Chapter 14

Wally’s turn:

I’m looking at a Stearman cropduster. I know, I know... ‘Agricultural aircraft’. I grew up, they were ‘cropdusters’, even though most of the applications were sprayed. These things used to be all over the place, and this one was about as generic for the type as it could be.

Logbooks. I’m a licensed airframe and powerplant – A&P – licensed mechanic with an inspection authorization. That means I can say whether a plane flies or not. I’m looking through the books of this thing. It’s a dinosaur, relatively speaking, a relic of a bygone age when aircraft of this class were made of steel tubes and wood and fabric and had big ol’ round gasoline engines.

Frankly, life is better without that, but then there’s that whole ‘nostalgia’ thing, and this ol’ gal is loaded with it. Technology is right out of 1935.

Logbook entries are right up to snuff. Ol’ Wally, he cut his baby teeth on these things, so a bit of time and a flashlight and an inspection mirror, then a few punches with a fabric tester...

“Airframe’s good enough, madam,” I said. The ‘madam’ thing is for Cindy. If I was thirty years younger and IF she wasn’t married ... What a hoot the gal is. Got it all – looks, brains ... And did I mention she LOVES airplanes?

“Engine?” she asked.

“Logbook says nine hundred hours. Factory says overhaul is based on oil consumption, and this one doesn’t look bad. Compression checks before the dude signed off the ferry permit look good. That she made it here, that’s better...”

“Can she fly to Mississippi?”

I shuddered inside. “Where’re you going with this, redhead?”

She looked at me and the rest of her audience, Bill and Haley and Deena. “Place in Mississippi will take one back to factory specs. I already looked.”

Haley snickered. Bill gasped.

“That’s gotta be expensive,” he said.

“Kinda. But what else?” she smiled. “Less’n a new Lamborghini. And it’ll fly. And it’s a piece of HISTORY, not some toy for some fop with too much money and no sense of history.”

That’s why I love the girl. Like a daughter, sister, whatever, but the world’s a better place because she’s in it.

I guess that Haley and Deena understood. Young things – they still see the romantic and the conceptual. Me and Bill Simon, we need to get over it and go along.

Bill said, “We need to talk with Mister Dukes.”

“Call ‘im,” Cindy said.

Forty minutes later a big SUV pulled up to join us. Mister Dukes – I met him once many years ago when we were both younger – got out. Introductions all around, then he was next to the old plane, eyes sparkling, somehow younger.

“Good. Good. Many an hour in one a’these things. So what’s the question?”

Cindy’s addressed academics and engineers, students and friends, and she said, “Sir, what I’d like to do is fly ‘er back to Mississippi and hand ‘er over to a guy who’ll put ‘er back in the air...”

His old eyes kept twinkling. “I bet I know...” he named the location and the business. “Lot a’money.”

“I’m calling it a Christmas present,” Cindy said. “For a bunch of us. But I don’t want to offend...”

Mister Dukes looked around his old airfield. He turned to Bill. “Son, I had my doubts when I took your word for this. Now I believe you. Mizz Cindy, when you get that plane back...”

“Sir, it might not be this particular plane. Might be a swap,” Cindy said. “They’ll bring ‘er back to original where it makes sense. Electrical system, though. Radios. Maybe a few more instruments.”

He smiled. “Didn’t need ‘em back then.”

“Yessir,” Cndy said. “But nowadays you have to have radio and transponder for everything.”

“I know how things work,” he said. “But...”

“When I get that plane back here, we’re comin’ to get you...”

I actually saw tears in the corners of his eyes.

“Darlin’, I’d love it ... Might have to rig a ladder to get me in ‘er, but I’d love it. One more time ... Who’ll fly me?”

“Sir, that’s probably gonna be me.”

“You’re rated?”

“Yessir. That’s my 180 over there. And I’ve done T-6s and Extras and Air Tractors, so...”

He grinned. “Darlin’, you bring ‘er back, I’ll fly with you...”

“Let me take her up,” I said. “Get a bit of an engine run, check things.”

I had Cindy look in the cockpit, make sure the magneto switch was off and the throttle closed. I still don’t trust it, though. Made sure there were chocks in front of the wheels, then carefully pulled the propeller though several revolutions.

“Making sure that the cylinders didn’t fill up with oil. Hydrostatic lock. Bends piston rods,” I explained to Cindy.

“Heard that one before. Problem with radial engines.”

“Got that right, kiddo,” I said. “Now, fire extinguisher. Here.” I pointed it out to her. “Lemme see if she’ll start.”

Damned old thing started.

