Most Grumman American AA1s had similar tail numbers, many ending in Lima, like mine. I was making a short hop in my little blue two-seater from Nashua, New Hampshire (KASH), southbound to Hanscom Field in Bedford, Massachusetts (KBED). Having once been based at KBED, the routine was well set in my muscle memory.
I called in from 10 miles out and the tower controller told me to report entering a right downwind for Runway 29. Easy Peasy. But just as I was about to key the microphone to announce I was entering the pattern, the controller asked, “9689L, what’s your position?” Before I could respond, another pilot jumped in. “I’m not sure where I am.” It took me a second to realize he had misheard the tail number, and before I could protest, a long conversation ensued as the controller tried to help a lost student pilot (thinking he was me) find the airport.
Meanwhile, I was entering the pattern, and the controller thought he saw the airplane he was talking to. “Grumman 9689 Lima, the airport is off your right wing at one and a half miles. Continue on the right downwind.” And before I could get a word in, “I don’t see the airport. I see, ah, a river off my right side … and two highways intersecting next to a lake.” They ping-ponged back and forth until the controller began to suspect the airplane he was watching wasn’t the one he was talking to. When he said, “Grumman 9689 Lima, what color is your airplane?” I figured things might finally get sorted out. What are the odds? Grummans came in one of about six colors that I can remember. “It’s blue!” the other guy said.
The rapid-fire dialog continued as I flew the downwind (there was no other traffic) and started my turn to base before I got a break on the frequency. “This is the real Grumman 9689L,” I said. “I’m on base about to turn final for Runway 29.”
There was a brief pause as the controller cleared me to land, the student pilot realized his mistake and he and the controller figured out where he was—and more important to me, where he wasn’t.
