There’s been much coverage this month attending the loss of a Commemorative Air Force World War II Boeing B-17 and Bell P-63 at a Texas airshow. All five people aboard the Flying Fortress were killed as well as the King Cobra pilot who collided with the bomber.
Immediately the bleating began. “World War II airplanes are too old to fly. They should be grounded.”
Well, bat guano.
Aircraft are among the most closely monitored and analyzed structures on Planet Earth. Flight times are meticulously recorded, down to the tenth of an hour. The fact is, whatever the Boeing or Bell or Consolidated or Grumman or other engineers calculated, there was no realistic way to predict an airframe’s service life
The variables were many, including aerodynamic stresses; temperatures and environment; corrosion; and quality of maintenance. But for well maintained and inspected airframes, the upper limits are astonishing.
For proof, look no farther than the classic Douglas DC-3 airliner of the 1930s and its C-47 military counterpart of the 1940s. The historic twin-engine transports have logged an eye-watering record for longevity. Now-defunct Providencetown-Boston Airlines flew a dozen of them, including the world record high-timers. Some went over 50,000 hours, apparently a couple in the 80,000 range, and the champion was retired with 91,500 hours.
To put those figures in context, Britain’s main World War II bomber was the four-engine Avro Lancaster. About 7,300 were built and more than 40 percent (3,200) were lost during the war. The RAF computed that the average “Lanc” survived 14 or 15 sorties—half the length of a typical aircrew combat tour.
The main reason WW II airframes are so durable is that almost none were pressurized. An exception was the B-29 Superfortress, successor to the B-17. Pressurization’s advantages included a shirt-sleeve environment at most altitudes, reducing crew fatigue and need for heavy, bulky flight suits.
In contrast, pressurized airliners have been common throughout the jet age. But there are complications. The Aloha Airlines Boeing 737 that lost much of its forward fuselage in 1988 remains a prime example of structural fatigue. The jetliner had logged over 35,000 flight hours with 90,000 “flight cycles” or pressurization/depressurization. Reportedly that was twice the figure Boeing intended, though the crew landed safely with one fatality.
So it is as certain as magnetism and gravity that structurally, warbirds are not yet “too old to fly.”
Technical problems exist, of course, including spare parts. Engines remain available if not plentiful, and components can be manufactured. Not necessarily so with propellers, wheels, and even tires. Furthermore, it’s uncertain how long suitable aviation gasoline will remain available. World War II aircraft engines performed well with 100/130 octane gas but environmental concerns arose, and general aviation’s standard 80/87 became unavailable. Now warbirds usually burn 100 low lead.
A factor often overlooked outside the warbird community is insurance. The annual premiums for a P-51 vary widely depending on pilot experience and whether the owner wants hull insurance. A leading insurer shows $1,000,000 annual coverage from $700 to $940 for pilots only while pilots and hull coverage range from $5,800 to $13,580.
As long as wealthy to filthy-rich pilots can support their habit, warbirds will continue flying. In fact, as far back as the 1980s financial analysts identified historic aircraft as excellent investments.
Warbird values have only increased. Perhaps the classic example is Britain’s iconic Supermarine Spitfire fighter. Recent prices for flyable Spits run in the $2 to $5 million range. America’s most popular fighter, the P-51 Mustang, with about 250 airworthy, seldom goes for less than $2 million. B-17s change hands so rarely that it’s hard to establish a baseline but $10 million has been cited.
Thus, the most popular warbirds are considered “recession- and panic-proof.”
I grew up in the antique/warbird community, and maybe 85-90 percent of my flight time was in machinery older than I was. Creak. Whether to fly 'em or ground 'em has been discussed for decades. Some hard-core warbirders agree that when the survival count gets into low single digits, We should consider grounding.
When Dad and I restored and flew our Dauntless in the early 70s it was the only one airworthy. The CAF had destroyed one a few years previously. But we knew that other SBDs/A-24s were available for full restoration. Today ours sits in original A-24B configuration at Wright-Patterson AFB, Ohio.
The comparison I've long made is the difference between taxidermy and a zoo. We can get up close to nose-rubbing distance in a taxidermy shop but in a zoo you get to see the creatures in something approaching their natural habitat. Just FWIW.
Thing is:
When many warbirds go for millions, who's going to take the financial hit? If in fact the government decides no more flying, shouldn't the government pay market value? (My crotchety attitude: at one time in living memory The Govt had thousands of examples of many-most warbirds and seldom bothered to retain many.)
The situation is complicated by foreign types in the U.S. For instance, no-kidding Messerschmitt 109s remain active in Europe. Should the ground 'em order apply to foreign aircraft owned by Americans? Etc., etc.
I get really edgy at the notion of politicians and unaccountable bureaucrats deciding the subject. Most appear driven by agendas and ignorance. When the F-86 jet crashed into the ice cream parlor in Sacramento in 1972, the first pol to the mike exposed himself as an idiot. "That plane was 20 years old. There is no reason it should be considered experimental." What the duty idiot did not bother to check is that nearly all ex-military jets, and some prop planes, are licensed Experimental because there's little or no basis for a Standard type certificate. Man-o-man...
Idunno—maybe a mega tax credit to owners of grounded warbirds? But outright banning amounting to confiscation is a guaranteed Supreme Court case.
As it should be.
