Airplanes aren’t just big metal birds shuttling people and packages around.
They’re also capsules of our humanity.
Today I want to share a podcast episode I really enjoyed listening to. It’s about aircraft conservation at the Smithsonian National Air and Space Museum. (I’m a big history and museums buff, so yes I absolutely listen to museum podcasts.)
You can listen to the episode here.
The details about how these experts carry out their work, and what makes this particular aircraft so special, are incredible to hear. Even just the note of their work to remove a coat of paint—paint that hid signatures of all the servicemen who disassembled Flak Bait and readied her for transport back to the US—is heartwarming.
But I want to focus on a different aspect of this conservation effort: the strong emphasis on this aircraft as a storyteller, using her existence as a way to remember and retell the experiences and sacrifices of the people who flew on, worked on, and made her over two generations ago.
This is of course common in museums and historical collections. Pretty much every institution uses objects to tell the history it’s trying to convey, whether it’s a vase, a book, or George Washington’s dentures. It’s a tangible way to connect with the information presented, and it’s also just plain neat to see treasures like a dress Rosa Parks wore and made herself.
Call me biased, but there’s something different about airplanes as artifacts. They are touched by so many more people in such meaningful ways: from the hands who manufactured them, to the ones that flew them, maintained them, pulled them from scrapheaps to be preserved, restored or conserved them, put them on display or fly them still today.
Especially the military aircraft have stories to tell, from a triplane flown by the Red Baron himself to a Spitfire defending against tyranny in the Battle of Britain. Stories of tragedy, of bravery, of hope.
Just like the archetype of the brave hero on their trusty steed, we put our faith in these aircraft to carry us where we need to go, keep us safe, and bring us home. After the Apollo 11 mission, Michael Collins even wrote on command module Columbia: “The Best Ship to Come Down the Line. God Bless Her.”
You probably put your faith in your car to keep you safe, too. But isn’t it interesting how, of all the different vehicles we use, only ships, spacecraft, and aircraft are regularly referred to not as “it”, but as “she”?
They just touch us differently. And with enough care, they can hold and tell our stories for decades to come.
Happy Friday, everyone. I hope you enjoy.