With his hand on the burner, Alan Zielinski looked down at his young passenger and asked for the magic word.
The tight-quartered basket left little room for tricks, but Zielinski, clad in his captain’s mitts, continued his urging with a hint of mischief in his voice.
“Come on, Oliver,” he beckoned the 5-year-old, who found himself captivated by Zielinski and his hot air balloon at a recent event. “You know bibbidi-bobbidi-boo? How about, ‘Alakazam’?”
The boy peered up, his own hands swimming in oversized, navy blue gloves. He paused and then — “Alakazam!” Oliver echoed. Zielinski squeezed the trigger and the fire roared. Above, multicolored nylon billowed, stretching up and up and up toward the sky.
Oliver’s hands shot to his ears. The burner thundered again, the blaze hot and bright. And after one last flash, the display was over as fast as it started. Zielinski asked Oliver if he had his fill of the fanfare. The boy, though his hand muffs stayed firmly in place, shook his head no.
“I don’t wanna get out,” Oliver resolved. Zielinski smiled — therein lies the spell.
It’s a curiosity Zielinski has known — and helped propel — for most of his life.
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Zielinski is among the longest-running mainstays of hot air ballooning in the Chicago area. Forty-some years ago, the Niles native joined a small group of local pilots as they established the sport in a sliver of McHenry County about an hour outside the city. Now, Zielinkski is one of a handful of the area’s early balloonists who remain airborne.
Splitting his time as a fixed-wing pilot (i.e. regular planes) and flight instructor, Zielinski has been flying for more than five decades.
The years have brought accomplishments and experiences few aviators see in their careers.
He’s played an instrumental role in improving the regulations for safe ballooning in Illinois and has introduced hundreds to the sport. He also has long found himself in the company of top-tier balloonists, earning an invitation year after year to the biggest ballooning event in the world: The Albuquerque International Balloon Fiesta. This year’s installation, which started Saturday, marks Zielinski’s 43rd appearance.
The years have brought changes, too. Friends have retired, or moved away. Local ballooning communities have dwindled as things like urban sprawl, shifting weather patterns and modernization converge to make for a more complicated flying experience.
But that allure of expedition —- that feeling reflected in a young spectator with too-big navy blue gloves — keeps Zielinski’s focus cast to the skies, for himself and for the next generation of pioneers.
A nuisance?
Zielinski has always found himself embedded in aviation. As a kid, his dad was the head of aviation supply at the now-shuttered Glenview Naval Air Station, which meant he was exposed to airplanes from an early age.
But it wasn’t until later that Zielinski knew his affinity would give way to a career. He recalled going up in his “first little airplane ride” fresh out of high school with his uncle, who was a pilot, and thinking to himself: “Oh, I can do this.”
Flying, for Zielinski, felt like something to strive for. A self-proclaimed perfectionist, each flight posed another opportunity to do something a little bit better.
“You can make the same flight every day, and they’re never going to be the same,” Zielinski said. “There are so many decisions that have to be made to have a successful flight.”
In 1973, at 18 years old, Zielinski earned his fixed-wing certification. For a while, he just enjoyed flying planes — ballooning wasn’t on his radar. At least, not willingly.
As a young pilot, Zielinski always thought the pastime was a nuisance to aviation. It wasn’t well regulated at the time, and Zielinski remembered having an unprompted — and unwanted — run-in with a balloon early into his flying career.
While ballooning is the earliest form of human flight — dating back to late 18th-century France — today’s version of the practice didn’t start to emerge until about 65 years ago, with the creation of the modern hot air balloon by American inventor Ed Yost in 1960. The innovation spurred a revival in ballooning.
But its nascency meant regulations were likewise an evolving operation. By the 1970s, commercial ballooning was still considered an extremely small and low-risk segment of aviation by the Federal Aviation Administration, according to historical records kept by the department.
So, to Zielinski, the activity was little more than an inconvenience.
That is, until the mid-to late-’70s, when a cousin of Zielinski’s living out in Colorado grew interested in ballooning after returning from the Vietnam War. That cousin soon joined forces with Zielinski’s younger sister, a fellow Colorado transplant, and the pair took on the hobby together.
