By J.C. Smart, EAA 1593637
This piece originally ran in the February 2025 issue of EAA Sport Aviation magazine.
While historians will differ, my “golden age of aviation” was as a high school student in the early- to mid-1970s. Growing up in Milwaukee, I was fortunate to have a weekend “helper” job at what was then Rainbow Airport, located in the southwest corner of the county. Originally named Cronin Field in honor of Wisconsin’s first aviator lost during World War II, the airport was purportedly renamed by its owner Ed Rediske after being inspired by a certain meteorological event.
Rainbow boasted what was then the county’s third-largest paved runway (after Mitchell Field and Timmerman). This was no small matter, particularly with its close proximity to Hales Corners where EAA’s headquarters and museum were then located. Some preferred to avoid the early EAA’s grass field, so it was not uncommon to see all sorts of magnificent men and women and their flying machines at Rainbow.
Among the most remarkable of these visitors was a John somebody or another who appeared one day unloading an unusual contraption from his trailer. Bill Catlett, one of the airport’s primary CFIs, called me out of the hanger and said, “You’ve got to come see this.”
This John person had designed and built some sort of glider-like thing that to my untrained teenager eye seemed like an early Wright Flyer minus various luxuries such as ailerons, elevator, rudder, engine, and seat. Most notably, however, it did come with the slogan “Ned’s Yummy Yummy Pizza” boldly painted beneath.
John apparently had been to the sand dunes along Lake Michigan recently where he had hoped to do test flights, but the winds had unfortunately not cooperated. Ed’s son Leon (subsequent Rainbow owner/operator and general aviation Renaissance man) welcomed John to the airport and offered to support him however they could.
As the allure of hands-on innovation will often do, John and his machine immediately attracted everyone’s attention, including Bill’s, as both an accomplished aviator and experienced industrial arts teacher. One of the local area contractors also happened to be visiting and was quickly drawn into the discussion. With my limited aviation experience at the time, I was unable to follow all the complex intricacies of the brainstorming session that transpired, but what clearly resulted was the local contractor offering the use of his convertible Ford Mustang to attempt a tow lift.
Without the benefit of something like the Pilot’s Handbook of Aeronautical Knowledge, instructions were worked out between John and the driver, towlines were attached to the machine (which John climbed into), and Bill and I (and possibly another pilot/spotter) were positioned in the back seat of the Mustang, holding the ropes and awaiting a release signal from John. Everything was set. What could possibly go wrong?
Multiple tow attempts were made. Suffice it to say, none of them were successful. After another complex, real-time engineering session factoring in the angle of the ropes, how the lines might be impacting pitch and turbulence behind the Mustang, vehicle speed needed to induce adequate lift, the limit at which John could run carrying his machine, etc., the decision was made for John to simply sit above the back seats/trunk of the Mustang grasping his machine while the driver would accelerate with the rest of us holding the airframe until the release signal was given.
As flawless as the planning had seemed, this too did not end well. Similar to the previous attempts, John and his “wing,” perhaps after a brief moment of lift, quickly pitched into the ground. This latest attempt left John with blood streaming down his arm and several mangled fingers. Perhaps a grass field might have actually been better? But despite what some people might have regarded as a medical incident, John remained preoccupied with understanding what needed to be corrected. Indeed, the injuries he seemed most worried about were those to his aspiring flying machine.
As weeks passed by, I would occasionally see John from time-to-time out at Rainbow tinkering with his creation. I listened in one weekend as he explained to Leon and others about all his various improvements and adjustments. By this time, his machine was now equipped with a powerplant. Specifically, John had just acquired a new engine from a McCulloch chainsaw.
As we stood there along Runway 9/27, John pull-started the McCulloch, picked up the airframe, ran forward, and was suddenly airborne. After a few maneuvers, John crossed 76th Street heading west at what seemed at least several hundred feet AGL. He then turned south, clearly visible above the neighbor’s distant trees. Suddenly there was silence as the engine abruptly stopped.
Then a second or two later, John and his machine nose-dived at what seemed nearly 90 degrees, disappearing below the tree line. For those of us watching from the airport, we all expected the worst. Someone immediately jumped in a vehicle and headed after him, assuming that a rescue would be needed, while the rest of us anxiously awaited word. Miraculously, John had somehow recovered below the tree line. While I cannot recall the nature of the engine outage, I do remember seeing John out at Rainbow one time more, equipped with a much more substantial fuel tank.
As my high school years came to an end, regretfully so did my own personal aspirations of an ATP certificate or even an IFR rating. Those dreams were shattered when it became evident that I could not discern white from green airport beacons due to color blindness. As I headed off to college, and ultimately to a career as a scientist/engineer and father of four, my passion for flight gradually evaporated. Still, throughout all the years, I often thought about what this John fellow had accomplished, and all the hardships that he undoubtedly had to overcome to get his machine into the air.
Early in 2024, my son Bryce took a rather keen interest in skydiving. So, I found myself again frequenting a rural airport, and that’s when my passion for flying suddenly rushed back in. As I read about MOSAIC and the aviation revolution that it promises to unleash, I became excited, with vivid flashbacks to my high school Rainbow Airport days. As I started to catch up on all the ways that aviation has changed, and was about to change again, I realized that the hopefully soon-to-be-reformulated sport pilot privileges and accompanying expanded light-sport aircraft category is a perfect match for me at this stage of life. I immediately signed up for instruction (many thanks to Wyatt Morin at Warrenton-Fauquier for his patience).
Navigating through this turbulence, it was then that I discovered that the John I had met 50 years ago was not just named John Moody, but he was THE John Moody, “The Father of the Ultralight.” I was nearly in disbelief. What started as the intriguing little homebuilt I saw out at Rainbow eventually helped launch an entire category of aviation. What’s more, unlike the Rediske family, Bill Catlett, and the Rainbow Airport itself that have now all sadly passed, John Moody has an active website, with a real email address. Imagine my surprise when I wrote him of the Rainbow days and received not only a message back, but also an invitation to stop by should I ever be in his Florida neighborhood. And that is precisely what my wife, Sarah, and I did this past October.
When John answered the door, I immediately recognized the unique smile and enthusiasm of a true aviation innovator. John and his wife, Vicki, were very welcoming, with the 50-year time gap since I last saw him quickly vanishing. His stories post-Rainbow were exciting (and a few were downright scary). He noted his fingers never really healed from that “test.” They then graciously shared the many twists and turns their lives had taken over the past five decades, and their proudest accomplishments. The most notable accomplishment was their enduring love of each other and the family they built together throughout their amazing aviation adventure. I didn’t miss the opportunity for him to sign my logbook, and I was genuinely thrilled when he presented us with a rare autographed picture of him flying over Rainbow, so long ago. We are hopeful to see them both again soon, in whichever sky we might find ourselves.
Upon arrival home from our visit with the Moodys, I submitted an order to Zenith for its STOL 750 Super Duty. While arguably a less courageous route than the one blazed by John, I am truly grateful for his inspiration. March 15, 2025, marks the 50th anniversary of John’s historic powered flight. Congratulations to John, Vicki, and their family, from a grateful community of aviation enthusiasts.
J.C. Smart, Ph.D., EAA 1593637, is a student pilot working toward his sport pilot certificate at Warrenton-Fauquier Airport in Virginia. As a high school student long ago, he frequently flew a Cessna 152 Aerobat and Cessna 172 to help his airport’s CFIs stay proficient. He recently began building a Zenith STOL 750 Super Duty.