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We originally published this as a “Featured Article” back in September 2006 on the Hawkeye’s Hobbies website. With the website makeover in full swing, I’m going to republish some of those articles to keep them accessible as well as a way to answer questions from the many new subscribers. This particular subject has been a topic of recent discussion on one of the modeling forums. Hope you enjoy reading this and the other encore articles that will be appearing soon. Gerald

Painting On the Tree - by Al Jones, Milwaukee, WI

Al Jones image.There’s nothing unusual in the practice of painting first. There are some advantages which I will list. But, the hardest part for most people who try the system is choosing a proper kit.

Since you will not be removing most of the pieces from the trees before beginning to paint, you must have some reassurance in your mind that the thing is going to fit well, or you will end up removing all the paint in sanding, and fitting once you start assembly. So, pick a kit that has a good reputation for excellent fit as your first move.

Painting on the tree image.Then, there are some parts that have sprue attachments on the exterior surfaces of the model. The new Razor Saw from Unique Master Models, which will be available soon here, at Hawkeye’s Hobbies, will remove 95% of sprue attachment plastic. But, some sanding will always be necessary on these places.

So, what I do is to cut the sprues into 2 inch sections which can then be glued somewhere onto the inside of the part where it won’t be seen on the finished model.

I use alligator clips to hold the sprue sections while I’m painting the parts which can then be stuck on a toothpick set upright in a piece of foam board (Styrofoam) while the part dries. The rest of the parts stay on the trees protected from handling fingerprints and other flotsam and jetsam until the paint is dry.

I should probably say something about sanding any plastic surface that will later be painted. If you want the paint on the sanded surface to look like the paint on unsanded surfaces, you need to make the sanded area look like unsanded plastic. I have pieces of wet or dry sand paper in my collection with grits from 400 down to 2000 which is available at auto paint stores.

But, even paper that fine is not enough. I use finger nail polishing sticks to bring the plastic surface up to the same gloss as it had coming out of the mold. You know the ones: they are multi-colored with the final buffing surface always a smooth gray color.

Start buffing with the rough surface; that’ll take out most of the sandpaper scratches. Then buff with the intermediate surface . . . many times this is the white surface. Finally, buff with the smooth gray surface and your sanded plastic will be ready for paint. One warning on the polishing sticks: watch out for rubbing in too much heat where the polisher will begin to break down.

The rest of the parts on the trees can then be painted immediately. The razor saw will take the parts off the trees after the paint dries with minimal touchup required.

Sometimes I touch up with the airbrush and other times with a hand held paint brush. Just a little dab’ll do ya’! I no longer use nippers or shears for removing parts from trees.

These tools crush/damage the plastic in your model if you cut close enough and sometimes those spots need to be fixed later. I don’t like to have to fix later.

OK! Everybody’s model building nightmare is fuselage seams and the leading and trailing edge seams. You need to have some philosophy here. My philosophy here is the KISS principle. You know, keep it simple s______!

I hate fillers of all kinds and avoid using them with a passion. If fillers are necessary (remember that when you choose a kit you are choosing one that fits well; so, you shouldn’t need fillers), use whatever you’ve become accustomed to: melted plastic, body filler, epoxy, super glue. Smooth the filled area with sanding or whatever your normal procedure is. Finish off with a polishing stick. If your filler is softer than the surrounding plastic, you may want to spray a coat of primer which you can then sand down and polish after the primer dries thoroughly.

Warning: NEVER use the intermediate and final polishing surfaces of a polishing stick on PAINT.

So, with regard to seams, in order to avoid using fillers, you need good parts fit, you need to get into the habit of carefully dry fitting parts to see if any tweaking is necessary before assembly, and you need to learn how to glue parts together in a way that produces plastic “bubble-up” along the seams. I use a “Touch-n-Flow” applicator with Weld On #3 liquid solvent for my glue. Good solvents will melt the surfaces to be attached sufficiently so that some of the plastic in the seam will “bubble up” from the seam when the parts are pressed together. It’s a good idea to use some kind of clamping system here so that the bubbled-up plastic does not sink back into the seam. Let the bubbled-up plastic dry thoroughly, a couple of days, and then slice off the bubbled-up plastic with a new #11 X-acto blade. Wallah! No seam to fill.

