The Hangar Was the Place

    Reed and I recently celebrated our 48th anniversary. Through all those years Reed's life has been linked to airplanes, and I have been along for the ride. Some of the journey has been smooth sailing, some has been bumpy. The descent toward retirement has definitely been the latter, certainly for Reed, but also for me. After weeks of waiting for inspiration to write a poem, the one that emerged is this lament. A lament for the hangar, and all the good parts of Reed's career that it represents. 

     The Hangar Was the Place  

The hangar was the place:

for dozens of summer, Friday barbecues

and winter chili feeds,

for inviting other flight departments--

a family, who shared tools, parts, advice

and a thousand funny stories.

 

a hang out for retired pilots

(often at the request of their wives), 

student pilots enticed by the aroma of jet fuel, 

a refuge for exasperated, aviation loving

employees from the main office.

 

for plane spotting out the windows,

the endless drone of aircraft

(some of it, from the pilots mentioned above),

but with a wealth of wisdom from those 

who knew and flew them.

 

where, except for a short squall of rough air

from a new employee trying to import

the petty rivalry from his last workplace,

the pilots and mechanics worked together

as equals, as a team.

 

of a harmony that was not touchy/feely,

polite, or politically correct, 

just men with a job to do

who knew lives depended on 

how well they did it. 

 

of a temporary home for aerial fire fighters,

air shows, a few political rallies,

our daughter's wedding reception

our son's memorial service

and an occasional playground 

for our granddaughters. 

 

The hangar might have been the place:

 

of mentoring a less experienced mechanic

from one with decades of service

managing a wide variety of aircraft

and running a widespread flight department,

including overseas.  

 

but instead it became

an unwelcome place, 

hostile to the host 

who had welcomed so many there. 

of petty rivalry, penny pinching and closed mindedness

in a field where such folly can be fatal.

 

And as happy as I am that my husband

no longer hangs out at the hangar

just for the joy of being around airplanes 

and is finally willing to retire, 

I am also sad because

the home of so many of 

my own happy memories

is now just a hangar--just a place,

when it once was so much more. 

 

 

7/11/25