Life in Plastic (Styrene, specifically)

A car

I bought this AMT '51 Chevrolet Fleetline back in 2003, or thereabouts. It was something of an impulse purchase. I'd been feeling a pull in the model car direction for some time, and among the model airplane kits on the second-hand table at Old Guard Hobbies, were a handful of cars, too. This homely Chevy had a price tag of $6. For six bucks, I wagered I could have a little fun. It was not a subject I knew or cared about, so if it all went to hell, so what? When I got it home, I started slowly sticking it together, and felt an excitement I'd forgotten. I'd built a few cars as a kid, but very few. Old, old memories of closely following instructions came back. I did NOT know what every part was, simply by looking at it. It was obvious a plastic car experience was not corrupted by worry vs. fun like airplanes had become. After getting a lot of the basic parts together, I realized I might have discovered something significant. I started looking at car kits with anxious eyes, and bought a few more that I knew I would care about. Eventually. First though, I had this Fleetline to deal with. I painted the interior my own invented scheme to go with what I expected would be a dark blue body. I painted most of the chassis, then came the unwelcome news my wife would almost certainly be losing her job. She did, and it would mean moving. Modeling, especially the fun stuff, came to a halt. The Fleetline got boxed up for happier days. Settled in our new location, it took some time to get the modeling operation up and running again. With bill-paying jobs to focus on, my fun stuff got a low priority. In our new neighborhood we found a discount store encountering hard times. (In '07 -- '08, who wasn't?) They had a model kit section and marked down what they had  considerably. I picked up four or five more AMT cars for "someday."
     A few years ago, I did go back to this thing to paint the body. This I did, airbrushing with Testors enamel and rubbing out the result. I was not impressed with the shine, or lack thereof, and put it all away again. Then three weeks ago, I found a Monogram 1/24th '65 Corvette at a second-hand store for $3, only slightly started. I took that home, got all fired up with a car kit again, and forced myself to stop. What about the Fleetline? It's still a viable kit. Don't I owe that old thing the attention it deserves? Finish what you've started -- something I've been reminding myself for some time now. So I went back to my original car project.
One of the first things I did was repaint the body with Tamiya dark blue, wet-sanded and polished that out. Huge improvement over the Testors blue. I returned to the interior and added bare metal foil where needed. One of the things that bugs me about most of the model cars I see is no attempt to add depth to interior details. I added some minor washes and oil shadows in an attempt to make things appear slightly more three-dimensional. My reference has been primarily images found on the internet. I want to do it as a basic stock vehicle. I'm leaving the interior colors alone, simply as a nod to my initial efforts over a decade ago. And the fact is, I've had a hard time putting the thing down since my return to it. I've nearly doubled my original hours count into it in the last couple weeks. It's almost pure relaxation. Just an experiment for myself going quite well so far.
I plan to keep chipping on her to the finish line now, just to put a car in the completed column. Will it be the start of a new trend? Stay tuned.

More retro action

 
My dad built a control line scale P-38 when I was a real little kid and the Lightning was imprinted on me in a favorable way. I know for a fact I built this one as a kid, though mine came in a USAirfix box.  I remember the original one of these I did was painted dark green on top, light blue underneath (like my dad's) then I went to town with red and yellow stripes here and there to make it more visually interesting. Wish someone would've taken a picture.

 
The problem with retro airplane kits for me is that rarely can they be built OOB without significant cracks and gaps showing. Real airplanes just do not have cracks and gaps. Do you live with the problems or do you fix them? I certainly lived with them as a kid. I didn't know or care about shims or body putty.

 In the case of this P-38, there was a step between left wing and boom that was too ridiculous to ignore. I filled the dip with epoxy putty mostly and filled the forward gap with a styrene shim. Of course smoothing these fixes means wiping away the rivets and raised lines, so I sanded most of the model smooth.
 
The bottom...not so worried about. In fact, good to leave part of the project alone just to remind one what we started with.

 
On one level it's laughable. On another, it's fun. It's always refreshing to go through the motions and not worry about a damned thing.

