COUNTRY AIRPORT IN THE CITY WHITEMAN A BELOVED PROP-PLANE PARADISE.

Byline: Dana Bartholomew Staff Writer

PACOIMA - The Great Lakes biplane rumbled to life, taxied across Whiteman Airport and sailed off the end of the runway for an afternoon dogfight with the clouds.

The pilot, in canvas flying cap and goggles, with a Blue Max medal tucked inside his cockpit, hearkened back to an era of barrel rolls over farmers' fields.

For John Marshall and his fellow ``country club'' of pilots and airplane enthusiasts, Whiteman isn't just an airport, it's a way of life.

``What we have is a country airport in the middle of the city,'' said Marshall, 60, of Studio City, saluting before takeoff. ``Totally unique, like no other - Van Nuys, Santa Monica ... you can have 'em.

``This is home.''

Developed by trowel maker Marvin Whiteman in 1946, Whiteman Airport - formerly Air Park due to its leafy connection with Robert Jessup Park - has been home to pilots for more than 50 years.

Owned by Los Angeles County and operated by American Airports Corp., the 184-acre general aviation airport between San Fernando Road and Hansen Dam is one of the last of the dozens of airstrips that once ringed Los Angeles.

Soon to undergo major development, Whiteman Airport is poised to become one of the largest in Southern California catering to ``prop-job'' pilots, many of them new to the skies. On Sept. 24, the county Aviation Commission will hold a special meeting at Whiteman Airport to discuss airport issues and other concerns.

``My strong opinion is that Burbank and Van Nuys airports are getting so unfriendly toward general aviation that the people are coming here to Whiteman,'' said John Frymyer, Whiteman Airport's manager.

``I see myself absorbing all the aircraft from Santa Monica, Van Nuys and Burbank airports with maxed capacity.''

In the next 18 months, Whiteman plans to add up to 60 hangars to the roughly 300 that now house a portion of the airport's 600 private planes. Up to 50 new outside moorings are in the works, as well as a new entrance on Osborne Avenue.

Despite the addition of up to 100 new planes and airport-related businesses, county aviation officials don't see it as an expansion, and no hearings are planned.

``We don't look at it as an expansion because we've always known we've had room for 700 aircraft,'' said Ted Gustin, chief of the county Public Works' Aviation Division and onetime Whiteman manager. ``The master plan calls for 850 aircraft.''

Whiteman's safety record, according to county and Federal Aviation Administration officials, is above average for general aviation airports, with two crash landings but no injuries reported over the past two years.

City Council President Alex Padilla, whose Northeast Valley district constituents have expressed concerns about the safety of Whiteman Airport, was not notified of any proposed changes in airport traffic.

``My guess is there's not an overwhelming cry for increased capacity at Whiteman Airport,'' said David Gershwin, spokesman for Padilla. ``These are working-class residents who must bear the brunt of extra planes.''

Rows and rows of mostly single-engine planes, most post-yuppie age and bleached from too many years under the sun, wait on the tarmac for their turn in the blue. Sounds of thwackety choppers, idling engines and whirring props punctuate the blistery air.

Rocky's lounge and pilots' hangout, once the home of the Golden West Gun Club, is now ``home of the jumbo burgers.'' Inside stands a pantheon of pilots, or ``Goners Gone West.''

``Everything's the same, just newer hangars,'' said Don Allison, 63, of Apple Valley, who has worked on planes at Whiteman Airport nearly 45 years, bent over the engine of a 1967 top-wing Helio Courier, a recon veteran of the Vietnam War.

``Pilots are pilots, they don't change. They just get old and lose their licenses. Even the airplanes haven't changed a bit - 90 percent of the airplanes are between 35 and 45 years old.''

Like many Whiteman regulars, Marshall outfits his hangar with boyish tributes to the age of flight: a pusher prop from the early 1900s, framed photos of old warbirds. He also adds more mannish accouterments to his ``pilot's haven'': black leather couches; a big-screen TV; a Porsche Carrera 2.

``There's something romantic about it,'' said the retired NBC newsman, who is married to actress Joan Van Ark, and who learned to fly more than a decade ago. ``When you fly, it gives you a reason to get up every morning: 'We fly at dawn.'''

Lee Cameron, 92, a retired United Airlines captain, flew at the dawn of aviation. In 1927, he and four buddies teamed up to buy a $750 trainer. Advice from mom: ``Go low and slow.''

Today, Cameron and his business partner fuss over their latest albatross, a Beechcraft BE-18 taildragger with twin 450 horsepower radial engines.

Customized for a National Geographic photographer who died on his way to accept delivery of the craft for $400,000, Cameron mans the phones hoping to collect half that.

``We've been here longer than anybody - 50 years at this field,'' he said. ``We've seen 'em all, here, boy.''

Cameron, in addition to knowing aviation greats such as Chuck Yeager, Jimmy Doolittle, Roscoe Turner and Ruth Elder, claims a special distinction.

``I'm the last man alive to kiss Amelia Earhart,'' he said of the Toluca Lake legend he once volunteered to ferry from a Cleveland airport to her hotel, after Earhart touched down without her pocketbook.

``She said, 'I can't pay you,' so she leaned over and kissed me.''

In the back of Whiteman Airport, past the former car-racing oval and around the corner from where marksmen once shot skeet, is ``Oldtown,'' a graying row of hangars where Whiteman once stored his World War II fighters and bombers.

James Robinson, 85, referred to by regulars as the ``mayor'' of Whiteman Airport, makes daily rounds there. The World War II fighter pilot is also known as the Shah of the Mojave because of all the airplane parts he stashed in ammunition bunkers there.

Oldtown is also headquarters for the Angeles Antiques, a Southern California airplane club started in the early 1960s by a friend of Charles Lindbergh.

Inside, John Milek, 65, of Santa Clarita fondly points to his fabric 1941 Taylorcraft two-seater, picture gallery, library and UFO replete with alien pilot.

``It's still an old country airport,'' said Milek. ``Just piston pounders.''

Some pilots, however, complain their country airport is becoming citified. Many hangars house movie studio equipment instead of airplanes, they say. And airport rules regarding airplanes and hangars - once laxly enforced - are now crimping the style of a fraternity of free spirits.

The airport, once run by pilots and largely self-policed, is now on its fourth manager in a year, a nonpilot.

``I know of people who are removing their planes - they say it's no fun anymore,'' said Russell Watts, founder of the newly formed Whiteman Airport Association. ``This is a community of people, a country club, if you will, and it's getting further away from that.''

Dana Bartholomew, [phone]

dana.bartholomew(at)dailynews.com

CAPTION(S):

6 photos

Photo:

(1 -- color) Lee Cameron, 92, a retired United Airlines captain, flew at the dawn of aviation. In 1927, he and four friends pitched in to buy a training plane in 1927 for $750. ``Go low and slow,'' advised his mom.

(2 -- color) Jerry Hider navigates his Cessna 172 Skyhawk above the San Fernando Valley.

(3 -- color) Charles David Holeman, 4, of La Crescenta rides a toy plane at Whiteman Airport, which houses some 600 airplanes.

(4 -- color) From left, flight student Stacie Crowther, Quentin Anderson, James Robinson and John Milek have a chat and look over airport memorabilia in Milek's hangar.

(5 -- color) At left, John Marshall describes Whiteman Airport's tenants as a ``country club'' of pilots and airplane enthusiasts. It's ``totally unique, like no other,'' he said.

(6 -- color) Bart Bingaman of Shadow Hills shows off his 1948 Swift to Doug Rankin of Woodland Hills at Whiteman Airport.

Andy Holzman/Staff Photographer