By Reuvain  Borchardt

 

Photos courtesy of Yitzy Engel Photography and Reuvain Borchardt

 

 

 

As you make your way through traffic on Cedar Bridge Avenue, like an oasis in a rapidly urbanizing jungle there suddenly appears a stretch of serene land — 192 acres of it, with long patches of quiet asphalt surrounded by thick stretches of trees.

 

It’s Lakewood Airport.

 

Most of us have driven by it hundreds of times, occasionally seeing a small low-flying plane making a landing, maybe slowing down and turning our head to watch the landing as traffic behind us beeps impatiently. Maybe we’ve taken our families to the benches and picnic tables set up behind the fence to watch takeoffs and landings. But have you wondered what actually happens behind the gates of Lakewood Airport? What kind of aircraft fly there, who uses it, how busy is it, and what are the chances of that land being converted to something else one day?

 

Well, so did we.

 

And so, on a hot afternoon, with a mix of sun and clouds overhead and the airport gearing up for its busy summer season, we visited Steven Reinman, the airport manager, to find out what goes on in the last broad expanse left in 08701.

 

 

The History

 

Lakewood Airport opened eight decades ago. At the time, wealthy New Yorkers took the opportunity to wing on over to what was then a resort town and then get picked up by horse and buggy to go to their hotels or second homes.

 

Months before the airport’s opening, The Lakewood Citizen newspaper took a libertarian stance against a township-owned airport in a terse editorial: “The Township Committee’s recent rejection of ideas that would lead to a municipally owned airport, but offering instead its fullest cooperation if such a project is undertaken by private ownership, convinces us that Lakewood intends to hold the line against further public experiments. We would like to see the spirit of ‘hands off’ approach reach epidemic proportions throughout the nation.”

 

The airport did open as a private entity (presumably to the paper’s delight). And it stayed that way until the 1990s, Steven Reinman tells us. Then, the township purchased it with federal funds. The use of federal funds has placed conditions on the airport that are still in effect today.

 

 

The Industrial Commission Takes Ownership

 

 

After the township completed the purchase, it put the airport’s ownership and management in the hands of several government entities and private operators before transferring ownership and operation to the Lakewood Industrial Commission in 2020. The Industrial Commission owns park and industrial lands in the township and is tasked with boosting the township’s business footprint and economy.

 

 

Reinman, a New York native who moved to Lakewood in 1982 when he started learning in BMG, has served as executive director of the Industrial Commission since 2009 and then became manager of the airport. (He’s also director of Lakewood’s Department of Economic Development among a host of other positions and likes to joke, “My business card is three pages long.”)

 

 

Who’s Here?

 

 

The airport is currently home to 61 planes. Forty-six are privately owned, and another 15 are owned by two air clubs, in which flying enthusiasts share fractional ownership.

 

Roughly half the planes pay the fee of about $600 a month to park in one of the three hangars; the other half opt for the cheaper $115 cost of keeping the plane parked at the edge of the taxiway. Those are tied down with heavy ropes so they don’t fly away in the wind.

 

Most people who fly these small propeller planes do so for recreation and leisure, though some have other reasons.

 

“There’s something social about being part of the flying club,” Reinman says. “And for a lot of these people, there’s also the opportunity to get training.”

 

He points to two women sitting at the table in the terminal engrossed in conversation. “The younger one is a student, and the older one is her instructor. She was a commercial airline pilot. Now she’s retired and a member of the club, and she enjoys teaching.”

 

 

The airport is also used by two banner-towing companies, which fly over the nearby Jersey Shore beaches holding banners with messages. Typically, these are paid ads from companies, but people also employ them to wish a loved one a special happy birthday or anniversary.

 

The US Air Force does some training at Lakewood Airport, as have the National Guards of Pennsylvania and New Jersey. Reinman relates that one memorable Pennsylvania National Guard training session included a Black Hawk helicopter landing in the grassy knoll between the taxiway and runway and the Guardsmen running off into the nearby woods.

 

The airport is also used by a squadron of the Civil Air Patrol, the civilian auxiliary of the Air Force that performs search-and-rescue missions among other operations.

