Years ago my daughters concocted a scenario about some of the boring things they endured as little girls when dad "treated" them to a drive in the country. High on their list of dad's boring places was Claremont Airport. When Joan agreed, the not iongained credence and before long it became a family myth. Claremont Airport: boring, boring, boring.

These pictures should go a long way toward dispelling this myth.

Seated at the foot of the San Gabriel Mountains, Claremont's little airport was a lovely sight, especially near sunset. It had the look of the dirt runway fields that, as a boy, I read about in the pulp magazines. If memory serves me, in or near Claremont there was a smorgasbord restaurant that we all enjoyed. The airport was an after-dinner treat.

Looking at these smiling faces I see no hint of boredom.


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