Something in the wind ‘Warbird’ weather vane maker honors veterans
Terry Markovich pulls out templates for some of the model planes he has made. Markovich has a workshop in his backyard that he used in the past to make furniture, but he now creates the planes there.
Terry Markovich’s front yard showcases many of the replica warplanes he has made in the past four years. Markovich takes orders for the plane weather vanes and sells them for around $300, depending on any special requests.
Terry Markovich’s father, a World War II service mechanic, is the inspiration behind Markovich’s plane weather vanes. Markovich has made a replica P-39, Black Widow WWII fighter, Haviland Mosquito bomber and a B-25, to name a few.
The top of Terry Markovich’s workshop sports three World War II-era planes on the roof as well as a “No Women” sign. Markovich’s wife, Lynn, joked that she salutes and asks for permission to enter.
Terry Markovich of Cecil has made more than 50 replica plane weather vanes. Markovich has been making these weather vanes for the last four years.
CECIL – Drivers passing 140 O’Hare Road in Cecil can’t miss the half-dozen replica fighter planes.
Terry Markovich, 62, posts up, sells and donates his novel weather vanes to honor his father, a World War II service mechanic who worked on P-38 aircraft.
“Since I could sit up, he would talk about those planes. He was like my hero when I was little. Then, when I was older, he became my best friend,” he said.
Markovich, himself an Air Force and Air National Guard veteran and jet mechanic, has made more than 50 of the nearly 25-pound models.
“I was tinkering with a propeller one day four years ago and hung it up like a weather vane and thought, ‘Why not the whole plane?’ So I’ve been making them ever since,” he said.
Markovich started out in his home, which he built and has been living in since 1986, according to his wife, Lynn.
“I’m the financier and critic. But he’s a perfectionist anyway,” she said.
Markovich had to leave the basement workspace for a new workshop he built in the backyard after his work started to experience a bit of what military professionals refer to as mission creep. So he migrated to the 85-square-foot shop he originally built to assemble furniture and cabinets.
“I was going to keep making furniture when I retired. But since I’ve started making airplanes, I haven’t touched furniture,” he said.
The workshop, adorned with a sign that says “No Women,” also features three more of the World War II-era planes on the roof.
“I have to salute and say, ‘Permission to enter, sir,’ and treat him like the drill sergeant he wants to be,” Lynn said with a laugh.
The two had just returned from the Oshkosh Air Show in Wisconsin, suffering from a bout of terrestrial lag from driving all through the night. “It was our first time going there. We had a reason this time. A guy who has cancer called up and wanted a plane. Shipping would’ve been outrageous, so we brought him a Corsair model; his brother bought a B-25 replica,” Markovich said.
The service veteran is most proud of these moments: when he can either bring back memories for fellow veterans, or donate the weather vanes to veterans’ groups.
“I donated one to the Aviation Military Museum in Virginia; they wanted a Havilland Mosquito bomber – biggest one I built, with a 10-foot wingspan,” he said, “I donated a Black Widow WWII fighter to the aviation museum in Philadelphia, but the biggest thrill I get is donating to the local Legion posts.
“I’m not in it for the money, because it takes me three weeks to make one of these things. They’re a wooden skeleton covered with aluminum, then sealed and painted; add the propellers. I ask $300. Not breaking even, but it keeps me out of trouble,” he said
He also offers a standing lifetime warranty, as evidenced by the repair work on the P-39 replica he did for Dick Folle of Taylorstown after the weather vane flew off his barn.
“Just beautiful work … he fixed it for free when I called him, when a microburst sent this thing sailing,” Folle said.
Interested buyers can just “drive into the driveway,” Markovich said, though he has increased security around his home after an F-86 Sabre replica from the Korean War was stolen.
“That’s why the (Vietnam War-era) helicopter and the others have cables on them now. I love showing them off, but it makes me so mad realizing people still do that stuff,” he said.
The only awkward part of Markovich’s work is his take on marketing: a studded-nose tribal headhunter on his business card and around his workshop. Markovich admitted the afro-wearing man with goggles and bones seems odd without context.
“My father’s squadron, their symbol was a headhunter; this was on their arm patches,” he said, “and I know it looks weird, but it’s part of history of what they did to brand themselves as high-flying headhunters.”
Other branding on his planes is just as familial.
“The name Elaina there on the fuselage, that’s my little granddaughter. She’s flying, too.”