As for the prop blades, they were not only a joke, but quite weakly attached to the spinners. When finished, there will be a pilot in the cockpit, so I can imagine the Allisons purring, props spinning as she taxis for the active. Also more realistic when I fly it around the backyard.

 

A Mustang for the kid

Last summer I bought an Airfix Bf.109G (the original issue) and got it in my head I'd just build it as I would have when I'd first encountered the kit as a youngster. That is, glue the pieces together and paint the result, period. As it turns out I couldn't stop myself from filling and sanding seams and stuff, which destroyed the "purity" of the project. However, I had at an earlier point in time only glued together the pieces of an original Revell 1/72nd P-51. While it is every bit as rough and slightly odd-looking as the Messerschmitt (if not more so), I managed to stay true to the plan on her. She sat around mostly painted for months. Finally I made the time to put decals on, paint the pilot and do the best fit job on the canopy that I could. Ta-Da! Except for the airbrushed paint and fancy markings (I allow myself good decals - something one usually didn't find in kit boxes in the sixties), a Mustang like I had as a kid.

The verdict? I can easily see doing some more like this. The "don't worry about it" aspect is quite enjoyable. Don't make it be something it wasn't meant to be is the path to enjoyment. Fixing and improving is so deeply ingrained in me when it comes to this stuff; I didn't realize how so until I tried to shut it off.

As for the model itself, I'm simply baffled by what Revell did. This P-51 was originally released in the very early sixties with a Spitfire, Messerschmitt, Zero, P-47, Tempest, Hurricane and Fw.190 as the start of their 1/72nd "Warbirds" series. Of those eight, the P-51 certainly has to be the oddest representation of subject. How could this be? What on earth was Revell using as reference material? There was no shortage of pictures or even real examples of Mustangs to refer to in 1960. Look at what Hawk did in 1/48 at about the same time. There was a model that looked like a Mustang, and still does. It's a real head shaker. Did Revell farm out what could have (should have?) been the star of the first batch of Warbirds to a two-bit toy maker?

Notable things about the kit itself are ever so slight detail molded into the cockpit walls and a proper instrument panel. Sadly the quality and thickness of the canopy (which features no bottom frame for the sliding portion) render this interior invisible. The wheels are designed to rotate by gluing a tiny hub into the axle, trapping a wheel. Unfortunately, the landing gear itself is extremely thin and fragile, making pushing your Mustang around on the floor or table top to see the wheels turn a risky thing indeed. There's a grill sort of thing to be glued on the front end of the radiator scoop that looks as silly as it is wrong. And the shapes of things? Wow. What can you say other than it looks more like a Mustang than anything else? Oh yeah, and there's a retractable tail wheel.

It's a weird one, but I kinda like it. 

Not so easy

    I’ve posted before about my longing for the fun and excitement model airplane kits used to bring me. I’ve spent a lot of time trying to understand the “why” of this phenomenon. The best answer for my personal case is that it had to have been programmed into me on some level. I’m one of those believers in the no accident theory. Everything for a reason.

    Had model airplanes not been such a focal point of my youth, I almost certainly would not be creating this blog post today, ran a micro-business for 20+ years devoted to turning out model planes, crossed paths with some influential people and, well, one could follow this trail for a good long time. So as good an answer as I can come up with at the moment as to why model planes cast a spell on me is: They were supposed to.

    How long was this spell to last? Having been immersed in it all for so long, how does one know if or when it’s broken?

    Previously I’ve posted about trying to generate the distant little kid excitement with his hobby by going back to some of the same objects that produced the … not euphoria, exactly, but something similar. Those objects being the same kits I built back when there was no unbuilt kit collection, reference library, Squadron Shop, Micro Scale catalog, filler putty, etc., etc. For the most part, the reconnecting with kits is easy. Many of the models I found at my local hardware store are available today, albeit in new packaging and with much better decals. On rare occasions molds are tampered with or “improved” but in the majority of cases, the styrene component is identical to what I first discovered in the 1960s. They truly are little time capsules. Between reissues, eBay binges and some gifts, I’ve got lots of memory lane plastic to keep me busy.

