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Dan Ruth: A rush to clip Albert Whitted's wings

 
Published Sept. 25, 2014

At the age of 15, Charles Lindbergh the Elder started taking flying lessons at Tampa's Peter O. Knight Airport on Davis Islands. He finished his training at the St. Pete-Clearwater International Airport, where he took off for his first solo flight at 16 to earn his initial visual flight rules certification. Now, as a corporate jet pilot, he flies a Gulfstream IV all over Asia and beyond.

My eldest son has flown into Albert Whitted Airport, nestled on the shoreline of St. Petersburg, on numerous occasions without event — just like the 97,000 takeoffs and landings that occurred at the facility over the past year.

But it doesn't take very much for people to grow concerned over safety issues associated with having an airport in the middle of a city and that is especially true in the case of Albert Whitted. In recent weeks, a plane designed to tow banners crashed into Tampa Bay on takeoff, killing the pilot. And days ago, a plane on its approach to the airport crashed in Vinoy Park, barely missing the Vinoy condominium tower, as well as citizens enjoying the day along the shoreline. All aboard the aircraft survived, although two people were seriously injured. It could have been much, much worse.

But what to do? Well at the moment, not very much. That's because in 2003 voters overwhelmingly approved a city charter measure to perpetually preserve space for 110 acres dedicated to aviation. That was then. This is now.

Voters could be asked to reverse the 2003 charter referendum and shutter Albert Whitted. But then the issue of $14 million in state and federal grants committed to the airport with the stipulation it remained open for another 20 years would have to be resolved. That would take time.

St. Petersburg Mayor Rick Kriseman covets the property as part of his master plan to revitalize the city's waterfront. Albert Whitted looms as an obstacle toward creating one, continuous walkable public space. The airport notes it is a source of jobs and $1.1 million in annual revenue. This is a classic case of a civic conflict.

Much has changed since 2003. The city's population density has grown. So has its skyline, with taller buildings sprouting up, potentially disrupting clear lines of sight for planes on approach to Albert Whitted. Meanwhile the airport and its many supporters have dug in their heels, resisting any challenges to Albert Whitted's place amid the city's long historic association with general aviation.

In the short term, the airport could make a few changes to the way it does business to help ease the optics of public safety anxieties. First, banner-towing flights should be moved elsewhere. Second, flight schools need to be encouraged to find another place to do business to alleviate concerns of ill-prepared novice pilots flying in and out of the city. Third, while Albert Whitted can indeed point to a relatively admirable safety record, 97,000 takeoffs and landings in the middle of a large urban center would seem to be a disaster only waiting to happen.

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And while it still may take some time, given the politics of this issue, Albert Whitted officials should understand their grasp on 110 acres of prime waterfront property isn't ironclad.