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The Spokesman-Review Newspaper
Spokane, Washington  Est. May 19, 1883

Jose Muinos Love Of Aircraft Inspires Entrepreneur To Open Aviation Supply Store

When a knee-high Jose Muinos caught his first glimpse of an airplane, he was also gazing at what would become his life’s passion.

“I left Cuba when I was 5 years old,” says Muinos, 38. “I remember jumping on the airplane to leave Havana to come to Miami … and from that point on I’ve always loved airplanes.” It was just one week before the Cuban missile crisis, and the trip carried Muinos to capitalism in more ways than one.

The entrepreneur now owns The FlightLine Shop, a 5-week-old aviation store at 13324 E. Sprague in the Valley. It stocks just about everything related to airplanes, from serious gear like headsets and oxygen systems to collectibles and toys. Next month, FlightLine will start a ground school. The store is one of just a few of its kind on the West Coast.

“They really aren’t that common, and most are affiliated with museums,” says Stephanie Prothero, merchandising manager for a shop run by the Museum of Flight in Tukwilla.

FlightLine may be a rare bird, but Muinos seems like a good candidate to make it fly. He worked in the defense industry for 13 years, most of them as a civilian consultant to the Air Force’s F-16 fighter program.

Muinos also kept himself busy after work by becoming a licensed aircraft mechanic and a flight instructor. He took up skydiving and joined the Civil Air Patrol.

When cutbacks in military spending resulted in a layoff in late 1994, he didn’t know what to do next.

“I spent a little time just trying to figure out what I wanted to be when I grew up,” Muinos remembers.

Whatever the next move turned out to be, wings and a blue sky had to be part of it. Muinos lived in Klamath Falls, Ore., at the time, but made periodic runs to Fairchild Air Force Base as part of his duties with the Civil Air Patrol.

“I guess you could call it the Boy Scouts of the Air Force,” Muinos says through a grin. On one of those stops, some of the Fairchild folks were talking about how the Spokane market was ripe for a shop catering to airplane aficionados. Base personnel would patronize it, they thought, as would vets and private pilots who use Felts Field.

Muinos was convinced. He passed up an opportunity to get back into engineering, and began putting together a business plan. He collected information on how many people in this area were licensed pilots, and contacted aviation shop owners in other parts of the country to find out how they succeed.

A binder full of data and four months later, he got a bank loan and then moved to Spokane last fall.

Once here, he met Gary Martin. Martin, too, was new to these parts, and had also was interested in aviation. He had been laid off by a defense contractor.

Muinos hired Martin, and now the two run FlightLine together. It isn’t aimed just at pilots. Tomes sold there range from historic aircraft to coloring books.

“We’re also trying to generate an interest in general aviation, so we can get more people involved,” Muinos says. “They can come here, we can talk … and hopefully we can sell them something.”

The merchandise reflects the broad-brush appeal Muinos is hoping for. Books are in back, pilot gear up front. Kids’ goodies fill the aisles - ranging from a stuffed gorilla wearing a leather flight cap to plans for making airplane-style pedal cars. Aviation prints hang on the walls. On the counter, a replica of a World War II fighter doubles as a telephone. It goes for a noisy attack run when someone calls in.

The store plans to add inexpensive plastic models to its stock. The current imported, mahogany replicas go for as much as $135. Clothing is another item with mass appeal, Muinos says. He already sells T-shirts, hats and patches; flight jackets will be added soon.

Although it’s too early to tell how well FlightLine will do, the store has a few regulars. Leo Rhein, a former shipping pilot who now helps organize air shows, was on cloud nine the instant he heard about it.

“I said ‘Oh boy, my wife is gonna hate you people,”’ Rhein remembers with a laugh. The self-described “armchair pilot” doesn’t buy gear, just lots of souvenirs.

Muinos guesses it will take two years before the shop breaks even. In the meantime, he has met kids who say they plan to fly the space shuttle, and a man who spins yarns about the seven Nazi fighters he shot down decades ago.

“I really don’t know yet what the actual customer is here,” Muinos says. “It’s a wide spectrum.”

He pauses, then decides that’s really not so bad.

“And that’s really what I’d like to see,” he says. “I’d like to get everybody in here.”

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