 I’ve been equally amused and appalled at how crude some of that old stuff really is, to eyes that maybe have seen too much plastic. Still, I can’t resist gluing pieces together. This is where a dilemma begins. The original intent was to stick them together quickly like I used to. Stuck together with tube glue and painted with thick shiny enamel via camel hair brush? No. Pride won’t allow that. I might want to look at them with some satisfaction at a later date. I must at least use contemporary tools and materials to bring these old kits to life.

The problem is that some of these oldies really are poorly done, both from a building aspect and an accuracy aspect. Part of me seems unable to view this as “ol’-time charm.” That part represents an obsession with quality.  “It is what it is” vs. “that looks awful” is the situation I wrestle with.    

    One very simple issue is surface detail. So many of the kits I built out of the 60s featured row upon orderly row of bumps on their skins meant to represent rivet heads. If all you knew about planes were models, you would have to believe real airplanes were put together with tens of thousands of stove bolts. I know these rivets didn’t bother me one bit as a kid, but boy-oh-boy do they make me crazy today. An equal parallel to raised rivets is what was done to bi-planes back then. In order to represent wood and linen (I guess) some type of overstated texture inevitably was molded in. (Revell kits especially.) A characteristic of almost any airplane is smoothness. When you shrink it down to 1/72^nd of its true size, you get something really smooth. I wish I didn’t know this, but I do.

    Alright. I will allow myself to sand rivets, linen simulating burlap and other overstated surface detail off the kit pieces. That’s a concession I’ll make to the CEO of Hawx Planes. If I’m going to spend time on these, I don’t want the boss to wince at them when they’re done.  This will also free me to deal with some dreadful mismatches of parts that require significant filler of some sort to plug gaps and holes. With no surface detail to worry about replacing, I can fill and sand with abandon. So much for the purity of this exercise. So much for banging them out.

    If rivets are fair game, what about some of the equally egregious recessed detail? If it’s about smooth models, why not? What about things like molded on antenna blades, gun barrels, tail wheels and stuff like that? Is it OK to knock them off and replace them with new?  What about poor-fitting, Coke bottle-like clear parts?  Instead of displaying simplistic ugly landing gear and way too thick doors, how ‘bout building it gear up? A feature of many of the older kits was an included display stand anyway. Or put them on one of my own stands? Wait…I’ve been down that road. Am I allowed to add anything? How about rigging wires on bi-planes? But to accurately rig many of them, I need to add control horns to rudders and elevators and ailerons…

    The slope has quickly gotten slippery. Slippery to the point of considering the building of two collections: one strictly out-of-the-box, and another displaying the same model “slightly improved.” Yeah, right. Where in fantasy land do I find time for this project?

A big part of the pleasure in my childhood was viewing my collection of finished pieces. A collection, by the way, that was always way too small. It was always an embryo to my eyes. Thus maybe part of the incentive to buy more models – as if buying kits didn’t provide enough thrill in itself.  So in addition to revisiting old kits, seeing  a number of finished ones together in one place would be of equal importance.  I tried a modern version of that once before, and it failed to enthrall me. (My black-canopied collection – see previous posts.) If I am to invest my time in another version of collection, how to ensure I don’t waste another chunk of time? (As I’m bumping into my mid-50s, wasting time seems like a major sin.)

    My kid-collection had the continuity of all 1/72^nd scale and all sitting on landing gear. Except for that Hawk Spitfire that didn’t come with landing gear. It drew attention to itself on its stubby Hawk stand, slightly perched above the rest. What about the actual concept of a collection of models I once “built as a kid?” Where is the cutoff point of “kid?” I remember some things I did in my 20s and I can only shake my head and think, “Stupid kid.”

    This is all symptomatic of my adulthood, refusal to live for the moment, thinking too much. Guilty as charged. If I could spend the time on “fun models” that I spend whining on my blog…something to consider.