It all comes rushing back to me, the sights, sounds, but the old girl hops right off, nothing leads me to think anything’s wrong. I land.

You know what’s next.

“My turn.”

“Huh?”

“Just once around the pattern. I’d rather my first flight be here than at a controlled airport...”

“You’re taking her to a controlled airport?” Mister Dukes asked.

“Yessir,” I said. “Ain’t sure about fuel and oil consumption, and we figure we’ll do here to Alexandria, then from there to Vicksburg, and from Vicksburg to Cleveland, Mississippi.”

“You’re careful,” he said.

“Yessir. We’re not in a hurry and we don’t want to take chances.”

“I wanna see that little gal fly, son,” Mister Dukes said.

“Girl, you’re gonna give me a heart attack,” I told her.

We watched her take off.

Mister Dukes laughed. “That girl has brass balls. And you know what? She’s better than I ever was, even on my best day.”

Bill Simon laughed at the comment. Nervous laugh, though. “Yeah. Better than I’ll ever be. Mr. Dukes -- you wouldn’t know it by looking at her, but she’s actually ‘Dr. Richards.’ She’s on faculty at Auburn. And she’s perverting everyone around her.”

“I can see that. Wish I was young enough for her to pervert me. You don’t see many like that, but she’s got it.”

“Uh-huh,” Bill sighed. “Worse, she’s got both my girls following in her footsteps. I may not survive.”

“I kinda figured. Just take your vitamins.” He nodded towards Haley and Deena. They’re watching. Smiling.

One thing about it, Cindy CAN fly. Three-point landing, too.

When Mister Dukes left, that left me arguing with Cindy.

“I am NOT letting you fly the first leg home.”

“I just flew ‘er, Wally.”

“Cindy, I KNOW these things.”

“It’s an airplane,” she said. “Less horsepower than your Air Tractor or my Pilatus...”

“If that engine blows, this thing will glide like a cinder block.”

She looked at me. Green eyes. Okay, I could get over the green eyes, but that fire of intelligence behind them... “We’re gonna do a fuel stop in Alexandria and another in Vicksburg. Tell you what – if you’re still flying when you get to Alexandria with no problems, I get to fly the rest of the way.”

I do believe I’ve been thrown a bone. I accept.

“Okay, punkinhead,” I say. “I land in Alexandria. We’ll talk about swapping places then...”

“Formation,” she said. “You decide how fast we’re going, I’ll stay pretty close.”

“Don’t get radical,” I said. “We’re not the freakin’ Blue Angels.“

She handed me a hand-held radio. “122.75 is up.”

“We can talk, then,” I said.

“I’ll have it on Comm 2,” she said. “I’ll handle us as a flight of two when we get to Alexandria.”

Last thing. Old plane’s got a little battery for its electric starter. I’m hoping there is enough juice. 985 cubic inches is a lot of engine and the battery’s small and we’ve done two starts already and I KNOW we didn’t fly long enough to get a full charge.

Damned old thing started.

Cindy’s turn:

“Alexandria Tower, Cessna five-five-two-three uniform, flight of two, five miles south for landing.”

“Uh, Cessna two-three uniform, flight of two?”

“Roger, second aircraft is a Stearman PT-13. Limited radio.”

“Roger. Cleared for landing on one-four. No traffic. Expedite clearing the active.”

“Two-three uniform, roger. Thank you.”

I look over at my travelling buddy. Wally’s running a bit under a hundred miles an hour, meaning that I’m throttled WAY back, but it’s not a race, okay. I ease over and wave. He waves back. I point at him. Emphatically. He waves. I point again, hold up two fingers. He holds up two fingers. I hold up one finger, point to myself. He gives me the thumb and forefinger circle – okay. I operate as if he understands that I’m landing first.

Pattern’s easy. It’s a BIG runway, former Air Force base. Ninety-three hundred feet. Neither I nor Wally need a thousand today.

So I’m on the ground, hit the first taxiway.

“Cessna two-three uniform, contact ground on one two one point nine.”

“Two three uniform, roger 121.9. My second will follow me.”

“Roger.”

Since the tower didn’t transmit anything about a crash, I assumed that Wally was safely on the ground.

Ground control. “Cessna five-five-two-three uniform. You weren’t kidding. Real Stearman.”

Okay, if HE can kid, so can I. “Two-three uniform. He followed me home. Can I keep ‘im?”

The FBO provided the fuel to top Wally off. Credit card. Bathroom run. Questions.

“Where’re you going with THAT thing?”

Answer.

“How old is it?”

“I have the logbooks. Nameplate says 1943. Of course she’s been rebuilt a few times. Engine’s a 1944,” Wally said.