I was working as a disk jockey for a small radio station inWashington, Ind., where I grew up. And since my program schedule didn’t start until 6:00PM I had most of the day off. Now you have to remember that a small town has shall we saya limited menu of things to keep a 22-year-old kid entertained. After you visit the localteen hangout (Troy’s Restaurant), and drag main street a couple of hundred times and driveby the swimming pool to check out the girls, there just wasn’t much else to get excitedabout.
So one fine bright sunny day I decided to take a drive in the country. Nowhere inparticular, but somewhere other than the all-too-familiar haunts that had fast becomeboring. Everyone else was working while I was off, and visa-versa.
I soon found myself cruising down an old dirt road, and suddenly something caught my eye.It was a beat up old sign hanging from a crooked post leaning at a precarious angle givingone the impression that soon I would be witness to its plunge to the earth having givenup its fight to remain upright.
I turned down the road indicated by the faded arrow on the sign and at the end of thelane bordered by corn fields filled with remnants of cornstalks from last year’s harvest. Icame to an open gate that offered me access to what was to prove to be our county airport.
The office looked more like an abandoned shack but I could see from the open door thatthere seemed to be evidence of recent activity. The desk was cluttered with old flyingmagazines, papers, charts, and some funny looking ruler with a half circle in the center.
The couch along one wall was also laden with various aviation-related objects ofinterest. One of the arms was all but torn away with the stuffing exposed. I think the oldhound using the couch for his bed might have had something to do with it.
A Guy Named Ray
I looked out across the field and strolling toward me from the one and only hangar wasa middle-aged man wearing a hunting jacket and cap, the kind that had that distinctive redand yellow plaid checked design.
Must be the caretaker, I thought to myself. Where is the guy with the leather head gearthat has those neat goggles and sporting a mustach and long white scarf? And don’t forgetthe tall tan leather boots and a Charles Lindbergh style leather jacket.
"Afternoon young man," he said holding out his hand to me. "I’m Ray, RayClark. Can I help you?" "Hi, Dave Long, Nice to meet you, Yeah … I was justdriving around and saw the sign and thought I would come in to see some airplanes."
"Well, we got airplanes, Do you fly?" "No, but I would sure like to, " Isaid thinking that one had to at least be a genius and wealthy to ever be allowed toactually fly one, but I thought I would ask anyway.
"How much does it cost to take a ride in one of these things?" "Oh, fivedollars oughtta do it, I reckon," he said." And so off we went to pick out a sleekfast fighter or maybe that big twin engine sitting at the other end of the field.
I followed him over to a small yellow airplane that looked more like a kite to me. Itobviously was not going to be a fighter or bomber but this little plane was, yes … coveredwith cloth? And looking inside I could see the frame! It was a kite! Just bigger … butthere were two seats and the familiar metal stick with a round wooden knob stuck on at thetop. It was well worn and the seats looked more like part of the frame since the tubingforming the framework of the whole plane looked too thin for my comfort. But before Icould say something stupid and reveal my total lack of knowledge he said. "Ok son.Before we take her up, we gotta check’er out. So we start by making sure the switchis turned off and the mags’r off and she’s not going to start up on us when we check theprop."
We’re Gonna Fly In THAT?
All of this was pretty exciting but I was still contemplating the fact that when heopened the "door," a term I use loosly to describe a very flimsy piece of metaland fabric with a plastic window that wouldn’t slide anymore and made a loud bang againstthe struts that I’m sure stopped it from falling completely off. It was, of course, hingedwith two coat-hanger-sized pieces of wire. Somehow that didn’t seem to surprise me.
Yes, she was in fact an old 1944 vintage Aeronca "Champ" and this being 1962made her a really "old" airplane. But I was so excited I didn’t really care. All I wasthinking about was getting in and going for my ride.
After he showed me all around the plane and explained what all those "flappy"thingies that had names I couldn’t pronounce … like "ailerons." We climbed in, andmuch to my surprise he put ME in the front seat! I also wondered where this"elevator" was hiding? It sure didn’t look large enough to have a second storyto it. And didn’t boats have rudders? Maybe that was for when we had to land in water?
He didn’t get in right away. He leaned in next to me and pointed to two little metalpedals and explained that those were the heel brakes and for me to push on them with myheels and hold them down. Then he pulled the stick back into my belly and said, "Nowhold that stick back son, and don’t let it come forward, and don’t let go of them brakeswhile I start her up!"
He reached over and switched on a switch that said "magnetos" to the offposition, then showed me how to turn the switch to the "L" position when heyelled "Contact!" and gave the prop a turn and I’ll be darned if it didn’tSTART! I held the stick back so hard my arms hurt, and I though I would surely snap thosetiny little pedals clean off their stems but as the engine fired and shook and rattledthe plane sat there and vibrated like nothing I had ever heard before. I can still feelthe whole frame vibrating with the engine sounding like it was about to shake itself fromits mounts. It is a VERY distinctive sound and a feeling of sitting in something thatseemed unworthy of the stresses it was encountering.
