If you’ve never heard of Charles A. Lyford, III, you
can still benefit from his example.
Early this month Chuck’s friends were stunned to
receive this message on his email account:
“Today at the
Festival of Speed in Spokane, Washington my Elva Mark 7 left the track at very
high speed, encountered boulders which launched me end over end over beyond a
high bank into a pile of tires. Both the car and I sustained unsurvivable
injuries. I lived a magical life full
of joy and adventure and I treasured your friendship and the fun we
shared.
“My parting words to you sent with
love...
“Every day counts!”
That shocker was posted by Pam Lyford on her
husband’s behalf. But the voice was
entirely in keeping with Chuck’s philosophy.
Chuck Lyford was one of those rare people who
lived his 75 years to the fullest, often tip-toeing along the precipice or
walking the proverbial high-wire without a net.
I first saw Chuck and his great friend Ben Hall
when they flew near-identical P-51 Mustangs at the Pendleton, Oregon air show
around 1964. At the time Chuck was about
22, already an experienced, capable warbird pilot.
Chuck recalled, “Ben Hall was one of my greatest
mentors. I started flying Mustangs when
I was 19 and would trade engine work that I learned while boat racing for
flight time. While at San Jose State I
purchased my first airplane, a P-51D fresh from the California Air National
Guard. I would never have learned how to
fly that airplane as well as I did without Ben.”
In the popular Top Gun movie phrase, Chuck felt “the need for speed.” He would
race absolutely anything, from cars to boats to airplanes—to reclining
chairs. In the 1950s he drove
unlimited-class hydroplanes, recalled by fellow competitor and mentor Brien
Wygle. “Chuck was 16 years old when he
worked on my Thriftway II as a crew
member. Then he set limited-class
records in his hydroplane Challenger.”
Subsequently Chuck set a world record in the 48
cubic-inch class and won the seven-liter national championship.
Wygle concluded, “He was agile and quick on his
feet and he did a lot of things better than anybody else.”
One of those things was high-performance air
racing. In the premiere 1964 event he
finished second in the cross-country race from Florida to Nevada. The next year he was second in the unlimited
race, just behind arch rival Darrel Greenamyer.
Chuck also enjoyed a joke. Flying his modified Mustang, Bardahl Special, in the 1967 race, Chuck
decided to confound the legendary event coordinator Bob Hoover. Chuck obtained a weather balloon, intending
to inflate it in Hoover’s hotel room, but security was lacking and somebody
pumped up the balloon in Chuck’s room.
In trying to dislodge the offending object, Chuck perforated it with
impressive results. Shreds of the
envelope were strewn throughout the room, which Chuck tried unsuccessfully to
clean out. Lacking more time—he had a
race to fly—he stuck a $10 bill on the mirror for the maid. When he returned, the Alexander Hamilton was
gone but there was a note: “Not enough.”
The race began with Chuck neck and neck with Greenamyer’s
Grumman Bearcat. But on the back stretch
Bardahl began streaming smoke—an
expensive sign. Chuck pulled up, trading
speed for altitude to execute an emergency landing. The audience appreciated his artistry, as Flying Magazine described “a beautiful
approach, and at the last minute popped his gear.” He rolled to the end of the runway with a
dead Merlin engine and the all-white racer streaked with hot engine oil.
Much as he enjoyed competing with other racers,
Chuck sought a higher form of competition—literally. In 1969 he got his shot at combat. Chuck was one of three Americans recruited to
fly Mustangs for El Salvador in the brief border war with Honduras, and a
stronger lineup hardly could be found.
Chuck joined fellow racer Ben Hall and Korean War ace Bob Love, willing
and able to test themselves against Honduras’ Vought Corsairs. It was the last time that piston-engine
fighters fought each other.
Working with Chuck on his 2014 Flight Journal article was a memorable
experience. He had been in prime
condition for the Central American adventure he described. At age 28 he had 3,500 hours of flight time
including an impressive 800 in Mustangs.
And as I recall he had 150 in Corsairs.
His experience was priceless—hundreds of meaningful hours in the two
fighters, racing, chasing tails, and aerobatics.
As it developed, the gringos arrived just a tad
late. The “soccer war” (so-called
because the two countries opposed one another in the 1969 World Cup) wound down
before any of them could engage in air combat.
The aerial phase was resolved in favor of Honduras, with a senior
Corsair piloto downing three El Salvador fighters.
Then there were the reclining-chair races.
Various accounts have described Chuck’s path to
Barkolounger glory, but here’s the most common:
With Chuck’s well-worn reclining sofa banished
from the living room, he mounted it on a wheeled platform with remote-control
steering. He set the contraption into
motion outside his home, into the path of two Seattle bicyclists—Bill and Melinda
Gates. Subsequently Chuck used the sofa
to steer his friend and shooting instructor, Lt. Col. Jeff Cooper, around the Seattle Museum of Flight.
Things evolved from there…
In 2005 the Pacific Raceways debut event, eight
motorized chairs (one an Air Force ejection seat) spooled up with Chuck setting
the style wearing a fuzzy blue bathrobe and slippers. Daughter Kim represented The Housewives of
Madison Park.
The flag dropped, the electric-powered seats
whined off, and hydroplane legend Billy Schumacher took the checkered.
Meanwhile, Chuck and Pam entered rally events all
over the world, including North Africa and South America, some exceeding 6,000
miles. As I recall from their far-flung
reports, they routinely won their class.
They favored the vintage category, winning the 2013 Cape Horn event in
their 1938 Chevy. And they won again in
2016.
Chuck’s lifelong friend Bruce McCaw spoke for
many:
“We all thought Chuck was
invincible. He lived life fully on his
own terms, right on the edge and always at full throttle. Anytime you were with
Chuck and Pam, you knew that you were in for an adventure."
Wherever Chuck Lyford went, he lived by his own
motto:
“Every day counts!”
