“An Absolute Hero”

When Oscar Espejo Jr. recalls his father, it’s with reverence. “He was an absolute hero,” Espejo Jr. said, "he was my dad. He was good, no matter what he did. You know, to me, he was the best.”

It’s the same way many Marco Islanders felt about Oscar Espejo between 1964 and 1975. The man who started Marco Island’s mosquito control program and managed the island’s first airport, crashed his single-engine Cessna into the Gulf of Mexico on October 30, 1975, killing himself and his passenger, freelance photographer Tony Cavallo. The crash occurred in front of the Marco Beach Hotel, just off of Marco Beach. Espejo was just 44. His only son was 10.

“I never read the newspaper article,” Espejo said wistfully. "I have some memories, you know. All good ones. But not too many.”

Espejo Sr. was hired by Deltona Corporation, the developers of modern Marco Island in 1964, primarily to get the island’s mosquito problem under control. Espejo was originally from Peru and was just finishing a two-year hitch in the U.S. Army, where he was a member of the Honor Guard in Washington, D.C. A friend told him about the job on Marco Island.

“He had a friend in the Army that was working for Deltona,” Espejo said. “He called him and said, ‘Hey, they're going to start this program. You’ve got your pilot's license and some flying hours. They're looking for somebody to spray for mosquitoes.' So, he came down and interviewed with Deltona and got the job.”

Espejo feels confident that his father’s job was a requisite to Deltona’s ability to develop the island.

"He worked there until the day he passed,” Espejo said. "I don't think they could sell any real estate down here before he started spraying. They would bring people over from Miami, give them the tour, but the mosquitoes were so bad that they weren't selling. They had to come up with something. They came up with the mosquito control program because Collier County wasn’t spraying over the area.”

Espejo split time with his father and mother after the two divorced. His mother lived in Naples, while his father lived on the island. While his memories of his father weren’t large in number, they are indelibly imprinted.

"He was kind of a laid-back kind of guy,” Espejo said. "Nothing really bothered him much. But he was very work orientated. On the days that he had to spray, it was a big event because he had to mix all the chemicals and pump them into the airplane. You couldn't do it the night before. It was too heavy on the aircraft to sit there loaded for hours and hours. So, he'd partially fill it, and then he'd get up at 3:30 AM and fill it the rest of the way up. A couple of times, I remember I happened to be with him, and he would actually sleep at the airport the night before he had to spray because it was no use going home to get a few hours of sleep. I stayed there with him one night and got to see the whole operation.”

The airport in those days was located in the vicinity of modern-day Landmark Street and consisted of a small building and a spartan landing strip.

“The airport at the time had no runway lights,” Espejo said. "So, he had to go out with what they called smudge pots. They used them in World War II. It was a big kerosene lamp. We'd go fill those up and light them on the sides of the runway. He'd take off before daybreak. He needed the smudge pots in case he had to come right back in, he’d have something to look for.”

Espejo cherished the times he got to accompany his dad on mosquito spraying missions. He flew a bright orange Beechcraft 18, a twin-engine, low-wing tailwheel light aircraft produced from 1937-1969. It was one of the world’s most widely used light aircraft.

"I don't think he was supposed to take me with him,” Espejo said, "but he did a few times. I got to flip the switches for the fog. It was unbelievable. The airplane that he flew, the Beech 18, had big radial engines on it. And the sound of those engines is like no other, they're very distinct. And when those things get up to power and you're rolling down the runway, boy, the hair on the back of my neck would stand up. It's just that powerful. And you'd see those smudge pots look like little fires on the side of the runway going by. It was fun but a little scary the first time I went because we were right at tree level."

Espejo remembers an island resident from the Indian Hill area coming by the airport with a piece of the plane in tow.

“One time we were there at the airport,” Espejo said, “Dad had finished spraying, and some guy, I don't know who he was, drives up in his truck and he's got dad's wing tip. He goes, 'I think this is yours. I think you got a little low this morning. Here you go.’ The airplane was bright orange, so it was easy to find the parts."

