“A warm smile is the universal language of kindness.”
— William Arthur Ward
We met Bobbi Jo at a restaurant across the street from our Appleton, Wisconsin, hotel. Her smile was exactly the kind of welcoming presence one needs a thousand miles from home, exhausted after a long day at an airshow and swatting ginormous mosquitoes.
The official name of the world-famous airshow and aviation gathering we attended is EAA AirVenture Oshkosh in Wisconsin.
Wittman Regional Airport, 30 miles from Appleton, is the home of Oshkosh. The world’s largest aviation extravaganza features daily aerobatic performances, historic warbirds and aircraft exhibits attracting about 700,000 visitors. This takes place one week in July when this quiet Midwestern airfield becomes the busiest airport in the world with more than 10,000 planes flying in creating some 16,000 aircraft operations.
Every hotel room, spare bedroom and makeshift space for miles around is booked years in advance.
I loved airshows long before I logged my first hour as a pilot. In fact, the ink was still wet on my new license 40-something years ago when I flew a Cessna 172 from Mount Pleasant, in the northeast corner of Texas, down to Harlingen for the Commemorative Air Force airshow — one of the largest regional aviation events in the South.
It’s memories of people like Bobbi Jo that prompted this column.
Like the day Bobbi Jo greeted me and my Oshkosh trade show colleague and friend, Jim Altom.
“Hi guys, how are we doing today?” she called out in the busy restaurant. “Can I start ya off with some cheese curds?”
“We’re great,” I responded. “How ‘bout you?”
“Blessed to be here, don’tcha know,” she returned. “How about something to drink while ya look over the menu?”
“Sweet tea please,” I replied.
“Same,” Jim echoed. She paused, studying us with a knowing smile. “You two are from Texas, aren’t ya?” “I guess it’s the accent,” I said with a laugh. “Or was it the sweet tea?”
“Well, that too,” she said. “But honestly, it’s because you’re so polite. People from Texas are always polite. Texas is quite a haul. What brings ya up to Wisconsin? Let me guess — the airshow.”
We both nodded.
“Texas is just huge,” she remarked. “It is,” Jim agreed, leaning into his natural sense of humor.
“Did you know that back in the coveredwagon days, if a baby was born in Texarkana while a family was crossing the state line, by the time they reached El Paso, that baby would be in the third grade?”
Bobbi Jo laughed.
“You guys are definitely Texans. Always polite and always bragging about your home state.”
For me, politeness and humor have always functioned as a universal language.
Everywhere I’ve been, here and abroad, I’ve found that freely offered friendliness is repaid with dividends.
The 73rd edition of Oshkosh is just around the corner, and a return trip isn’t in the cards this year.
One more time I will miss the best cheese anywhere, mosquitoes that are jokingly (kind of) called the state bird, and the greatest aviation celebration on Earth.
And I’ll miss Midwestern hospitality like Bobbi Jo’s — universally recognized friendliness matching any Texan’s.
Contact Aldridge at leonaldridge@gmail. com. Other Aldridge columns are archived at leonaldridge.com.