 

For the first time since the 1980s, skydiving returned to Lakewood Airport last summer, via the company iSkydiveAmerica. And a frum-owned flight school will soon be starting up at the airport. (There had been another school there, which closed a decade ago, after its proprietor moved away.)

 

“People who eventually become commercial jet pilots have to start somewhere,” Reinman says. “Many flight schools will start with smaller planes. There’s actually a frum woman who flies for El Al who did her early training here at this airport when the old flight school was here.”

 

 

 

Some businessmen like to fly their own small planes on short trips, though more typically they’ll use helicopters. Reflective of the growth of that community here, on most days Lakewood Airport will have two or more chopper landings, typically businessmen coming from places like Manhattan.

 

Also, at times, philanthropists have choppered rabbanim to events so they could travel comfortably and not waste precious time in traffic.

 

The plane owners hate the helicopters, which kick up pebbles and risk breaking the planes’ windshields and windows; that’s why most of the tied-down planes have thick tarps covering their glass.

 

 

A Walk Down the Taxiway

 

 

We leave the terminal and walk down the taxiway for the grand tour.

 

It’s a beautiful day in Lakewood. Just across the fence, families are sitting at the benches and picnic tables, eating lunch while watching takeoffs and landings. But I’m woefully unprepared with my dress shoes, which are no match for the boiling tarmac (a sign in the terminal had warned that an 86-degree air temperature means 135-degree asphalt), and my yarmulke whips about in the wind tunnel created by the rows of trees lining the airport. The experienced Reinman is comfortable in soft-soled footwear and a baseball cap.

 

During our half-hour walk-talk on this Wednesday afternoon, we see one plane land and another take off.

 

 

“It’s hard to predict when there will be a busy day,” Reinman says. “It depends on if the winds are very heavy.”

 

During the busy summer weekends, the airport will typically see 50 to 100 aircraft landings, although some are the same plane taking off and landing several times.

 

We also see one banner tower come in. These planes don’t actually take off towing the sign—the plane would be too heavy for liftoff, and a speeding plane towing a sign encased in metal would tear up the runway. The planes take off with nothing attached, circle back, and then swoop down low and hook the banner onto the back of the plane. If the attempt misses, they have to circle back and try hooking it again.

 

The runway runs from northeast to southwest (and the taxiway is parallel to that, separated by a stretch of grass). Planes can take off and land in any direction, depending on which way the wind is blowing. “They want to take off and land into the wind,” Reinman says. “Resistance is what gives you lift.”

 

A wind sock between the runway and taxiway indicates the wind’s direction. You’d think planes would have weather information onboard, but not all do. Some of the aircraft parked here look rather primitive.

 

I take a peek inside a plane tied down on the tarmac. The tiny two-seater looks rickety and has seat widths and legroom that make flying coach on a budget regional carrier seem like luxury. If it were a car, you’d never get inside. I figure Charles Lindbergh must have flown this, though Reinman assures me it’s only about 50 years old.

 

 

Cool Your Jets

 

While all the planes that call Lakewood Airport home have single engines, at times the airport will have charter flights of six to eight people with twin-engine aircraft.

 

One plane you won’t find here is a jet.

 

The runway is 3,280 feet long. To land a private jet typically requires at least 5,000 feet. It’s theoretically possible to land one here, but most pilots won’t do it and insurance companies would never allow it.

 

Over three decades ago, a private jet did land here, and it was a memorable event: First Lady Barbara Bush came to town for a meeting with Lawrence Bathgate, a prominent local attorney who served as Republican national finance chairman.

 

 

A Self-Policing System

 

You might have heard on the news recently  about issues some airports have been having with air-traffic controllers and towers and radar systems.

 

Lakewood Airport has no such problems. That’s because it has no towers, no controllers, and no radar.

 

“We’re a self-policing system,” Reinman explains.