One weekend, Zielinski was in town for a visit, and his family attempted to get him in on the venture, never mind his aversion. They concocted a scheme — a ruse involving a charity event and an appeal for help — and, before he knew it, Zielinski was mid-air in a basket.
That ride was a reset. Zielinski was surprised to find that the practice wasn’t as unruly as anticipated, that he felt in control up in the air. More than that, the ride struck him as a return to the fundamentals of flying: just him, his instruments and the wind.
“It was pioneering,” he said.
The bowl
For the next two years, Zielinski would spend weekend after weekend traveling back and forth between Illinois and Colorado to go ballooning. Ultimately, though, he decided to look for room to launch closer to home. Turns out, about 30 miles northwest was as far as he had to go.
Unbeknownst to Zielinski, northern Illinois had its own burgeoning ballooning hub in Fox River Grove. In the ’70s, a small group of local pilots started launching from the base of the long-running Norge Ski Jump. By 1974, a company named Windy City Balloon Port was operating out of the jump, offering both commercial balloon flights and a place for private balloonists to launch at no extra charge. Balloons would take off from, essentially, a natural hole that laid at the foot of the jump. It was affectionately known as the “bowl.”
Zielinski came onto the scene in the early 1980s. The community became his family. People came out to fly, yes, but they also came out just to enjoy each other’s company. That kind of camaraderie is at the core of ballooning. A pilot needs a crew to launch, to land. And that fellowship doesn’t stop at the flight field.
Zielinski remembered, after flights out at Fox River Grove, staging tailgates. Families grew up at the ski jump, Zielinski’s included. They’d get together for events, celebrations, birthdays.
“It didn’t matter where you came from,” Zielinski said. “When we were all there, we were equals as balloonists.”
Glenn O’Connell was just a teenager when he started going to the bowl. Growing up, he used to see balloons from Fox River Grove flying over and around his house in Barrington all the time, O’Connell recalled. But the hobby really hit home at around 14, when a balloonist just so happened to move into the house next door — with an open crew spot, no less.
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“(The pilot) came down, knocked on the door and said, ‘Hey … would you like to help?’” O’Connell said.
Before he could drive, O’Connell was learning what it took to fly. By the time he turned 22, he was a certified balloon pilot. The majority of his flight training took place at Fox River Grove.
The bowl days lasted about 25 years, local pilots estimate.
In the early 1990s, news reports show the tradition was still ongoing.
“On a typical Saturday morning, 50 people ages 8 to 80 from all walks of life congregate at Windy City,” the Tribune wrote in June 1991.
But eventually, the community waned. Over the years, repeated changes in ownership over the balloon port and an exhaustion of local landing spots quelled the experience.
“Time moved on,” Zielinski said. The pilots, himself included, dispersed. But he wasn’t dissuaded.
Onward and upward
The bowl was a launching point in more ways than one. With his penchant for perfection, Zielinski not only relished in his local ballooning community but strived to improve it.
His efforts started at Fox River Grove, with safety programming for the port. Then they grew into seminars across the Midwest, state initiatives, youth programs. He earned the attention of the FAA and became the sole federally designated pilot examiner for balloonists across the Great Lakes region.
Today, he travels across the country to certify balloonists. When he’s not rubber-stamping future aeronauts, he’s piloting charter flights and training new fixed-wing pilots out of Chicago Executive Airport.
Oh, and his family owns a 70-year-old remodeling business — he runs that, too.
Still, Zielinski finds time to practice his craft whenever he can.
Last month, ballooning took him to St. Louis. Zielinski traveled down for the Great Forest Park Balloon Race, the second-oldest balloon race in the country.
On the eve of the festival’s official start, he spent a few hours showing off his balloon, dubbed Featherlight II, as part of a small preview event. The group gathered at a private patio just outside St. Louis. The heat was stifling and the mosquitoes nipped, but there wasn’t a lick of wind. Perfect conditions for a balloon.
