Buses, small houses, and shipping containers have all seen a surge in appeal as potential building materials for one-of-a-kind dwellings.
These alternatives to standard lodgings offer the same level of comfort at a fraction of the price and with a wide range of personalization options.
But Jo Ann Ussery made her own unique house long before it was cool.
She bought a decommissioned Boeing 727 and transformed it into a lavish mansion.
(video of the plane can be found below)
One-of-a-kind housing
In 1993, Ussery’s home in Benoit, Mississippi was destroyed, marking the beginning of her journey.
Her husband had recently passed away, so she and her two kids needed a place to live but had very little money.
She had hoped that getting a trailer would solve all of her issues, but she soon discovered that she couldn’t afford a house that was big enough to accommodate her family of three.
Ussery’s brother-in-law, Bob, is an air traffic controller and proposed that they try living on an airplane.
Ussery was receptive to the concept, so he went to examine a Boeing 727 that was about to be broken up for parts.
She fell in love at first sight, and the price, including shipping, was only $2,000.
Ussery gave her Boeing 727 the moniker “Little Trump” after learning that Donald Trump also had a private Boeing 727.
She jumped right into her expensive and time-consuming home improvements.
Major refurbishment
She put in less than $30,000 (around $60,000 in today’s money) on the makeover.
She needed to make sure it stayed put in its current location while she worked on the inside.
Ussery made use of the lake that was already present on her property by parking the plane such that the nose pointed out over the water. Because of this particular reason, a substantial amount of concrete was used to secure the tail. She then started demolishing the nearly 1,500 square foot interior.
The plane measures 138 feet in length and has 76 windows.
The windows did not open, as is standard on commercial planes, but that was not a problem on the Ussery because the plane was equipped with air conditioning.
She upgraded the insulation and laid new flooring as well. What exactly from the original 727 has been preserved?
Having only one airplane lavatory and the overhead bins to store your belongings is a brilliant answer to the problem of limited space.
Interior features
Ussery was able to move on to the finer touches and extra comforts after the major renovations were finished.
There were three bedrooms, a living area, a kitchen, and even a laundry room in the updated plane.
It also had an oven and a phone in addition to the washer and dryer.
What Ussery did with the cockpit looking out over the lake was unquestionably the best improvement.
She renovated it into a master bathroom fit for a king, complete with a soaking tub.
She planned the room’s layout so that its occupants would feel as though they were floating in midair.
Most notably, Ussery did all the remodeling work by herself.
Between 1995 until 1999, she called her converted jet home before deciding to open it to the world as a museum.
It was being transported a short distance when it tragically fell off the carriage and was destroyed.
It’s a good thing we have these breathtaking snapshots below:
I got on the bus and met someone who shocked me
The rain was coming down in sheets, mirroring the storm brewing inside Elara. Her phone buzzed with another rejection email, and the cafe, usually a haven of warmth and quiet, felt suffocating. She huddled deeper into her coat, the bitter taste of failure lingering on her tongue.
Across the table, an elderly woman sat alone, sipping tea and watching the rain. Her face, etched with the lines of a life well-lived, was illuminated by the soft glow of the cafe lights. Elara, lost in her own despair, barely registered her presence.
Suddenly, the old woman’s hand reached across the table, placing a delicate porcelain figurine on the table beside Elara’s coffee cup. It was a small bird, its wings outstretched as if in flight. “He always loved birds,” the woman whispered, her voice trembling slightly.
Elara looked up, surprised. The woman, noticing her gaze, smiled sadly. “My son, he was an artist. He used to spend hours sketching birds, capturing their flight, their freedom.”
Elara, captivated by the figurine and the woman’s gentle voice, found herself drawn into the conversation. She learned about the woman’s son, a talented musician who had passed away far too soon. She listened as the woman reminisced about his laughter, his passion for life, his love for music.
As the rain continued to fall, a strange sense of peace settled over Elara. The weight of her own disappointment seemed to lessen, replaced by a newfound empathy. The woman, a stranger, had opened her heart to Elara, sharing her grief and her memories.
When it was time to leave, Elara hesitated. “Thank you,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. “Thank you for sharing your story with me.”
The old woman smiled, her eyes twinkling. “It’s a gift, my dear. A gift to remember.”
Elara left the cafe, the rain washing away the remnants of her despair. She carried the small bird figurine with her, a reminder of the unexpected kindness and the power of human connection. She realized that even in the darkest of moments, there is always beauty to be found, and that sometimes, the greatest gifts come from the most unexpected places.
**The bus lurched forward, throwing me against the seat in front of me. Groaning, I rubbed my shoulder and glared at the rush-hour traffic. Rain lashed against the windows, mirroring the storm brewing inside me. Another rejection email, this one particularly brutal, had just landed in my inbox, and the taste of failure was bitter in my mouth. The cafe, my usual refuge, felt suffocating, the cheerful chatter of other patrons a jarring counterpoint to the gloom inside me.
Then, I noticed him. An elderly gentleman, his face a roadmap of wrinkles, sat across from me, his eyes fixed on mine with an intensity that made my skin prickle. It wasn’t a casual glance; it was a stare, unwavering and unsettling. My irritation, already simmering, boiled over. “What’s your problem?” I snapped, my voice sharper than I intended.
He didn’t flinch. His gaze, unwavering, seemed to search for something deep within me. My anger flared. “Seriously, why are you staring?” I demanded, my voice laced with venom. He finally lowered his eyes, a shadow of sadness crossing his face.
When his stop arrived, he rose, his movements slow and deliberate. As he passed me, he placed a small, folded piece of paper in my hand before stepping off the bus. Curiosity piqued, I unfolded it.
The words, written in a shaky hand, hit me like a physical blow. “I’m so sorry. I’m deaf and I couldn’t hear what you said. I didn’t mean to upset you. You just look exactly like my late son. I haven’t seen his face in so long and I miss him so much.”
Shame washed over me, hotter than the midday sun. My anger, my impatience, my own petty frustrations, had blinded me to the depth of this man’s grief. I had lashed out at him, a stranger, in a moment of self-absorption, inflicting pain upon someone already carrying the weight of a profound loss.
The rest of the ride was a blur of remorse. Each jolt of the bus, each drop of rain on the window, seemed to amplify the echo of my own cruelty. I replayed the encounter in my mind, each harsh word a fresh wound. I imagined his face, the sadness in his eyes, the loneliness he must have felt in that crowded bus.
That day, I learned a lesson that would forever stay with me. Kindness, even in the face of frustration, is always the better path. For you never truly know the burdens others carry, the stories etched on their faces, the echoes of a love lost. I carried the weight of my own regret, a heavy cloak draped over my shoulders.
But amidst the remorse, a small seed of change was planted. I began to observe the world with a newfound empathy. I listened more intently to the stories of others, sought to understand their perspectives, and offered a helping hand whenever possible.
The memory of the elderly man and his poignant message remained with me, a constant reminder of the importance of compassion and the fragility of the human spirit. It was a lesson learned the hard way, a lesson etched into my soul, a reminder that kindness, like a gentle rain, can wash away the bitterness and nourish the soul.
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