HUBBARD J ack Lenhardt's quiet airstrip carved out of lush Clackamas County farmland seems an unlikely spot for a makeshift museum dedicated to the machines that dropped soldiers into battle and scooped them up behind enemy lines.

But here, in an old school bus barn and nearby hangar, is where Lenhardt keeps his collection of war birds -- practically mint-condition helicopters that rolled off assembly lines in the 1940s and '50s and were dispatched to serve toward the end of World War II and in Korea.

These machines were considered breakthroughs in aviation; they were easy to maneuver and could land anywhere they fit. After being introduced late in World War II, helicopters played a pivotal role in Korean War battles, whisking injured soldiers to aid and dumping supplies and whole squads into remote areas even trucks couldn't reach.

Lenhardt's careful restoration of these wartime pioneers can be found in military museums, including the U.S. Army Aviation Museum at Fort Rucker, Ala.; the U.S. Air Force Museum in Dayton, Ohio; the U.S. Marine Corps Air/Ground Museum in Quantico, Va.; and the National Museum of Naval Aviation in Pensacola, Fla.

Lenhardt's precision in re-creating the machines, guided by microfilms of original blueprints kept at the Smithsonian Institution, has earned him respect among military aviation experts, among them Steve Maxham, director of the museum at Fort Rucker.

"The level of restoration work is impeccable," said Maxham, who oversees a collection that includes four of the first helicopter models ordered by the U.S. military, all restored by Lenhardt. "I mean, these things are pristine."

A pilot since 16, Lenhardt made a living from agriculture aviation, or crop-dusting. But his true love lies in restoration and in flying his 1947 Beechcraft Bonanza, a red-hot number he takes to the skies two or three times a week.

Although most of his restoration work has found a home, he still has seven helicopters stored in hangars at Lenhardt Airpark, the small airport he's owned since 1955.

In all, Lenhardt figures he has restored about 20 war-era helicopters since 1968, when he traded a crop-duster for a 1938 Stearman, an open-cockpit plane used to train pilots in World War II. When Lenhardt was through, the Stearman looked like new, trimmed in its original blue and yellow, with stars on the wings and fuselage.

"That was the first thing that got me interested early on," Lenhardt said.

Then he set his sights on finding a Grumman Wildcat, a fighting plane used in World War II. Flying ace Marion Carl flew a Wildcat when he came home to Hubbard between missions in the war. Carl defied nature in the machine, twisting and climbing in the skies over his hometown.

"It was a thrill just watching him fly by with the Wildcat," Lenhardt remembers. "He would buzz the farm and pull up and do those rolls on the way up. That's always stuck in my mind as something that would be the ultimate."

Carl was Lenhardt's hero and neighbor. He also was Hubbard's famous son -- an aviator in a league with Chuck Yeager, who went on to set records in speed and altitude. Lenhardt, a boy when he watched Carl fly, wanted to be just like him.

In 1971, Lenhardt scoured federal aviation records until he found all the parts to a Wildcat. He trimmed it in dark gray and painted its belly a lighter shade of gray. When he was done, it looked like the plane Carl flew.  

Emulating Carl a thrill
Lenhardt buzzed his land, traveling 250 mph 30 to 50 feet off the ground. He'd make it pitch and roll on the way up, just like Carl. "It was just a thrill," he said.

From 1972 through 1978, he flew the Wildcat in air shows, then traded it to the Navy museum in Pensacola.

Carl was killed by a shotgun blast in June 1998 while trying to protect his wife, Edna, during a robbery at their home along the North Umpqua River.

Lenhardt began dreaming of flying at age 6. He memorized every model plane there was. At 16, he learned to fly at Mulino Airport, helping out on Sundays by trimming the grassy strip, washing airplanes and pumping gas.

By the time he was 18, Lenhardt had a private pilot's license, entitling him to carry passengers and fly for hire. The spring after he turned 18, he took off dusting crops just beyond his family's farm.

When he got a chance to lease 14 acres from the farm across the street, he grabbed it. He continued crop-dusting and took up teaching others to fly. In the 1960s, he acquired all of the land that now makes up his airpark.

Model planes attracted
Today, Lenhardt's airstrip serves turboprop engine planes and anything smaller. He also rents space for private planes. On a clear day, model airplane buffs watch their homemade toys surf the sky. And every week, people curious about old helicopters stop by to take a look at his collection of war-era machines.

Restoring helicopters to their original condition is easier than tracing their battle history, if they have any at all, Lenhardt said. Some of the machines he's worked on could have been used by civilians. Others might have had such top-secret missions that their records are difficult to recover.

That is why a helicopter with a documented history of use in the Korean War in 1950 is Lenhardt's prized possession. The helicopter, known as a Bell HTL-3, was one of the first used in the Korean War. It was owned by the Navy and loaned to a Marine squadron.

Today, it looks much as it did when it was in battle. A bubble-shaped Plexiglas window protects the cockpit, equipped with the original instrument panel and seats. A new skin of fabric and metal covers the tail, which is emblazoned with the original registration number.  

How many bullet holes?
"I always wonder how many bullet holes this thing got," Lenhardt said, opening the door to the cockpit. "I'm sure it got a bunch."

The Bell helicopter is Lenhardt's final restoration project. He's eager to sell his remaining helicopters and ease out of the day-to-day operation of his airpark. At 63, he hopes to add some hangars to the park and sell them, condominium-style, to people who want to store their planes.

Lenhardt, a father of three and grandfather of nine, wants to spend more time along the Willamette River near his Charbonneau home. And, of course, he wants more time to fly his Beechcraft Bonanza, a four-seater with candy-cane coloring. It's one of only 11 flying today.

Once every three weeks or so, he joins a caravan of 15 vintage planes, bound for breakfast in Salem, Cottage Grove or Olympia. ("There's quite a few places where you can taxi right up to the restaurant," Lenhardt said.) He and his wife of 45 years, Elaine, fly off on occasional day trips, too.

Most of all, he said, "I just want to be able to fly when I want."