1/48th Mustang in flight -- REALLY in flight

 

At a very early age, I was exposed to the world of balsa and tissue airplanes. (See my "Going Flying" post back near the beginning of the entries here.) The idea of building scale models that actually flew was the subject of endless fantasies. I was a huge fan of the Guillows line of rubber powered jobs -- the WWI subjects in particular. I remember a Guillows catalog in the house, probably in the early 1960s when that company's offerings were at their zenith. The dream was for there to be radio control equipment small enough to fit into some of these small balsa bi-planes and fly them in small spaces. Maybe even in front of the house. The problem was there was no such thing. Practical R/C planes had to be huge, and huge had no appeal to me. The other problem was money, of course. I could barely afford the Guillows kit, let alone engine, transmitter, receiver, servos and on and on. I fantasized.

I must report here with embarrassment that by my count, I've built close to a dozen balsa airplane models in my life and only one got finished enough to fly. That one (a comet Curtiss Robin, I think) was the subject of one of those adolescent entertainment schemes of packing it full of match heads for one and only one memorable "flight." (It rolled down the slope of our garage roof and pulled up when the wheels left a hard surface. Before it stalled, it was a fireball. For the audience watching, it exceeded expectations, but I hesitate to describe what it did as "flying.")

The balsa bug has never really let go. There was a hole-in-the-wall hobby shop in our old home town that I visited from time to time. They acquired a bunch of old balsa rubber powered jobs from an estate sale, I would bet. One was an original Guillows Aeronca Champion wich was the very first balsa kit I ever built. It had been a Christmas gift from a much older cousin when I was eight or nine. I stuck it together in the dead of winter and broke a wing off it in the basement before spring arrived. End of that story. Sad story. I cried real tears when dad assured me there was no fix. Not looking for it, I saw the kit again in this little hobby shop in 2004. For about $15, I just had to take it home and look at the box contents again. Build it? I don't know. I had no time for that kind of silliness, but I could certainly examine it.

Well the aroma of the wood and the ever so slightly familiar sheet of plans cast a spell on me. Hell yeah, I would build it and fly this one. However, being quite rusty in the balsa building department, I thought I'd start with something simpler than the Aeronca, just to get the feel of this realm again. I went back to that hobby shop and brought home a more modern boxing of the Guillows 16 in. wingspan Hurricane. Pretty sure this was April of 2003. Molly was off to someplace out of state for a weekend or so, and I claimed the kitchen table for my Hurricane project.

It was one of those time traveling experiences. Amazing what the wood, the pins, the smell of the wood glue brought back. "I've been here before. I like this!" The idea of winding the big red prop on the front of the thing, lofting it into the air and seeing it cruise around was potent fuel. Would it fly? For as long as Guillows has been in business, their product had to work, didn't it? Fact was, I didn't know.

I went to my library and found a great book on the subject of free-flight balsa models. As I suspected, there was some science at work here. True flight, versus enough thrust to move the model through the air, was significantly more involved than just sticking a kit together and hoping for the best. It made me wonder seriously what my dad had known about weight and balance and trim and quality of balsa and tissue. He never passed any of this knowlege to me. With his control line creations, I suspect he was of the "Just-put-a-bigger-motor-in-it" school.

Putting the skeleton together is the easy part. Putting the paper on is slower and involves strong-smelling dope and thinner that I would get to when the weather warmed and I could move the project to the garage. In the meantime I bought a pure toy for myself in the form of a ready-to-fly electric powered free flight model. It was styrofoam with about a two-foot wingspan. With a huge backyard at the time, I buzzed it around some with snow still on the ground. It didn't last but a few days, finally hitting the house and doing fatal damage to the airframe. The engine still worked, though. Hmmmm. I'll bet I could enlarge my Hurricane plans to a two-foot span, build a bigger one and make it electric powered. Hmmmm.

That's where the silliness ended for a long time. My 16 in. Hurricane has yet to be skinned (but I did finally get a couple good coats of dope on the bones last summer.) Since 2004 I've picked up a few more kits and some plans off of eBay for "someday" projects. Then last night I stumbled across this:

http://mnewell.rchomepage.com/Planes/P-51/P-51.html

You must look at the videos at the very bottom of the page. You can only guess how my head spins this morning imagining the possibilities. The ten-year old that occupies a corner of my brain is needing to be pinched. Son, you are not dreaming. This is for real. Perhaps dreams can come true.