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     A charter airline, based at McCarran International in Las Vegas, Nevada, named Key Air, struck up a relationship with Presidential and romanced them into a “merger.”  Later it would turn out to be a “Vegas Con,” as the Key Air executives proved to be a pack of sharks hunting for a victim to feed on. 

     At the beginning though, during the honeymoon, all thought it was a marriage made in heaven.  Key Air had a small fleet of three-engined B-727s. 

     However, the tri-jet was proving too expensive to operate their USAF contract between Nellis and Silverbow; since the hop was so short at thirty minutes and the loads weren’t that big.  Whereas Presidential’s twin-engined B-737s were far more economical for this run.  Therefore two 737s were loaned out to Key Air, while Presidential was given access to Key Air’s B-727s for charter and scheduled airline work.  It was a fair swap – making both companies money.

     A Presidential B-737 lifting off from McCarran in its new Key Air paint job.

     A Presidential B-737 landing at “Silverbow.”

     When Presidential put out the word they needed pilots to volunteer for relocation to Las Vegas, I jumped at the chance.  It was the genesis of November 1986, and winter was right around the corner.  Having experienced winter in Minnesota, I couldn’t believe my luck at escaping an East Coast winter. 

     Winter at Washington-Dulles Airport.

     After a pleasant four-day trip across country in my new Mustang, enjoying good weather all the way, I arrived at Las Vegas in the middle of November 1986.

     Right away I hooked up with another Presidential pilot, who had also flown with SAUDIA.  And, as we were both flush with cash, we joined forces and rented a luxury three bedroom apartment, at the fabulous Country Club Towers, on East Desert Inn Road.

     From our ninth-floor apartment we had a view of the Las Vegas Country Club links, the Hilton Hotel, the Convention Center and the Vegas Strip beyond with the mountains as a backdrop.  Needless to say - at night the carnival lights of the Las Vegas Strip were spectacular. 

     In short, dear reader, my flying buddy and I were in tall clover.  He had an ’86, fire-engine red Thunderbird, and I had a midnight black, ’86 Mustang convertible. 

     Lookout Vegas – here we come!

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