I recently heard about the passing of a remarkable man, Rim Kaminskas. He was a brilliant, creative, and generous soul, perhaps best known for a homebuilt single-engine, single-seat biplane called the Jungster, first flown in 1962. But there was so much more, and I’ll let the stories about him speak for themselves. I’ll start with a piece I wrote several years ago about a beautiful grandfather clock he made from the wood of a fallen oak tree and presented as a gift to the Ranch. Afterwards, I shall post in the reminiscences of one of his friends and kindred spirits, a man named Ken Vadnais.
The Gift of a Grandfather Clock
One Monday morning in April, Rim Kaminskas quietly brought a gift to the Hollister House: a grandfather clock that he lovingly built from the wood of a fallen Ranch oak. More than a timepiece, it is a work of art, a focal point in the room that is a gathering place for our community, and a symbol of the many unheralded expressions of creativity, care, and diligence that are happening around us as the hours of each day pass. It’s a thought that elevates.
Rim Kaminskas was born in Lithuania, as was his talented and dynamic wife Lili, but the two met in the United States, where both their families had emigrated. They have been married for nearly sixty years, traveled the world, had successful careers, and are the parents of three sons and a daughter. Rim is an engineer and a physicist, well known for his ability to solve problems. As his son Michael says, “He just gets interested in things. He sees how they work or finds a better way to do it.”
Rim’s father was a woodworker who built beautiful objects–including walnut clocks– to replace the things the family had left behind in Lithuania, and Rim learned the craft from him but soon found his own voice. A true Renaissance man, Rim has designed and built airplanes, biplanes, steam engines, furniture, lamps, toys, harps, cannons, candlesticks, teak bowls and boxes, gallery-worthy sculpture, and of course, grandfather clocks. “The clocks are probably a nod to my grandfather,” Michael says. “But the airplanes are totally my dad’s thing.”
Rim also makes kimchi, brews beer, propagates fig trees, sails, plays the accordion, swims daily, and is an aficionado of Dixieland jazz. His curiosity about the world is insatiable and his creativity unceasing. His pleasure comes purely from the process of figuring out how things work and building objects and contraptions that are both functional and beautiful. Ego and profit are not what motivate him, and he often gives his creations away.
Rim and Lili bought their parcel at the Ranch in 1989. Rim’s maternal grandparents had once owned a ranch in Lithuania that was lost to the Communists when the family fled, and much lore about it lingered. In a way, the Hollister Ranch property might be a replacement for the Kaminskas’ yearned-for Lithuanian ranch days.
“Well, for some of us, it was about the surf,” admits Michael. “But you’ll never see my dad at the beach…what really sold my dad on the ranch was that this house had a shop downstairs!”
It’s a shop that has been put to good use. And it’s a good example of what an interesting and versatile community we have here at the Ranch, this place where wonders abound and where, if we pay attention, we cannot help but be inspired.
“When that old oak came down, and my dad saw the beautiful sections that were revealed,” Michael says, “he knew he would use it somehow.”
Now it lives on as a grandfather clock. Come by the Hollister House and take a look at it.
And thank you, Rim, for your artistry and kindness.
Remembering Rim by Ken Vadnais
I got to know Rim when he joined us for sailing from time to time, and on one of those Thursday afternoon outings I mentioned I was interested in getting the plans for one of his airplane designs. He told me not to bother because he would give me an airplane if I wanted it. Of course I already had a Twin Commander, but I was intrigued. We made arrangements to meet at Chino airport where he owned a hangar. I flew down in my Commander and he drove from his home in Palos Verdes.
After landing we met at an agreed location on the ramp and he drove me to his hangar, one in a line of forlorn sheet metal buildings tinged with rust and secured by one of the oldest pad locks I have ever seen. The lock was balky but it finally opened with a creaky, screeching protest which reminded me of Jack Benny opening his basement vault in an old radio show. The hangar was stuffed full of flight hardware of various descriptions to the point that walking around was difficult and at times hazardous. Rim wanted to gift me a couple of experimental aircraft projects that he had built years before, each a unique Rim design and not the Jungster he was known for. In fact the two aircraft were obviously the product of thinking far beyond the Jungster, much refined and built for speed. One had gull wings, which gave it greater clearance off the ground so it could swing a bigger prop. I'm not sure when the aircraft were built and flown but he said they had both taken to the air at some point. They were now old projects that he had lost interest in, as his mind moved on to the next great idea, and they had thick coatings of dust on the wings. Both aircraft were a long way from flying condition (maybe an infinitely long way) and I declined his offer of them, thinking I was not up to the task of stepping into his large shoes. But we had a great time knocking around his hangar as he explained all the things he was working on and thinking about. He was one of those people that had thousands of ideas, all of them good ones, and not enough time or bandwidth to get them all out of his head.
Afterward we headed over to the legendary Flo's Café where over lunch I learned more about his life and career. On the way from the café back to my aircraft we drove by the Planes of Fame Museum, one of the best and biggest private air museums in the country. Out front, up on a pedestal, was a beautifully restored B17, our workhorse bomber of World War II. Rim told me he didn't like that airplane. I asked why, thinking he disliked some aerodynamic aspect of the design, but after a moment of hesitation he instead told me they didn't look as cool from the ground perspective when viewing the open bomb bay after releasing their load. He explained he had narrowly missed destruction a number of times during Allied air raids on the German towns where he and his refugee family were hunkered down at the end of the war. He described the over pressure from an exploding 500-pound blockbuster bomb as one of the most terrifying experiences of his life, and the consequent destruction it produced was horrific. To Rim, the B17 was an evil predator bent on killing him and his family, not a nostalgic symbol of victory.
Luckily for the rest of us that knew him as a friend, he survived the experience.
Rim was a self made man in every respect, having come to this country after the war with nothing of any value except a brilliant mind and a willingness to work hard. As it turns out, in America that is sufficient starting capital to accomplish extraordinary things. He loved this country and the many opportunities it offered a poor Lithuanian kid full of hopes and ideas. It gave him the possibility to find Lili, the love of his life, and raise his family, and to have an exciting, productive, rewarding career, make many friends, and live a happy life. Which he did.
He will be missed.