Central & Roanoke Airport - Phoenix 1927

Palm-lined Central Avenue in 1926.

The Closing of the Central and Roanoke Airport

From Pages 66-67 "Sky Pioneering" by Ruth Reinhold University of Arizona Press 1982

Phoenix's residential section was spreading north during the mid-1920s, and although Howard Reinhart and Bernard Whelan had enjoyed prosperity during the winter of 1925–26, it would be their last season at Central and Roanoke; however, other aircraft remained at the popular spot.

Central Avenue was then shaded by palms, ash trees, and cottonwoods. It was a favorite route to the desert for an outing, or for a pleasant drive. The autos had not completely replaced horses, and on fine afternoons many rigs trotted up and down the road, and there were numerous riders heading for the bridle paths that began at Camelback Road. Much of this traffic passed the airport at Central and Roanoke.

Also scattered in the vicinity were numerous spinoffs from prohibition, discreetly called “clubs,” and installed in attractive former residences. These were quite respectable, appropriate spots to take one's mother, wife, or girl friend, meet other friends, and have a drink or two. As two of the nicer establishments were handy to the Central and Roanoke field, mutual benefit resulted. A few drinks at a favorite club would remove any inhibitions about riding in one of those dangerous flying machines. Others, returning from the introductory aerial excursion, felt an immediate need for a bit of a bracer.

As the local population increased and some law and order came to the flying business, more complaints were filed against the popular little airport. None are recollected against the “clubs” but, as remembered, the spring of 1927 saw the last of any aviation activity at Central and Roanoke.

During spring vacation my husband and I visited my family who lived at the northwest corner of 3rd Street and McDowell Road. The house was on the east half of the lot, and the west two acres belonged to an aged, half-blind horse named Laddy. East of the house was a large clear lawn and in its center grew a very tall and conspicuous cottonwood tree which fascinated the nearby pilots. They made frequent swoops at its tall top, coming near enough to rustle the leaves and stir up the neighborhood, but never sufficiently low to hit it.

One afternoon mother and some friends were having tea in the yard and a red biplane came screaming over to make the customary salute to the tree. The ladies squealed and scattered as the pilot circled to make another pass. This time his depth perception failed or he misjudged his airplane's capabilities, as when he pulled up the red tail hit the tree's top. A shower of leaves, birds' nests, broken limbs, and dirt made a shambles of the tea table and the yard.

All this racket startled Laddy who commenced running in circles and fell into an irrigation ditch which held some two feet of water. The poor, feeble, disoriented animal was unable to get up, and the Fire Department had to be summoned to rescue him.

Mother was in a fine rage. She began by phoning the governor, worked her way down through the legislature to the police department, voicing complaints to all and finished with a thank you call to the fire department, dispatching two cases of beer to that worthy organization as a more concrete expression of her gratitude.

The following day, when things were almost back to normal, my husband and I visited the airport, planning to take a ride in one of the ships. The place was deserted and all that remained of the busy little operation were a couple of sawhorses and a few empty oil cans neatly stacked under a tree.

The red airplane's spectacular buzz job had been a farewell salute to the Central and Roanoke Airport. It also marked the beginning of the end of the several other sandlot aviation operations in what is now the inner city.

Push pin shows approx. location of airport at Central & Roanoke in modern Phoenix