Ray climbed into the back seat, strapped himself in and yelled "Okay, … I gotit!" And with that he wiggled the stick back and forth forcing me to let go lest Imove it or restrict him from moving the stick. I was relieved that he had taken controlbecause he hadn’t told me that I was going to do anything but just go for a ride. I had noidea that he never just took one for a ride, he made you hold the controls, and "feel" theairplane as we taxied and took off.
Talk about noise! The plane began to accelerate down the old dirt and grass runwaywhich was as smooth as one could expect an old river bottom cornfield to be. The wheelsmade resounding bangs each time we hit a bump and it sounded as if the landing gear wasbeing ripped completely loose. Faster and faster we went until he pulled back on the stickand we jumped into the air and the noise quieted to the sounds of the engine straining toclimb.
I was breathless. I couldn’t believe I was really flying! And then, I made the onemistake that everyone flying for the first time usually gets around to. "Hey Ray!What happens if the engine quits?" I yelled back over my shoulder as we were justclearing the line of telephone wires at the end of the field.
Ask A Stupid Question…
Suddenly, everything went quiet! I could hear the wind, the engine was no longerstraining, and the nose of the plane was no longer pointing up to the heavens, but pitcheddramatically down and I could see that we also were descending at a rapid rate, lower andlower toward the cornfield in front of us. The field had been harvested and only a fewcornstalks were sticking out of the furrows but down and down we glided. Then Ray yelled,"This is what happens if the engine quits on takeoff … we simply make an emergencylanding straight ahead between the corn rows!"
"Oh!" was my weaker-than-normal response. (I’m sure the lump in my throatrestricted the sound from actually coming out.) Then we leveled off just inches about theground and I felt the wheels touch down throwing clouds of dust and pieces of cornhusksinto the air. Ray pushed forward on the throttle and the engine again came to lifeas he held it on the ground for what seemed to be a mile before again I felt the stickpull back and we lifted safely off climbing noisily above the rooftop of the house at theend of the field.
I was absolutely hooked. Nothing I had ever done had ever been so exciting and soexhilarating! I HAD to learn to fly. No question about it, no matter what it cost or whatI had to do.
I shouted back at Ray, "Wow … Can we do that again?"
He pulled her up into a gentle left-hand turn and showed me how the plane banked andturned and climbed and descended and let me "follow through" with him eventhrough a couple of touch-and-go landings, the last one to a full stop which he later saidthat I had actually done almost all on my own.
I climbed awkwardly out of the plane and I knew that I had just experienced somethingthat I would never forget for the rest of my life.
Only Dollars Away
As we walked back to the office, I wanted to turn right around and go again, but it wasgetting late and I was due at the station in an hour so as we entered the office I asked,"How much does it cost to learn to fly?"
Thinking it was obviously more than I would ever be able to afford I was surprised whenhe said. "Oh, ’bout 15 bucks an hour, but you c’n fly half hour lessons if youwant."
Well 15 dollars was still too much because I was only making 50 dollars a weekbefore taxes and most of what was left went to pay for rent, gas and food, and anoccasional date. "Guess I could give up women," I thought to myself.
I said, "Well, I just can’t afford that but I sure would like to learn to flysomeday." Little did I know that my life was about to change forever because whathappened next was the most memorable part of that whole day.
"You did pretty good up there son, most people won’t react so calmly when Idemonstrate the ’emergency’ the way you did and you really have a good ‘touch’ in anairplane. You actually landed it yourself that last time."
"I’ve got students that can’t do that after several hours of training … are you sure youhaven’t ever done that before?" he asked. I was sure he said that to everyone butlater found out that it was quite a compliment and was also very true. Flying would becomesomething that I could just "do." I "felt" the plane around me, when and whereit was moving and how to control it seemed natural to me.
"Young man, let me ask you something."
"Sure!" I said. "What?"
"Do you smoke?" he asked.
"Do you drink?"
The answer was the same. "Nope, don’t drink either,can’t stand the taste, too sour, tastes like medicine to me."
"Well," he said, "I hate to see a guy like you get away, so I’ll tell you what I’mgoing to do. Since you probably would spend about two dollars a week on cigarettes, andmaybe three bucks a week on beer, you’re probably saving about five bucks every week. Youput in the ten dollars a week and I’ll give you a five dollar credit for not smokin’ anddrinkin’ and give you lessons for ten bucks, whaddya say?"
It’s 1999 and 5000+ hours later I can still hear those words and still feel the lump inmy throat as I said "Yes, I will be back tomorrow for my first lesson. " I doremember thinking, "WOW, I’m going to be a PILOT!"
I soloed only four hours later and every time I fly I get that same lump in my throat. Ihope it never goes away.