 

The pilot of any plane in the area wishing to land will pick up their radio and announce, “Lakewood Traffic…” and let any other plane on the frequency know they’re coming in. There’s a protocol and a listed approach by which they are supposed to land. Once a plane announces it’s in the pattern, no other planes enter until that one lands.

 

We’re still meandering on the taxiway when an airport employee runs over to tell Reinman that someone from the FAA has shown up to speak with him. Reinman apologizes that our walk has to be cut a bit short, but I tell him my burning feet don’t mind.

Does Lakewood Need an Airport?

 

Back in the sweltering terminal (an oversized trailer with an air-conditioning system that  seems to have been installed at the time the airport was built) after the FAA business is finished, I ask Reinman the question that’s been on my mind since the beginning of our conversation.

 

“Does Lakewood really need an airport? Look at all that big, beautiful land…”

 

He smiles.

 

“Before my time here,” he says, “I’m told there actually was that discussion: Do we need an airport, it’s lots of real estate, can’t we turn it into homes or offices or schools? But since the airport was acquired by the township with federal funds, it legally must remain an airport. The federal government paid for it because its objective is that there be a network of small regional airports like this. And so an airport it will remain.”

 

 

And, he says, there are benefits to having the airstrip.

 

“It’s a resource of the town and part of our parks system. Families come here to watch the planes, it’s nice, it’s outdoors, it’s open space. Flying might not be the average pastime for most people because it’s not cheap to get your pilot’s license, but some people do get one, and it might be a path to parnassah. I’m not trying to give anyone employment advice, but there’s a tremendous need for airline pilots.”

 

He mentions seeing a recent news item about a company called Joby Aviation that is doing test runs of an air taxi service that does vertical takeoffs and landings.

 

“There’s a lot of tech development that’s going to make the runway length less of a factor,” he says. “And that will offer even more of an opportunity for people to utilize the airport.”

 

The Township and Industrial Commission operate the airport as a service rather than a moneymaker. The airport charges fees to flight clubs, the flight school, the towing company, and the skydiving company as well as to plane owners for parking. Officially, there’s a $25 fee for each landing, but Reinman says the airport doesn’t bother collecting it; it’s happy enough if the planes buy fuel there. (Aviation gasoline, the fuel used by small planes, costs over $7 a gallon.) All told, with the fees and gas sales and maintenance and salary costs, the airport ran a small profit of $130,000 last year.

 

The airport also serves as a source of entertainment for local day camps, which takes kids on a tour and lets them stand next to a plane. And from time to time, special-needs organizations bring their own choppers and give rides to their kids.

 

One particularly memorable event was held last year, when Israeli families affected by the October 7  attacks—including some children of hostages—came here for a weekend, and on Erev Shabbos were brought to the airfield for helicopter rides.

 

“It’s the community events,” Reinman says, “that make this job very valuable.”

 

The CHEMED Sale

 

Off to the side of the airport property, at the edge of the parachute-landing circle, sits a 60-acre strip of land the airport did not need. In May, the Industrial Commission sold the land for $26 million to CHEMED, which is planning to build a large outpatient facility on it dubbed “The Medical Village.”

 

A township that has a large number of low-income families and issues with roads can find many good uses for $26 million. But the township cannot touch any of the money.

 

That’s also due to a federal government rule when it gave the township funds to buy the airport: Any money from property sales must stay with the airport.

 

 

“We actually wanted to give the money to the township,” Reinman says. “But we can’t. It has to stay in accounts dedicated for use by the airport with specific guidelines.”

 

When I ask what the plans are for the $26 million, he replies, “It’s not developed yet. We’ll figure it out. But we do have rough plans. There’s maintenance. We might need new runways and taxiways, which are millions of dollars a pop.

 

“And there might be buildings that we can build here—things that can be of beneficial use to the township and to its residents and that will potentially generate jobs and other types of revenue for the town and which are related to the airport business and therefore would be allowed.”

 

The Jump

 

As soon as Reinman mentioned there’s skydiving at Lakewood Airport, I knew I would have to take the leap.

 

When I show up to the airport eight days later for my scheduled jump, it’s 82 degrees with no humidity and some patches of clouds set perfectly against the bright blue sky. Lovely day to step out of a plane from two miles up.