Espejo remembers the first time his dad turned the controls over to him. This time, they were in a post-World War II light two-seat sport monoplane.

“We went flying in the Globe Swift,” he said. “It was kind of way ahead of its time, built in 1946. It was actually built as a military trainer during the first part of the 1940s, but by the time it hit production, the war was over. They didn't want to use it for a trainer anymore. So, they made it more of a general aviation type aircraft. It was a lot of fun to fly. He'd take me flying in that a lot. And I must have been six years old when we were flying along and he said, ‘Okay, you've got it. Your turn to fly it.’"

Espejo recalls the fear he felt when he took the controls.

“Scary,” he said, “very scary. I was probably bawling my eyes out at the time, but he said, “Hey, hey, hey, just relax. Take the controls. Two fingers are all you need. He always used to say all you need to do is have two fingers on. And he was right. A lot of people get in there, they get nervous and they start gripping the steering too tightly when all you need is two little fingers, and it flies real nice."

Espejo didn’t baby his son when he flew with him.

"We used to go up and roll,” he said. "That was a fully aerobatic airplane. I remember the first time he did a roll, he told me beforehand. He said, ‘Well, today we're going to do one of these. You want to do one of these?’  I said, ‘Yeah.'  So, we took off from the airport, made a left turn out over the Gulf, heading west, and did a nice roll. It wasn't bad. I was a little scared about that, but it was kind of cool. After that, he'd do loops and stuff like that with me.”

Some longtime Marco Islanders remember Espejo as a daredevil. They remember him flying under the Marco River Bridge (now the Judge S.S. Jolley Bridge) during the ribbon-cutting ceremony and clipping the treetops on his mosquito spraying missions. But his son, a pilot himself, firmly but kindly debunks that myth.

"I wouldn't say that,” he said quickly. "No, I wouldn't say that at all. It was just the opposite. I think he was overly cautious. He knew the airplane, he respected the airplane. And I never saw him do anything that he didn’t know exactly what he was doing.”

That's the difference between a daredevil and someone who is very confident in his abilities. 

"I did some flight instruction in my early days as a pilot,” Espejo said. “There were two kinds of pilots, one that was bad and knew it. And the other one that was bad but was never going to know it. Those were the dangerous ones. We could fix the ones that respected and knew their deficiencies. Those are the ones that you want to teach. I was so young but I never saw him or heard of him doing anything that I would describe as daredevilish. It's good to know a little aerobatics, even if you're not into that kind of thing, just in case you get into some unusual attitude or situation, you're more comfortable to rectify the problem.”

As far as his dad flying under the Marco River Bridge, his son has no problem picturing that.

"He didn't do it with me,” he said. “It's like an everyday thing for him to fly that low.”

Another treasured memory for Espejo happened when he was at summer camp in Lake Placid, Florida, 123 miles from Marco in the center of the state.

 "I must have been about eight,” Espejo said. "He sent me to a summer camp. There's a little airport close by. He flew me up there, dropped me off with my duffel bag. See you in three weeks or whatever. So, the last day, all the parents were coming to pick up the kids. It got down to me and two or three other kids. I'm thinking he forgot or something. Then, all of a sudden, he comes flying in, he buzzes the place, boom, pulled it up and landed in the field right there. And I just remember the other kids going, WOW!”

Another indelible memory involved another Marco Island legend, Sheriff Les Binns, who was the island’s only law enforcement presence at the time.