Protect the paint along the seam with tape. Currently, I’m using Tamiya’s masking tape because it comes off clean–it does not leave any adhesive residue on your paint. Another good tape is from 3M; it is the stretchable plastic masking tape used by house painters. Sand the seam lightly between the tape edges. Polish the seam and after removing the tape, touchup the area with your airbrush.

Why use this method? You never handle painted parts until they are thoroughly dry.

Fingerprints do not show up on these painted parts. During the assembly process, you are not stopping, starting, forgetting what you were doing because you have to paint and then wait for the paint to dry. You just proceed through the assembly process one step after the other. It is like you used to do when you were 9 or 10 years old and you put a kit together in one afternoon. It is much easier to remove paint from surfaces to be glued after the paint is dry then it is to try to remove the paint from those surfaces while the part is sticking to your other hand. Some guys struggle with touch up after the parts have been removed from the trees. For me, I figure I’m going to have to do some touch up anyway. Why not do it in an organized, logical way.

That’s it. No secrets. No special skills. Just straight forward model building. Ah! I can smell plastic. I’m gone!

Al emailed me an addendum:

Now, what do you do when the kit is less than a Tamiya? I still pre-paint parts on the trees? The worst moldings that have the large sprue attachments and 3-dimentional mold seam lines which are a big job to clean up . . . I just take those parts off the trees first, clean them up, attach short sprue segments to an inside surface, hook up an aligator clip, and go ahead and paint before any assembly. It is important to remember that glue does not hold well to painted surfaces; so, I still have some prep to do before assembly. My goal is to assemble these kits with little or no filler that requires sanding. Once painted, parts can be dry fitted, mating surfaces can be matched by sanding on a piece of 400 grit wet or dry paper that has been contact cemented to a piece of plate glass. My favorite filler is window glazing compound which can be applied to both painted and unpainted surfaces. A smooth steel tool–spatula, awl, exacto chisel blade, etc.–can be used to put a glossy finish on the filler which can then be painted immediately. No sanding, no waiting for the filler to dry. The one flaw in the filler process is that the glue joint where the filler is applied must be firm. Any flex in the joint will crack the filler. Remind me that later I should talk a little about gluing upper and lower wing halves. There is a philosophy that I use which is helpful and some techniques and tricks, too. aj

I will, and I am looking forward to including it here! Thanks Al!

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Wings

by David Sakrison


On July 30th 1992 I took my FAA Private Pilot Check Ride and passed it on the first try. Training for that flight had taken me two years. Along the way, I’d acquired and finally shed the universal “student’s death grip” on the control yoke, and I’d faced the most common emergency known to student pilots—a runaway Hobbs meter. (The Hobbs meter measures aircraft time and thus the cost of each flight.)

My final exam had been delayed by a summer of fickle weather and by publishing deadlines that kept me off the flight line. But I made it. I was at last an FAA Licensed Airman—a privilege I had aspired to for as long as I could remember.

I had one more flight test to pass, this one self-imposed.

On a bright CAVU (Ceilings and Visibility Unlimited) Saturday morning in mid-September, I took off in the flying club’s two-place Cessna 150 for Madison, Wisconsin — 60 air miles from my home field in Ripon — to give my father an airplane ride. That trip had been postponed for several weekends running, due to more fickle weather, and I took off with a combination of excitement, impatience, and a little apprehension.

Not long out of college and newly married, Robert Sakrison joined the United States Army Air Corps in 1942. He completed Primary Pilot Training at the head of his class and requested assignment to Troop Carrier Command. He finished advanced training and transitioned into C-47’s, the military version of the DC-3 airliner. He received high marks in flight training and when his class got their orders, he found himself heading back in Texas to teach other Army Air Force pilots to fly the C-47.

In the spring of 1944, he received orders to fly to England, to join the 93rd Troop Carrier Squadron and the Invasion of Europe. With a full crew and a planeload of supplies, he piloted a C-47 to Newfoundland, Greenland, Iceland, Scotland, and Burtonwood, England. Three weeks after D-Day, he was dropping paratroops, hauling supplies, and towing gliders over occupied France and Belgium.