“Where are my helpers?” Zielinski asked the dozen or so invitees. Hands flew up.
In a line, Zielinski led his pseudo-chase crew to a nearby clearing. Together, they got to work. Within the hour, Featherlight II’s multicolored envelope (balloon lingo for fabric) towered over the treeline. The basket, though, didn’t leave the grass. That’s typical for a preview. Often, balloon festivals are preceded by a “glow,” when balloons stay tethered to the ground and pilots light them up from the inside with their propane burners — like massive lanterns.
It was here, at dusk in a Missouri clearing, that 5-year-old Oliver Moore got his chance to try his hand at ballooning for the first time. He’d seen a hot air balloon once before, he told the Tribune, but never that close. He liked the colors.
By nightfall, the crew was back in action. With phone flashlights and a steady stream of directions from Zielinski, they folded Featherlight away. The balloon had a big weekend ahead. Several, in fact.
Albuquerque was on the horizon.
Almost every year since 1979, Zielinski has spent the start of October at one place: The International Balloon Fiesta. Stretching nine days, the festival draws hundreds of thousands of spectators to New Mexico each fall.
Zielinski was introduced to the festival shortly after he started ballooning, while he was still commuting to Colorado to fly with his family. He went on a whim.
“(My cousin) tells me, ‘You know, Alan, I could really use a little help. A bunch of us are gathering in New Mexico,’” Zielinski recalled. “I thought, well I’ve got vacation time.”
It became a standing trip. The event, Zielinski says, is just that special. This year is no different.
Zielinski will be in Albuquerque this whole week as the 2026 Fiesta gets underway. He’ll be among more than 500 balloonists in the flight field. And, like his first visit, it’s still a family affair. His son, Justin, is there, too — as his crew chief.
It’s a fitting tradition, and one he hopes to keep.
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Passing on the burner
Someday, Zielinski envisions passing his balloon onto his son. It’s time, he thinks, to make way for a new generation of pilots.
It’s been about 20 years since ballooning was truly active in the Chicago area, Zielinski reckons. Still, he’s always thought, like with any fascination, that interest comes in waves. And he ventures there’s a new wave of local balloonists due.
Downstate and farther west out toward Iowa, ballooning certainly persists. Places like Danville, Centralia and Lincoln all boast annual balloon events. In Galena, there’s a hot air balloon factory. As for pilots, the Balloon Federation of American estimates there are about 150 active balloonists statewide.
But here in Chicago, could it ever resemble those days of tailgates and impromptu flights again?
Nationally, industry leaders say that lighter-than-air aviation appears to be on the rise. Jason Jones, president of the Balloon Federation, said he “absolutely” thinks it’s growing.
Zielinski says he’s seeing signs of resurgence: More calls to certify balloonists, a curiosity in ballooning among kids and young adults that wasn’t there years ago. And he’s encouraged by his son.
Justin Zielinski, like his dad, has a knack for all things aviation. To date, the he has his commercial fixed-wing license and is in the process of securing his balloon certification. He hopes to use the latter, after a lifetime spent learning from his dad, to pay his lessons forward.
“I would like to help teach people about ballooning,” Justin Zielinski said, “and introduce them to a world they may not be familiar with.”
He’s already making inroads. As soon as later this fall, he and his dad plan to launch a ballooning club out in Aurora. Reminiscent of Windy City, they have a tentative agreement with Aurora Municipal Airport that would allow balloon launches from fields on property before air traffic control comes online for the day.
It’d be an easygoing operation, just somewhere people can get together and learn and if they want, fly.
After all these years, Zielinski says, there’s really nothing more special.
“Think of it as if we’re on this Earth and now we hop in a balloon and we lift off,” Zielinski said. “Now we stop in time, and the Earth starts to revolve around us. And as we’re there from our lofty perch … you can see for miles. You can hear conversations, you can hear the wind passing through the trees.”
For a while, you’re just part of the air.
“(Then) you say it’s time to jump back on the Earth,” Zielinski went on, “and join everybody else.”
Magic, indeed.
baiduhai archives contributed.