"I had my bike there at the airport,” Espejo said. Dad said, ‘Son, I want you to ride your bike to see Mr. Jones.' Jones’ Hardware was over there by the old 7-Eleven on Bald Eagle (across from the cemetery). It was the only hardware store on the island. I don't know what year it was, but I remember riding from where the airport was, down 92 (San Marco Drive), making a left on Bald Eagle. And, you know, I didn't see one car. So, I got there and Mr. Jones was waiting for me. ‘Your dad called,’ he said. He handed me a fishing pole and a tackle box full of all the stuff I needed. So, I'm heading back with my bike. I've got the fishing pole on my bike, and I'm going straight down the center line. There's not a car in the world. And behind me pulls up Les Binns. And Les says, ‘Uh, Oscar, you want a ride back?' I'm like, sure. Because I was struggling, trying to carry everything. He put my bike in the trunk. And I remember pulling up and there's dad standing there. Les goes, ‘He was having a little trouble carrying all that stuff.’”

The airport had water and mangroves on either side of the runway. It was not unusual for locals to fish and catch blue crabs within feet of the runway.

"I caught my very first snook at that airport,” Espejo recalls with a smile.

Espejo has fond memories of helping his dad with the various facets of mosquito control.

“There was more to the job than just spraying with the airplane,” Espejo said. "He would have to do these mosquito counts. He’d go way back in the woods to a predetermined location and stick out his arm and he'd count how many mosquitoes were going to bite him in a certain amount of time. That's how they did it. He also had these big purple pellets, about the size of a golf ball, and a giant slingshot, and he would go around and try to find standing water in the mangroves. There was no way you could get back to them, but he knew there were larvae there. So, we'd go and he'd shoot these pellets into the standing water. He let me shoot a couple of times for fun.”

Espejo also drove a mosquito fogging truck. 

“A lot of times I remember lying sleeping on his lap while he's spraying,” Espejo said. “We'd stop and talk to Mr. Everingham, the general manager of the Marco Beach Hotel."

Everingham, who was the only manager of the Marco Beach Hotel until it was sold to Marriott, has fond memories of the elder Espejo.

"Oscar was a friend,” Roger Everingham said. "Often Oscar would fly me to Miami to meet with the Mackles, Frank, Robert and Elliott, who shared one huge office on Coral Way. After takeoff, he would say, “Mr. E., would you like to see the Everglades close up? Down we would go to about 200 feet, surprising the wildlife, until the approach to Miami International Airport when he had to observe flight rules.” 

Jim Stackpoole was the 25-year-old manager of the Marco Island Country Club, a Deltona property, when he first met Espejo. As Stackpoole quickly rose through the ranks at Deltona, he remained close to Espejo.

"That name brings back many memories,” said Stackpoole, now 79. "Oscar was our airport manager and everything aviation in the early days. He was the go-to guy if you needed to get somewhere on short notice. He would often fly me and other Deltona executives to Miami in his single-engine aircraft for meetings at the main office. I also used him from time to time to get to other Deltona communities such as Spring Hill, Deltona or Marion Oaks. 

"He was a master at dodging Florida’s summertime thunderstorms, always with a full play-by-play of every maneuver. Oscar was always upbeat and full of great stories." 

October 30, 1975, the day of his father’s fatal crash, is a day Espejo will never forget.

“We were in Naples,” Espejo said, "my mother and I lived downtown. I went to Saint Ann's School. I remember my mother coming in that morning and telling me. Oh, that was a tough one. I was 10. It had happened the night before. She came in my room that morning and told me what had happened. I didn't go to school for a few days.”

Espejo lost his interest in flying. 

"I didn't want anything to do with airplanes or aviation after that,” he said. "And I think if it wasn't for my grandmother, who saved me at 18 years old, God knows where I would have gone. I was just finishing high school. Getting in a little trouble. I remember my grandmother, my dad's mother, came to the house one day. She said, ‘You should go with me. We're going to get a haircut and buy some new clothes. You've got an interview at the airport.' My grandmother was this big Swiss woman who didn't take no as an answer. I went there, got interviewed and got the job. I worked at the Marco Island Airways for six years.”

He started out on the ground floor. "I was pumping gas and throwing bags,” he said, "washing the planes, fueling the planes. Whatever it took."

His grandmother’s intervention got Espejo back on the right track. He was reunited with the Marco Island aviation community and met old friends of his father on a daily basis.

