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Published: February 17th 2008
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by Austin Girl
http://www.austingirlblog.blogspot.com
On a recent sun-splashed Saturday, I decided to escape the searing heat and go exploring in my SUV. I soon found myself meandering down an asphalt road in Fredericksburg, Texas, where, to my wonderment, I stumbled upon the nostalgic and romantic Hangar Hotel. Situated behind the Fredericksburg, Texas Rodeo Fairgrounds—the oldest in the state—just two miles south of Main Street off of Highway 16, the Hangar had me believing I had descended back in time. As I maneuvered my vehicle into the parking lot, I noticed both Avgas and Jet A fuel as I passed the FBO—The Fixed Based Operator. My heart raced when I realized both piston and private jet aircraft could land on the runway.
Excitedly, I grabbed my interview gear—a small green notebook, two ballpoint pens and my antiquated digital camera—and dashed inside the WWII, aviation and South Pacific-style hotel lobby. Oh yeah. I’d gone back in time all right—to the 1940s. The air was balmy with big band sounds, and staring back at me from the wall was a vintage looking “Uncle Sam” poster that read: THE HANGER HOTEL WANTS YOU.
My wonderment continued as I strolled around, noticing the natural lighting and nostalgic details. There was an authentic old-time switchboard phone sheltered behind the guest check-in desk, which encouraged me to look around for Lily Tomlin, but this was no “Laugh-In bit.” After continuing my scan of the naturally-lit lobby with its mahogany wood trimmed-paneling, towering palm trees, bomber-jacket leather chairs and walls splashed with an army-fatigue green, I stopped in front of the mirror by the stairwell and thought I saw a woman in her thirties staring back at me in 1940s attire—peep toe platforms and all. Her blond hair wrapped in a sleek Victory roll. Her face looked utterly familiar. Then I realized it was me with my imagination un-tethered.
Tearing myself away from the mirror, I was eager to meet the person responsible for this enchanting portal to the past. Soon, I was shaking hands with Richard Estensen, the entrepreneurial mastermind of the Hangar Hotel. “I spent three years researching and perfecting the design,” the very polite Estensen explained. “I traveled across the United States and abroad, studying, buying and replicating many objects found in the hotel, such as the alabaster lights and the vintage watercolor paintings,” he added.
Estensen, a tall, slender man, whose impressive resume includes working as a NASA engineer, is a daring, imaginative lover of planes and people. And he had a clear vision: build a WWII-themed hotel in the form of an airplane hangar, sparing no expense on the details.
The Hangar is not only a unique experience: it’s a romantic voyage. Each of the 50 king-size suites has a South Pacific motif and features Egyptian cotton sheets and an army blanket. Visitors can dine at the old-timey airport diner, observe vintage aircraft and enjoy flight activity from the observation deck.
As I ambled through the double-doors to the Officers’ Club, I passed by that mirror again and could visualize Bacall and Bogart seated at the bar sipping Hangar One Vodka martinis, while behind them at the pool table, with cue sticks in hand, were Chuck Yeager and Bob Hoover—two pilots famous for “pushing the envelope”—swapping stories. In reality, a sanguine crowd swelled the room—laughing, drinking and dancing. I sank into one of the buttery red leather-bound chairs and relaxed to Tommy Dorsey’s, “Getting Sentimental Over You,” quietly floating away, back to an era when music was music and times were simpler and slower. The thing is, once you enter a portal to the past, at least this particular portal, it seduces you: I fell in love.
Taking my cup of coffee with me, I followed Estensen outside, where we observed 22 single- and twin-engine planes and one Malibu Mirage Turbo Prop queued up on the tarmac. “I have to check this out,” Estensen apologized, standing suddenly. Curious, I waltzed over next to him for a competing glimpse of the beauty that had captivated his attention: a restored lime-green 1929 Paige Graham. The owners, dressed ala Bonnie and Clyde, had attracted a throng of zealous spectators. Their vehicle sported a flathead six with supercharger, adorned with fender markers. Reaching for my camera, I joined the sea of adoring eyes. “I should consider renting my facilities for the filming of a movie,” Estensen whispered to me. I was thinking the same thing. It was a Great Gatsby moment, worthy of a film crew.
Estensen and I walked toward his personal plane, a 1946 North American Navion with a wraparound windscreen and custom paint job. This vintage 4-seater had a sliding canopy and hydraulic gear and flaps. “Eisenhower used a Navion as his personal plane during WWII,” he said. Pointing out the pin-up girl painted on the billboard behind us, he added, “During WWII, bomber pilots painted their girlfriends or wives on their planes for morale, luck and respect. These men might not be coming back home, and their women were everything to them.” It was clear to me why this era was so romantic: Relationships between the pilots and their women were all-engines full-throttle.
“Do you want to see the view from the observation deck?” Estensen asked, leading me back through the Officers’ Club where the grand piano laid silent as the Mike Kasberg Trio warmed up with some Old Jazz Standards from the 40s. They unveiled a hint of what their upright bass, sax, clarinet and guitar could muster. Estensen and I traveled through the lobby and up the carpeted stairwell, surfacing onto the deck sashaying past hotel guests who were lounging, drinking and chatting. “Pilots can land a Learjet 60 on the 5000 foot runway,” he said. “Over there is our Quonset style conference center, which can be rented for parties, reunions, meetings, or special functions, and across the way is Lady Bird Johnson’s 18-hole Championship Golf Course and park.”
Migrating back downstairs, I passed the mirror again. I knew my magical visit was coming to an end because I was slowly transforming to my modern day self. It must be getting close to my departure time, or as they say in the Officers’ Club--“Wheels Up.” I found my SUV in the parking lot and started my engine. I was inclined to yell, “Contact!” But instead, I noticed the runway lights were gleaming; my GPS elevation reading was 1,695 feet above sea level; and my Latitude/Longitude reading was 30-14-35.66N/098-54-33.06W.
Wow! If I’d only had a NAV/COM to contact San Angelo Flight Service, I might actually have called for the current weather conditions for takeoff on runway 14 or 32 with a right traffic pattern for my ascent home.
You can fly (or drive) back in time and rekindle the romance at the Hangar Hotel. For more information, please visit www.hangarhotel.com.
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