2 minute read

In the grand tradition of aviation’s movers and shakers, Igor Sikorsky once declared, “The work of the individual still remains the spark that moves mankind forward.” Enter Frank Blazich, the human embodiment of this spark but with a knack for bureaucracy beyond any aviator’s dreams.

Our tale begins with Blazich, not just any historian, but the national historian emeritus, national curator for the Civil Air Patrol (CAP), and curator of something undoubtedly crucial at the Smithsonian. His remarkable mission? To score some premium floor space in a museum for a piece of aviation history that isn’t just vintage but unequivocally “modern” — N9344L, the Cessna 172 Skyhawk, a true nonmilitary rebel of the skies after 9-11.

Our hero, along with a coterie of esteemed colleagues including the now dearly departed CAP historian emeritus Blascovich and all-round government whisperer Col. John Swain, had his sights on parking this sky legend in a museum. Why? Because history, like everything, apparently has the best stories when preserved in glass displays.

Despite riveting narratives about the Cessna’s flight into infamy on September 12, 2001, when America was grounded under the weight of tragedy, and with Captains brave enough to fly close and report back, museums didn’t exactly fall over themselves for this historic wonder. The plane languished, unwanted, lost in museum translation for eight years.

Blazich didn’t just stop at sending a telegram and hoping for the best. Armed with the ultimate weapon — red tape literacy — he navigated this Cessna into the very heart of historical institutions. He even dabbled in the dark arts of congressional presentations (with its mountainous paperwork) hoping that the CAP’s heroism would unleash a torrent of admiration and open museum doors.

Unfortunately, the response was resounding silence. The National September 11 Memorial & Museum ghosted his communications. Yet, the saga takes a Hollywood turn — cue serendipity, when Blazich, doing his museum rounds, collided with an Air Force museum curator at yet another significant anniversary event. Their business card exchange might just secure a future chapter of “How Planes Find Homes.”

Eventually, the Air Force museum was convinced to adopt 44 Lima into its august collection, bringing tears of joy and relief to Blazich’s visage. Indeed, his success story showcased dedication, relentless pursuit, and perhaps a tinge of desperation to find a retirement home for a well-traveled airplane.

This triumph was not merely historic preservation, as Blazich noted, but a step towards ensuring future generations would scratch their heads in wonder. Would they marvel at the quiet heroism of a Cessna that didn’t seem to belong next to the high-caliber jets but stood modestly as a beacon of unsure heroism?

Not just a tale of airplanes, but of service to the nation! By showcasing this veritable testament to CAP’s dedication, Blazich hoped visitors would feel the same patriotic vibe that pumps through the veins of all who wear the CAP insignia. He envisioned a future where the latent urge to step up in service hit every museum visitor like an unexpected caffeine rush.

And as for Blazich? His life’s saga continued, entrenched in aviation’s past, cataloging paths through the skies like a sage with a penchant for paperwork — ensuring history, like his Cessna, always finds a proper landing strip amidst the legends.

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