“By about the third year, I had keys to about six or seven different airplanes. They would just give me the key and they'd say, ‘Hey, we're going away for the summer. Can you wash it for us and take it around the patch a couple of times?' So, I was flying. These people knew my dad. On almost a daily basis, somebody would come up and say, 'Boy, your dad was such a good guy. I really liked your dad.' I’d thank them very much. It would make me feel good."

Espejo always remembered a lesson his dad taught him.

"He always told me, when I was nine or 10, ‘When you meet someone, look him square in the eye, give him a nice, good, firm handshake.’ And I never forgot that. I think it might have gotten me a couple of jobs."

Espejo was able to quickly earn flight time while employed at Marco Island Airways, and he was ready when opportunity called.

"I learned to fly there,” he said, "and I taught for about three years. Then one of the other instructors got a job with some commuter airline. He called me a couple of months later and said he could get me a job there. I filled out the application, sent it in. Two weeks later, I'm there. I got my foot in the door that way. I flew a 19-passenger turboprop. We were hubbed out of Chicago, and we'd fly to Traverse City, Moline, Illinois, all within a couple hundred mile radius. Looking back at it, it's not the ideal job. We'd do like nine flights a day. They kept us busy. No autopilot. So, you’re flying every day.”

Eventually, he landed a career job in aviation as a pilot for NetJets.

"I spent the last 22 years at NetJets,” he said. “They sell fractional ownership in private jets. A lot of the big corporations sold their planes off and came and joined NetJets.

Espejo has spent a lot of time trying to figure out what might have gone wrong on October 30, 1975.

"He used to take a lot of photographers up,” Espejo said, "and depending on the shot they wanted, they put a hole in the bottom of the airplane so that the guys could take a shot straight down. But the aircraft had wing struts. A lot of times Dad would take the doors off so they would have a better view. And turn the co-pilot seat around so they could shoot behind the strut. An unobstructed view. I don't know if that's what happened that day or not. I don't know much about it. I think maybe the seat came out of the track. This is all just my thoughts. I think the seat came out of the track forward and then locked in place and that was it. I ended up teaching people to fly in the same type of airplane. And on more than one occasion that happened to us. The seat came out of the track. In fact, the aircraft manufacturer came up with an advisory. They wanted an additional locking mechanism for the seat. If it wasn't in the hole properly or the hole was worn from years of use, it could come out. So, I think that's maybe what happened. They've since changed all that, thank goodness. That was a problem there.

"There was a yacht off the coast of Marco Island that was in some kind of trouble. It was owned by Bill Rose. They wanted to get some pictures of it for a newspaper article. That's the account that I heard from Bill. I talked to him years later. The airplane was at a low altitude, they were circling the boat and the airplane just banged right into the water. So that's why I kind of think maybe the yoke was pinned or something. That seat pinned the yoke. I have no idea if that's what happened. But back in those days, they didn't do a National Transportation Safety Board investigation like they do today. Every airplane crash is a big deal. They want to learn from what happened. They take the airplane apart and put it back together and all that. And I don't think any of that happened back then. They recovered the plane and the bodies, but I don't think they did a full investigation."

So, what does Espejo think his father’s legacy is on Marco Island? He answered on a professional level.

"I think, but for the fact that they sprayed for the mosquitoes,” he said, "Marco Island probably wouldn't be what it is today. I mean, they had to do something. They weren't selling the land."

Stackpoole weighed in on Espejo’s legacy.

“Oscar was a free-spirited pilot who passed away doing what he loved,” Stackpoole said.

Everingham actually witnessed Espejo’s crash.

 "I saw Oscar's plane go down in the Gulf from my office in the Marco Beach Hotel and Villas,” Everingham said. "A colorful, good guy."

"I wish I had a chance to know him better,” Espejo said. "To me, he couldn't have done anything wrong, you know that? I knew he loved his family. He took his job seriously. He did the whole program."