This story and variations has been told around airport loafing areas on rainy Sunday afternoons for at least fifty years. Now I'll tell you the real story because I knew the real people involved and was there the day it happened. I won't use real names even though both Tom and Kurt are dead now. It was going to be a cross-country dual flight flight from Greater Cincinnati (CVG) to Lexington (LEX) and return. The year was 1958 and there wasn't any Interstate 75 to use as a "navigation aid". When Tom, the student, and Kurt, the instructor, finished the preflight inspection of the Cessna 120; Tom informed Kurt that he really didn't need a $4 per hour instructor to find an airport that was less than 100 miles away. Kurt readily agreed but pointed out that FAA rules were FAA rules and he wasn't going to sign Tom off for cross-country solo until he was good and ready. This exchange was just semi-friendly but Tom knew he had to play by Kurt and the FAA's rules.
They took off and headed South towards Lexington. Of course I wasn't in the airplane but I heard the story the way Kurt told it and the way Tom told it. The points of view were different but the important facts pretty much the same. The story probably would have never been told except that another pilot on air taxi trip from Cincinnati to Frankfort saw the whole thing from the air and ratted them out.
The flight seemed normal and Kurt never said a word. Tom was doing a good job keeping the airplane on exactly the whiskey compass heading he calculated before take-off. (The 120 didn't have a DG) The visibility was at least 25 miles and soon Tom announced he had the airport in sight. He called the control tower and was cleared to entered the traffic pattern. Lexington had very little traffic in 1958 and there was no Terminal Area Radar or transponder squawk codes. Tom entered the airport traffic pattern and reported to the control tower that he was downwind for the active runway. The control tower replied that they could not see him and asked for him to rock his wings. Tom rocked his wings but Kurt took over the microphone and informed the Lexington control tower that they had drifted off course to the west and would be making a landing at Frankfort airport. Frankfort airport did not have a control tower and Tom made a normal landing and taxied up to the ramp without saying a word.
I'm sure Kurt made some remark about how easy it was to find an airport less than 100 miles from home. Frankfort airport is only about 25 miles west of Lexington airport and many pilots have confused the two. Not too many years ago, a Delta crew actually landed a DC-9 full of passengers at Frankfort thinking they were landing at Lexington. I can imagine the stewardess telling the passengers to keep their seat belt fastened until they were parked at the gate and then finding out that the gate was 25 miles away at a different airport.
I'm sure the flight from Frankfort back to Cincinnati was very humbling for Tom. Neither he or Kurt said a word as they came into the flight office to complete the post flight paperwork. Kurt asked me to go retrieve his jacket from the airplane. He had folded it carefully and put it on top on the instrument panel when they took off for Lexington. I noticed the jacket was real heavy and jokingly asked Kurt if he had rocks in the pockets. Kurt reached into the pocket and pulled out a large U-shaped magnet. "I've been told these things could really mess up the whiskey compass if they got too close to them."
And that's the truth!
Bowinkle T. Propwash
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