For the next 11 months, he was very much in the thick of it — the Breakout at St. Lo, “The Bulge” at Bastogne on Christmas Day, and the spearhead for the Crossing of the Rhine. During “Operation Market Garden,” the Airborne Invasion of Holland, he and the other members of his squadron flew four or five glider missions a day and, he would later say, “we could have walked home on the flak.” (“Flak” is ground-based anti-aircraft gunfire.)

Years later, at a 93rd Squadron reunion, his mates described him to me as a very skilled and very brave pilot. He had once mentioned to his squadron leader that he seemed to be flying a disproportionate share of “hot” missions. “I’m sorry, Sak,” the CO told him, “that’s where I need my best pilots.”

After the war, Dad ferried home a C-46 Commando, collected his “Ruptured Duck” (Honorable Discharge Pin) and returned to Wisconsin to work in the family business. Aside from a few joy rides in a friend’s Bonanza, he gave up flying — but not his love of flying.

I grew up on his stories and recollections. What I remember best is that they centered not on war and combat but on the airplanes he flew and on the skills and personalities of the men who flew with him. To me, his deep affection for the C-47 and C-46, and his love of the act and art of flying, were always self-evident.

I thought about all that as the Cessna 150 droned lazily toward Madison. From the day I first climbed into the left seat, passing the FAA Check Ride and getting my Private ticket was a definite goal, but it was only a station along the way. Today, I would be flying with my Dad, the C-47 Driver, the US Army Air Force Instructor Pilot, and this was the check ride that mattered most to me.

He didn’t know that. To him, this was just a joy ride, his first in a long, long time. In his mind, I had already graduated into the Fraternity of Pilots. With only 100 hours in my logbook, I still had a lot to learn, and we both knew it. But he was flying today for the simple joy of it. I made up my mind to do the same.

At an unfamiliar airport, with a crosswind, my approach and landing were acceptable but not pretty. The flight with my Dad went well and we both enjoyed it. Back on the ground, he gave me some tips on landing pattern work, sketching out a diagram on my flight plan. And for a moment, I saw him as his Army Air Force students must have known him — as a young, confident, and very capable Army Air Force Instructor Pilot.

About mid-afternoon after giving rides to my brother and sister, my family headed for their cars and I started preparing for the flight home.

I had topped off the tanks and was preflighting the airplane when my stepmother’s car pulled up to the airport fence. Dad got out and started walking across the ramp. I thought perhaps he had left something in the airplane but a quick check of the cockpit gave no clues, so I walked out to meet him.

As we met he said, “I have something to give you.” Then he opened his hand and gave me his silver Army Air Force Wings.

You could have run me over with the airport tractor and I wouldn’t have noticed it. The entire universe was suddenly just two guys — father and son — standing silently together on a small airport in the late afternoon.

He said, “There are 900 hours of C-47 time on these wings. I want you to wear them.” We put our arms around each other for a moment and then he turned and walked back to the car while I finished my preparations for takeoff.

The flight home alone was very, very sweet.

* * *

I hold them now in my hand. — Sterling silver, nearly four inches across, heavy, weighty with the heroism and sacrifice and extraordinary deeds of ordinary young men.

It took me a few weeks to pin them on my leather flight jacket. The day I passed my FAA check ride, I pinned on a different pair of AAF wings. That pair was a reproduction of the wings Dad wore — that he earned. They were smaller and they didn’t shine as brightly; and that seemed right.

Wearing his wings for the first time, I worried obsessively that I might lose them and I checked every ten seconds or so to be sure they were still there. I finally relaxed; after all, these wings have seen far more hazardous duty than I will ever put them through.

I wore them under my suit coat, close to my heart on the day we buried my father, less than a year after our flight. I have worn them on my flight jacket since then.

I wear them out of love for him and for the men of his squadron who meant so much to him all his life. I wear them in gratitude to the Fates for granting us our one brief flight together.

And I proudly tell anyone who asks,

“These are my Dad’s,” and

“There are 900 hours of C-47 time on these Wings!”

Thanks for all of it, Dad. I guess I passed the check ride.

David Sakrison is a freelance copywriter and aviation writer who lives in Ripon, WI. He is also a member of the IPMS-Steve Wittman Chapter in Oshkosh, WI.

© 2008, Sakrison Communications, www.ChasingtheGhostBirds.com

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