He Personified Aviation In Great Barrington Since 1945

By ANN Contributor William J "Bill" Schulz

Walking into the office at Great Barrington, MA, airport (GBR) on this spring day in 1988 is a daunting experience for me: I feel I am entering the temple of some secret society, a place where I just don’t belong.

The airport itself is so archetypical that it could be the set for a movie. Rows of aircraft sit at tiedowns in several acres of lush green grass, their tails to the South Egremont Road, looking for all the world like resting birds facing "their" road, the runway, just waiting for their turn to fly. The grass runs from state highway to runway with no fence of any sort.

The southwest corner of the field is dominated by a grouping of big old hangars which house the maintenance operation and, in the sole open-fronted one, some eight or so aircraft lucky enough to be spared the worst of New England’s weather. A sister hangar is across the runway with another half-dozen planes.

Mere steps from the highway is what looks like a modest white ‘50s ranch house. A small green sign announces "Office." This is the office and pilot lounge and was also the home of the owner and his wife for many years. Directly opposite as I step in is a large picture window with a view out over the ramp, the runway, the far-side black and yellow checker-board roofed hangar, and behind it all, a stand of trees.

Several people sit on a well-worn green vinyl sofa which faces a huge table dominating the small room with the green vinyl flooring. And the table is "guarded" by a large model of a Navy blue Corsair, gear-down and in a carrier-landing descending left turn, hanging above it.

A display counter is on the right manned by a trim young man-- I am already fifty-three years old, so lots of people look "young." This fellow behind the counter, who I later will come to know as a most imaginative flight instructor, is a pilot with one of America’s oldest air carriers.

Conversation briefly pauses to assess the intruder-- me-- but resumes when I approach the counter and ask a few questions about how to become a member of the flying community.

With questions answered and a mimeographed brief of process and prices, I turn to leave, noting a small office to my left with an older gentleman on the phone…. I say "gentleman" because he’s wearing a bow tie.

I have just seen "Great Barrington Airport, Walter Koladza speaking," the personification of Berkshire Aviation Enterprises and Great Barrington Airport since 1945.

Today, I can safely say that this man was so loved, revered, and respected in the Northeast aviation community that the local Flight Standards District Office used to send examiners on a two hour drive out to GBR to give Walt his check ride, the equivalent of bringing the mountain to Mohammed!

Walt was an imposing person despite his somewhat less than average height and his slightly stocky structure. Maybe it was the bow tie…

Walter Koladza was a no-nonsense businessman and pilot. A former test pilot of fresh-off-the line Corsairs built in Stratford (CT) during World War II, his oneness with an aircraft, any aircraft, was brought home to me during my flight exam when Walt said, "Here, let me show you" and the Piper Tomahawk in which I had trained literally became an extension of his mind and body, almost a living thing.

Walt ran his fixed base operation as a public service. It was a no-frills operation-- one of several Piper Cherokees in his flock had better than thirteen thousand hours on it and I referred to it, lovingly, as "Three three Ugly."

At GBR, safety was paramount, a point which was borne home to me when I saw one of the Pipers undergoing a hundred hour inspection. I had flown the plane a week or so previously and had noted about a sixteenth of an inch play in the stabilator when I did the pre-flight. While paying my tab after that flight, I made casual mention of what I had found and at the next inspection the stabilator was re-bushed. And, despite the hours flown and weathering which 33U had suffered, it was one of the tightest, truest, and sweetest flying PA-28s I ever experienced.

And with only a 2700 foot runway and sometimes squirrelly Berkshire Hills winds, touch-and-goes were discouraged and, with their rental aircraft, one-notch-of-flaps takeoffs and full-stall landings on the numbers were emphatically encouraged.

Walter Koladza was a big-hearted and fun-loving guy, evidenced by the monthly "KB" dinner meetings where there were roasts, toasts and much merriment. I believe Walt always had a designated driver. He was always in control of himself but truly enjoyed his monthly outting with "Koladza’s Boys." Though his wife of many years, Louise, had been an early-day female pilot, Walt said that women in attendance at these KB gatherings would change the whole complexion of the "boys’ night out." And, although it seems sexist to say, I agree; it would be like putting a man into the middle of an afternoon tea or a sorority party; testosterone would overcome avgas.

I have the feeling that Walter Koladza ran his business at a minimal profit with an eye to providing a comfortable environment in which all things aviation flourished at minimum cost. Aircraft tie-down, rental, fuel, and maintenance costs were the lowest in the western New England/Hudson Valley area. What Walt saved on not painting "33U" was reflected in what it cost to fly at GBR. And his employees were literally his family.

Walter Koladza was GBR.

Maybe it was the bow tie which, come to think of it, looked very much like a propeller.

I last spoke with Walt in late August of this year in a telephone call to the airport. Walter Koladza died on September first at age 86.

Yes, it was the bow tie. Blue skies and tailwinds, Walt.

FMI: www.mass.gov/dhcd/iprofile/116.pdf