could weigh so little? Amazing! I started to slowly flip it over, and then it happened. Funny how a soft balsa wing tip hitting a hard maple stereo cabinet can make such a loud thud. Yup, I had rotated the ship the wrong way and put a really neat little ding in the right lower wing tip block of this otherwise immaculate model. Suddenly the banter between Bill, Bob and Gene stopped. They all looked over at me and the dented ship, and I remember thinking, “I’m going to die in Astoria.”
Actually Gene took it quite well. He began popping and snapping and twitching at an accelerated rate, and rushed over to grab the ship from my hands. In his agitated state he flailed the model this way and that, and I was sure he was going to bang it on every piece of furniture in the room. He finally calmed down and inspected the damage. I know he was doing a slow burn inside, but told me that he could easily fix that dent, and told me that he wasn’t mad. Yeah, right.
That was a traumatic experience to be sure, but I never did forget the first look I had at that sleek stunter. I knew from that moment on what type of model I wanted to fly. Gene’s styling sense had totally sold me on that look.
The contest that day? Gene won.