Kermit Weeks, one of the world's most prominent private warbird and vintage aircraft collectors, recently shared point-of-view footage of himself piloting a Curtiss aircraft over the grounds of Fantasy of Flight near Lakeland, Florida — a facility he founded and that once served as one of North America's most ambitious aviation attraction and restoration complexes. The brief but evocative post, accompanied by Weeks's note that he misses the place, offers a rare airborne perspective on the Polk City property that housed his extraordinary collection for decades. The Curtiss type shown is consistent with Weeks's holdings of early American aviation artifacts, which include some of the rarest flying examples of pioneer-era and interwar aircraft in private hands anywhere in the world.
Fantasy of Flight operated as a public aviation experience from its opening in 1995 until it closed to general visitors around 2015, a casualty of the economics of maintaining and insuring a living collection of irreplaceable flying machines while simultaneously running a theme-park-style attraction. At its peak, the facility displayed and flew aircraft spanning the full arc of powered flight history, from reproductions of early pusher biplanes to World War II combat aircraft. For professional pilots and aviation historians alike, the closure represented a significant loss of public access to airworthy examples of aircraft types that survive nowhere else. Weeks has continued his stewardship of the collection in a more private capacity, and his ongoing flight activity with these machines underscores the immense personal commitment required to keep century-old airframes airworthy.
The Curtiss connection carries particular weight in the context of American aviation heritage. Glenn Curtiss was not only Orville and Wilbur Wright's most consequential early competitor but also the inventor of fundamental control and airframe concepts that shaped naval aviation, seaplane design, and early commercial flight infrastructure. Curtiss aircraft of the pioneer and World War I era are extraordinarily rare; most surviving examples reside in museums as static displays, making any airworthy specimen — and certainly any POV flight footage — a document of genuine historical significance. Weeks's ability to fly such an aircraft, however briefly and informally captured, represents a caliber of airmanship and historical stewardship that is virtually without parallel in the civilian world.
For working pilots and aviation operators, the imagery carries a broader reminder of how precarious the preservation of living aviation history remains. Unlike static museum artifacts, airworthy vintage aircraft require constant maintenance resources, regulatory engagement, insurance underwriting, and — critically — pilots trained and current on types with no modern analogue in handling characteristics or systems. The fact that Weeks continues to personally fly these aircraft, rather than simply preserving them on the ground, reflects a philosophy shared by a small community of warbird operators globally: that an airplane that does not fly is already halfway to extinction. As general aviation continues to grapple with pilot population declines and rising operational costs, the informal documentation of flights like this one serves as both a cultural artifact and an argument for the irreplaceable value of keeping historic aircraft in the air.