The Great Arizona Aircraft Apron

A prospector who stumbled out of the mountains that ring the Arizona desert might be forgiven for trying to blink away a mirage. Below, on the hot sands near Tucson, shimmers probably the largest collection of aircraft ever assembled in one place in the history of the world. Some of the 6,000 vehicles are arrayed in neat rows that seem to curve off to the horizon; others swarm and cluster like a plague of monstrous locusts. Spread over 2,500 acres is an air armada that seems big enough to start World War III or, judging by the vintage of some of the craft, to replay World War II or any lesser conflict of the intervening years. Phalanxes of helicopters, their windows painted over, large numbers on their blunt noses, bear an eerie resemblance to massed football linemen. The air base is not some secret, Seven Days in May outpost, but the Pentagon's Military Aircraft Storage and Disposition Center (MASDC), a giant parking apron for aged or unneeded aircraft. TIME Correspondent Roland Flamini visited MASDC to roam among its aerial mastodons and talk with their keepers:

The mind-boggling gallimaufry of planes range in size from the bulky C124 "flying boxcars" of the '50s to a tiny, two-seater helicopter. Dominating the scene is a formation of 36 enormous B-52 intercontinental bombers, tied to the ground with wire as if to prevent them from flying off on their own. They dwarf a swarm of shining Navy combat jets parked five abreast, and beyond them, a row of Grumman Tracers with radar mounted like toadstools on top. Elsewhere are scores of F-4 Phantom IIs, looking like hooded hawks, their cockpit windows sprayed with a protective plastic, and squadrons of F-102 Delta Dagger fighter-interceptors.

Ideally situated in the warm, dry climate of Arizona, the base opened in 1946 as a storage place for battle-worn Air Force squadrons; since 1965 it has accommodated surplus Army and Navy aircraft as well. By now the inventory ranges from workhorse World War II C-47s to sleek F-111 fighters, from two-seater orange "bug smashers" on which the Army trained its chopper pilots for Viet Nam to dozens of "Super Jolly Green Giant" helicopters that flew Viet Nam troop-carrying and rescue missions. Some are there because they are not needed now, and others because they will never be needed again.

"When I was made commander of this place, I thought, 'What did I do to inherit a junkyard?' " says Air Force Colonel Henry Gronewald, who has had the job since June 1974. In fact, Gronewald has more planes under his command than any other base commander in the U.S. Air Force. He soon discovered that the base he commands is more than a giant junkyard, although one MASDC task is reclaiming usable parts from those planes that will never fly again. The Pentagon transmits a weekly computerized "save list," and in a special hangar MASDC maintenance mechanics go to work removing anything from a ball bearing to a tail section. Reclaimed jet engines awaiting shipment hang in rows like sides of beef.

An equally important job of MASDC is selling off surplus planes either to friendly foreign governments or on the open market at periodic public auctions. Business is brisk. Among the buyers are airplane dealers, corporate agents, crop-dusting outfits and aircraft-leasing operators. Foreign customers have included Honduras, Peru and the Republic of China. No bombers are sold no matter how friendly the foreign government, and thus far, Gronewald points out, there have been no sales to any Arab countries. "The Arabs buy new," he observes. Last year MASDC salvaged $206 million worth of spare parts; sold, donated (to federal or state agencies) or returned to service $450 million worth of aircraft; and collected $3 million from the sale of scrap.

Many of the planes stored at Tucson have a proud history, and from time to time, some have been pressed into service to meet a national crisis. During the 1948-49 Berlin airlift, scores of World War II transporters were hustled out of the desert sanctuary. Airworthy combat planes came out of moth balls at the outbreak of the Korean War, and hundreds of single-engine A1-E fighters that had served in Korea saw action again in Viet Nam. Recently the Pentagon ordered a number of troop-carrying helicopters back to the line.

Drop Area. One of Gronewalds first acts on taking over the Tucson storage base was to check the inventory for any planes he had piloted himself and, sure enough, he found an old tanker from 20 years ago. A similar brand of nostalgia stabs flyers and ex-pilots who are welcome to the regular monthly tours of the base. "Sometimes a guy sees his old plane and almost breaks into tears," says Air Force Lieut. William Kohler, the tour guide. "Then we have to stop the bus and the stories start."

Not all planes merit the museum treatment. Those destined for collection by scrap merchants are left in the most remote corner of the Tucson center. Many pilots and other lovers of aircraft find this "drop area" distinctly unsettling and tend to avoid it. Everything salvageable from the planes stored here has been cut, pried or wrenched off. Only hollow shells are left. A couple of flying boxcars sprawled wheelless on the ground look like great, ungainly fish, beached and gaffed. The last half-dozen B-47 bombers, or what is left of them, dip crazily, their wing tips on the ground, their engines, control panels and seats gone. Dozens of skeletal Air Force F-84Fs of Korean War vintage await collection by the scrap dealers who bought them. The dealers do not have far to travel. MASDC is ringed with scrap contractors' furnaces, where the planes are broken down and the aluminum from them smelted on the spot. The pride of yesterday's wild blue yonder becomes tomorrow's beer cans.

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