 

On this Thursday morning, the airport is popping—far busier than on the day of my interview with Reinman. There are also aircraft there for special-needs kids. I even spot some Air Force members getting on a plane for one of their training runs. Their aircraft are nine-seaters, just about the biggest you’ll find at Lakewood Airport.

 

 

Chandler, the skydiving instructor with whom I’ll be doing my tandem jump, meets me at the gate and brings me into the skydiving station in a field behind the hangars. A redhead with a shaggy beard and mop of hair, he introduces me to the pilot, Philip, who has an all-American prep boy look. Chandler affixes my harness and his, and we all head to Philip’s plane.

 

Chandler first films a little video with his GoPro. He asks if I’m nervous. I stare into the camera and coolly reply, “Even if I were, I wouldn’t admit it.”

 

Chandler’s wearing a helmet with a face mask, but he doesn’t offer one to me. When I ask why, he explains that as he’ll be behind me, the helmet is only to protect himself in case I head-butt him or if I vomit in midair. It’s alright, I tell him; I haven’t eaten anything yet today.

 

We go up in Philip’s prop plane, and let me tell you: Riding one of those rickety things is no fun. Philip is in the captain’s seat, and Chandler and I are squeezed on the floor. The plane circles around, and we get magnificent views of the Jersey Shore. But my ears are popping and the ride is uncomfortable and I can’t wait to be in the free and open sky.

 

I see some good-humored passenger scratched out the word “HELP” on the plane door, and that gives me a good laugh.

 

Chandler locks his harness to mine and we go over the steps: He’ll open the door when we reach 10,500 feet. He’ll give me the thumbs-up, and when I give him the okay, he’ll roll out with me attached to him.

 

After about 15 minutes, we’ve reached the 10.5K mark. It’s time. Chandler asks if I’d like to do a front-flip somersault during the free-fall. Of course I would.

 

He opens the door, gives me a thumbs-up, and asks if I’m ready.

 

I thumbs-up back. “Let’s do it.”

 

And away we go. We roll out. We soar through the air. We do the somersault, and for a brief instant I’m staring straight at the sun.

 

I put my arms out, give a thumbs-up, smile, and yell for the camera—not that it can pick up any sound at this point, with the wind rushing by.

 

That free fall is a great thrill.

 

After 35 seconds of free-falling, we’re down to 5,000 feet, and Chandler signals to me that he’s about to deploy the chute. I brace myself for the jolt. Boom. It’s opened.

 

Now it’s a slow, quiet, five-minute trip down, during which we just chill and schmooze.

 

The first thing Chandler asks me on camera is how it was. “Honestly,” I reply, “not nearly as scary as I thought it would be.”

 

As we float down with the chute, I look around. I had thought Lakewood no longer has woods, but from up in the air it looks plenty green. What a gorgeous day.

 

 

Chandler remarks how much he loves his job. “It’s the greatest office on earth,” he says. I start debating him if this is technically part of earth.

 

He begins turning the chute this way and that so I can enjoy the 360-degree view, and then he shows me how I can steer it myself. I can see way out to the ocean.

 

I look around more locally and see the cars moving along the Garden State Parkway, Cedar Bridge Avenue, and Route 9. The traffic looks even worse from up here, but hey, that’s for those who are unfortunately stuck on land. I’m above it all. Up here there’s no gridlock, no street closures, no tensions, no magazine deadlines. Just wide-open space all around.

 

Halfway through the five-minute parachute ride, I start feeling unwell. And the harness is tight and uncomfortable. I’m looking forward to landing.

 

I’m grateful to spot the airport below us. The landing is smooth but my stomach is not. I’m happy to be back on solid ground!

 

And then, suddenly, the adrenaline courses through me and I’m feeling great all over again. I jump up and let out an exuberant shout.

 

As I head back to the car, my feet are technically on the ground, but I still feel like I’m walking on air.

 

The free fall may have lasted 35 seconds, but the high will stay a whole lot longer. Till next time.

 

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