​          Like the widow in the biblical story who lost a penny and spent days looking for it, we too have spent days looking for three items.  My college ring, we are sure, probably went to the landfill fifty years ago.  In my mind’s eye,  I see that gold ring with its black onyx stone and the initials FU on one side and ’62 on the other nestled among carrot and potato peelings on the kitchen counter of a house we moved away from years ago. Do I dare dream I may yet find it?  No. My beloved college ring is gone, but I covet the idea that someone, somewhere, will come across it, search me out, and mail it to me.  Alas, who would wander a landfill in northern Indiana?  If indeed that’s where it went.

                The sash is another mystery.  One time, we had several couples in for dinner, and the idea was that after dinner, we would share a bit of conversation about some item that was important to us when we were “young.” I selected a storybook I had copied when I was six or seven.  My husband decided to talk about his Boy Scout sash and the various badges he earned. As a member of the Order of the Arrow, and having been the official bugler at Camp Siwanoy, he had plenty of tales to share.  As the doorbell rang, he said, “You answer the door, and I’ll put my sash here, until later.”  Later arrived and we began to share our stories, but we could not find the sash.  It has yet to appear. We engaged our minds trying to remember just where “here” was. It seems that “here” does not exit.  Did the sash end up in the northeast Indiana landfill as well? Was it among a pile of newspapers in the recycling bin?  Will it still appear when we clear out a closet?   Was it taken away in someone’s coat?  Did it sprout wings and fly? 

                Now there is a watch----- Guga’s watch.  I wore it exclusively for forty years. While teaching at a nearby college, I became acquainted with a brilliant young student from Sri Lanka. He had fought through the jungle to get to safety during the Civil War between the Tamils and the Tigers.  From Sri Lanka, he made his way to study in America.  He was an enthusiastic student, but philosophical. He had lost his father in the War. Then the year he was in my class, he received news about his mother’s death. He eschewed material things and focused his energy on his work and his faith.

                Guga (a nickname) was an exceptional student, making A+’s in every course except mine—where he earned a B+.  He would have earned an A+ based on the quality of his themes, except he was still struggling with the American language.  We often had Guga in our home.  A vegetarian, one time he came for Thanksgiving dinner, “eating around the turkey.”  (I have no idea if he is still a vegetarian.) Now, as an American citizen, he is doing well, making lots of money, and enjoying the life of a capitalist. His wife and children are blessed.  The last time I spoke with him, he said, “I try to keep things in perspective.”   Long before he married, he gave me a watch he received as a promotion with some sort of purchase. He said, “I have no need for this; maybe you can use it.”   I loved it. 

                Through the years, my husband replaced the slim black leather band a number of times, replacing it once again in early March. Then ironically on March 7, the very day of Guga’s birthday—I lost the watch. I have searched the house, the car, and retraced my steps to the post office, the grocery store, and to a graphics company, all to no avail. “It’ll show up,” is my current mantra, but will it? Meanwhile, my husband has purchased another watch for me, saying “For you to wear until Guga’s watch shows up.”

                 How strange it is that items of little monetary value can be sentimentally important?  Especially when lost.  Yet isn’t that what makes a story, novel, or play memorable?  The essence of some experience or relationship that mattered? The loss, the search, the memory?

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It came as no surprise to me because it was and is a natural!  Recently U.S. Rep. Jim Banks introduced legislation to designate the main hanger at the small historic Smith Airfield in Fort Wayne as the National Airmail Museum.   Sure, the project will cost about 2.5 million dollars to develop, but the people involved are determined and involved. So far, the fundraising is successful and is on-going.  No federal funds are being utilized.

Prior to 1911, there was no such thing as airmail delivery. Oh sure, the idea of aerial mail delivery was conceived as far back as 1870, when inventive people in France decided to experiment with balloons. The first free balloon transport carried 500 pounds of mail, but balloons are hard to control. It wasn’t a successful venture.  History records that some of those balloons “were carried miles away from their destination and some of them were never heard of after leaving Paris.”

There are museums for everything so one might speculate why not one for the Airmail Service and why should such a museum be located in the Midwest?    Aha! The foresight of the Friends of Smith Field must be credited.   

Smith Field dates back to 1919, and became one of the first in the U.S. to have a nighttime lighting system. It has been connected with the U.S. Air Service since the U.S. Postal Service came to Fort Wayne in 1930. Eight years prior to Smith Field, “demonstrations of airplane mail service were made in India, England and the United States. The first air mail service in the United States, however, was conducted at the aviation meeting at Nassau Boulevard, Long Island, N. Y., during the week of September 23 to 30, 1911. Earle L. Ovington, with his ‘Queen’ monoplane, was duly appointed an air mail carrier and covered a set route between the temporary post office established at the flying field and the post office at Mineola, N. Y., dropping the pouches at the latter point for the postmaster to pick up. This service, performed without expense to the Department, was flown at regular intervals during the period, a total of 32,415 post cards, 3,993 letters and 1,062 circulars being carried. It was quite satisfactory on the whole, and very promising.”  

The history of the U.S. Postal Service is well told by author Nancy Allison Wright.  In her article, “The Reluctant Pioneer and Air Mail’s Origin,” she relates the story of Major Reuben H. Fleet, who on May 03, 1918, was ordered by the War Department to begin preparations for launching the airmail service. As Wright puts it, Fleet “already had a full plate of duties.  He was the executive officer for pilot training in the U. S Air Service, Signal Corps Aviation Section, among other responsibilities."  His is an interesting story, and she tells it well, but I digress.

The concept for a National Airmail Museum to be in Hanger 2 at Smith Field is ideal, the perfect location.  Fort Wayne boasts a rich aviation history.  Smith Field is named for pioneer aviator Art Smith who was born in Fort Wayne. Smith built his own airplane and learned to fly by trial and error.  He gave such fantastic exhibitions, that he became famous, and by 1915,was the star attraction at the San Francisco Panama-Pacific Exposition.

After W.W. I, Smith flew for the U.S. Postal Service.  He died in 1926, in an airplane crash while delivering mail between Chicago and Cleveland.  For more on Art Smith, readers may refer to Art Smith, Pioneer Aviator, the biography I wrote about this intrepid, dare-devil adventurer a few years ago, published by McFarland and Co. [Available on Amazon, the Fort Wayne History Center, Birdboy Brewery Taproom (Roanoke, IN), Wright Patterson Air Museum in Dayton, and area book stores.  I hope it some day will  find its way into the Airmail Museum.]

At any rate, Hanger 2, features a rotating carousel door and is historic because it is a rare example of hangers from the 1920s, and because in 1944, "it became a production center for Interstate Aircraft TDR-1 Assault Drones, an unmanned twin engine aircraft that was an early version of the ‘cruise missile.’”

Friends of Smith Field and individuals such as Bob Wearley, retired Air Force Pilot and former member of the Fort Wayne-Allen County Airport Authority, who first laid out plans for a National Air Mail Museum  believe such a place will tell the story and document the rich history of pilots and aircraft in such a way as “to inspire a new generation of aviation enthusiasts.”   Moreover, I feel certain this Museum will be an attraction that pilots, families, and historians will want to visit again and again. Check out details about the project at www.nationalairmailmuseum.org.  You won’t be disappointed. You may want to send them a few dollars or more. It’s worth it.